Open Wound - Diane Scantlebury

He couch surfs from friend to friend,
Who walk softly on egg shells
With sympathy quietly spoken,
A long term relationship bites the dust,
Sad and newly lonely
Another poor heart unexpectedly broken,

She almost took it all,
But callously cherry picked the best bits
When off she ran herself to discover,
She took the dog,
But left the kids behind
As she fled to the arms of her lover,

In the emotional storm that followed,
The windows of his soul
Shook violently and rumbled,
Then cascaded in tiny splinters to the ground
As the walls of his domestic castle crumbled,

When the sun of love and hopefulness
Crashes and burns,
There’s never a happy end,
Just a personal injury that festers
A painful, resentful open wound,
That’s never forgiven and never mends.

Diane Scantlebury

The Coast - Ian Duquemin

Rocks gather high, so protecting the land
Soaked by the sea they climb rustic and coarse
Shells of the ocean cling tightly to shelter
Close to the land that is scattered with gorse
Breakers lap over like silk sheets in summer
Kissing the land as though deeply in love
Up in the sky shines the sun in its glory
Witnessing all from its seat high above

Ian Duquemin

Cornwall - Trudie Shannon

These are karmic hills,
Their spoil sides steep and perilous.
Granite shards slip invisibly
And cats cradles guard the sultry depths
Of these deep dark burrows, delved by men.
Small men, hard men, poor men, historic men,
Dead men!
It as if the hills themselves are testimony alone
To mans puerile attempts to subjugate Mother Earth.

The stone engine houses are cast down, yet
Forever reaching skyward in mute supplication to a hidden God.
Wind and rain and the incessant passage of time
Have bled most of them dry,
They are mere husks of spent energy,
Shadow casts now, that only wraiths attend.

A sliver of stone slides surreptitiously down.
Its tenuous hold finally lost as the age old wind
Lifts it with a gusty breath.
It slithers, noisily toward the shaft edge
Then drops, mute, into the dark abyss.
The rock piece falls and falls and falls
And then, baptism.
It sinks through water, rocking like a feather on a breeze
Until it touches the mother lode
And is finally still.

On the surface the bird witness soars heavenward.

Trudie Shannon

On a dull day - Tony Bradley

A dull day, with dawn dragging its dreary heels
you could make this day brighter, despite how it feels
just decide, to make it special, a calendar day
why not do that big chore, the one that never appeals.

Just think for a moment, as you mope around
there's loads of people who'd love to be you
you're able to think, to move, and change things
try impressing yourself, with something you do.

Tony Bradley

The Other Side - Sharon Dando

See the light and wake up gently
Walk into the garden and wait
Familiar faces come to greet you
To take you to the gate

It's bright and warm and welcoming
A burden has been lifted
Surrounded by wonder and beauty
you feel you have been gifted

No more worry, pain or sorrow
Dependency or sadness
This day blends into tomorrow
with joyfulness and gladness

Sorrow embraces those left behind
but lessens like the pain
to remember you with happy memories
and know you will be together again

Sharon Dando

Silhouettes in time - Julian Clarke

​​We’re custodians for a moment in time
bequeath what? For our future forefathers.

Cyclical phases of the moon and sun
fields and trees and valleys and seas

Nature's garden with beautiful flowers,
frenetic buzzing, pollinating bees.

Winds of the seasons and rains from above
earth's breath be pure and blessed with true love.

Julian Clarke

JIM - Richard Fleming

He did not die a hero, Jim.
Afghan shrapnel did for him
what no deft surgeon can undo:
one ear, pristine, as good as new,
just one ear where there should be two;
a crater where his eye should be,
but one eye left so he can see
the mirrored image he must greet,
a grotesque creature, incomplete,
that children stare at in the street.

Richard Fleming

Man Became Mountain (Wainwright's Way) - Ian Duquemin

When man meets a mountain
His is nothing at all
The towering summit
The man ever small
Yet one man would rise
Like the mountain up high
Becoming a cairn
Where the earth meets the sky
His footsteps a path
On which others may roam
Surrounded in silence
That he made a home
Writing directions
And mapping his routes
A rugged ascent
For adventurous boots
On one final climb
A life's work was done
And a man became mountain
Forever as one

Ian Duquemin

The Rain Zone - Kathy Figueroa

In the Rain Zone
It can fall for hours
Sometimes just as sprinkles
Often as heavy showers

Water from above
Splashes and splatters
Drums on the roof at night
And, at the window, patters

When you hope that surely
The clouds have been wrung dry
Suddenly a deluge pours
From the mischievous sky

In the Rain Zone
It never seems to stop
Just when you think it’s ended
Down comes another drop…

Kathy Figueroa

"The Rain Zone" was published on April 14, 2016, in The Bancroft Times newspaper.

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