Halloween - Jenny Hamon

It’s the 31st of October
The night of Halloween
There are pumpkins flickering and glowing
Giving out a ghostly beam

The kids are out trick or treating
Dressed up as witches and ghosts
They are hoping to get treated
Instead of tricking their host.

It has to be old wives tales
When horror stories were told
Of spirits and ghouls and ghosts
Back in the days of old

But let’s just enjoy the evening
And celebrate en masse
After all it’s an excuse for a party
But the spirits are in a glass!

Jenny Hamon

The Pumpkin Beast - Kathy Figueroa

In the blackest hours of Halloween night
Stir creatures that moan and wail
Such sounds can give a soul a fright
And cause your heart to fail

But there's one that makes the other bunch
Sound as innocent as a birdie's chirp
When it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH
MUNCH, MUNCH, SLURP, SLURP ..BURP

"Oh, tell us, please, what is this beast?"
Hoarse, hushed whispers query
"On what does this monster feast
And make noises that are so scary?"

Listen carefully to what I say
Make sure my words you mark
Things transpire in a mysterious way
On Halloween, after dark

Behold yon pumpkin, with an eerie face
Lit by a candle from within
It's to keep bad spirits from that place
That's why it has a hideous grin

But people give nary a thought
That, inside, the pumpkin is being toasted
The candle flame burns so hot
The pumpkin becomes roasted

Certain epicureans of the quadruped kind
Esteem this squash 'cuisine'
And, in abundance, it's easy to find
On the night of Halloween

There's one with which I'm acquainted
That has a legendary appetite
And I nearly fainted
When I first saw the following sight

Only scraps of rind lay on the floor
The Pumpkin Beast had struck behind my back
And he was still looking around for more
After his initial snack attack

'El Perro Gordo de Paudash'
Is the name by which he's now known
And he'll choose pumpkin in a flash
Any day, instead of a bone

Kathy Figueroa

Competition Winner - October 2012Autumn Colours' - Yasmin Mariess

Turned Red,
leaves dead.

All green,
now unseen.

Leaves brown,
floating down.

golden hues,
light defuse.

orange leaves,
summers thieves'

at last, my dear,
Autumns here.

Yasmin Mariess

Progress - Lyndon Queripel

They don’t make any more cigarettes
It came as no surprise
The cancer scare was everywhere
And the smoke got in your eyes
They don’t make any more bottles
With deposit on return
There’s recycling bins for glass and tins
And for the junk that doesn’t burn

They don’t make any more three foot rules
Everything is measured by the metre
Did you turn pale to find your pint of ale
Was only .5683 of a litre
They don’t make any more wooden chairs
In a programme to save the trees
Now you just sit on a plastic bit
That hurts behind your knees

They don’t make any more paper now
For the tabloid media show
Everything is seen on the TV screen
Home computer or the video
They don’t make any more money
The new system is cash free
If you don’t accept the sign of debt
You’re exiled from society

They don’t make any more petrol now
Of the red star super grade
It’s green instead without the lead
Another trick of the trade
They don’t make any more 45’s
The single has met its match
It looks final for the black vinyl
If CDs don’t bend or scratch

They don’t make anymore public ‘phones
The mobile has replaced them
After all when you made a call
The vandals had only defaced them
They don’t make anymore vitamin pills
They’re all against the law
It’s understood that G.M. food
Will benefit you much more

They don’t make any more golliwogs
The children had to learn
They were racist you see and not P.C.
And of great concern
But they still make nuclear weapons
Despite a grand display
Disarming beds of old warheads
Before they started to decay

Lyndon Queripel

Broken Arrows - Lyndon Queripel

Broken arrows on the ground
Make me feel like turning ‘round
The hills look dark and cold
Broken dreams, ghosts of the night
Sunset shadows and tricks of light
No wonder the thunder rolled

Well they’ve taken away the trees
Where I can’t even guess
Yes, they’ve taken away the trees
And left me in a wilderness

Broken borders and blinded eyes
It took such a long time to realise
All that glitters is not gold
Broken dance of a highway child
Through fields of fire, running wild
His spirit is uncontrolled

Well they’ve taken away the trees
Where I can’t even guess
Yes, they’ve taken away the trees
And left me in a wilderness

Broken heart at Wounded Knee
Scattered feathers through history
Where truth is bought and sold
Broken promises and pale faced lies
With reservations in thin disguise
What does the future hold ?

Lyndon Queripel

Back to GMT - Jenny Hamon

I hate it when the clocks go back
And the evenings are so dark
The hours of daylight go amiss
As we are all at work

BST to GMT
What a depressing thought
Why can’t we stay on Summer Time
(I know many people have fought.)

I think they call it SAD disease
As darkness makes me depressed
I feel I want to hibernate
All alone in the darkness

I know I just have to put up
With the dark and dismal days
And if I seem miserable
Just put up with my grumpy ways.

This SAD disease will pass
And happiness will return to me
I will be back to my happy self
When the clocks change to BST

Jenny Hamon

Winter - Julie Gallienne

Winter's bleak message
of trouble to come
foretold in the skies
and dead leaves
on the run.
Blown around
on gusts of wind
dreams and desires
for us to chase.
Autumn's last ditch
at dressing the worl
in bejewelled attire
giving way to black
and grey.
A clear indication
of the direction we'll follw.
But as if by magic
the world is transformed
by the flutter of flakes
glistening like crystal
in a midnight sky
against a full moon.
Laying in peace.
Life takes on a calm
unhurried pace
showing a clean canvas.
Giving us time to reflect
on nature's wonders.
One minute our lives
in complete turmoil
are turned upside down
in a heavenly
serene scene.
Never extinguish
the flame of hope.

Julie Galiene

Party Piece - Lyndon Queripel

I was feeling fine
Drinking my wine
When she asked me
“Now do you see
The glass half empty
Or half full ?”
I turned and sighed
Then smiling, replied
“I think I’ll pass,
Forget the glass
I’m more concerned,
I’ve learned,
With the bottle.”

Lyndon Queripel

Grand Prix Heroes - Lyndon Queripel

Mike Hawthorn was a champion of the fifties code
He retired at the top only to be killed on the road
Jim Clark died at the wheel and Peter Collins too
The plane of Graham Hill dived out of the blue

Fangio and Nuvolari have now passed away
But the magic of their driving is still revered today
Stirling Moss was the complete driver of his time
A near fatal accident stopped him in his prime

Auto Union, Maserati, Vanwall and B.R.M.
Were they all as classic as we remember them?
Goodwood, Kyalami, Donnington, Zandvoort
And the time before Hockenheim was cut short

Jochen Rindt was killed at Monza in nineteen seventy
But he still became the champion posthumously
John Surtees did the double on four wheels and two
Jackie Stewart won three titles and a safety first issue

Hunt the Shunt was a nickname James had to live down
But that didn’t stop him from winning the crown
Niki Lauda survived the inferno at The Nurburgring
And amazingly came back, again to be king

Villeneuve of steel behind the Ferrari wheel
As engines scream and tyres squeal
Gilles was on the track when it all went black
In a fast lap speed trap and never came back

Ayrton Senna lived to drive and that’s how he died
Unless he was winning he was never satisfied
The San Marino weekend was such a tragedy
But the cause of his crash is still a mystery

In the Grand Prix circus, the ring of Formula One
With twists of the wrists the gladiators shone
It was death or glory in the most dangerous drives
But the power of the story cost so many lives

Lyndon Queripel

Sitting In A Bar At the Airport - Andrew Barham

Sitting in a bar at the airport –
Moody, melancholic day-dreaming bar
Taking me away from everything
As it draws it all into perspective
Waiting to see if I shall board the next flight
Out.

Been a while since I've sat in a bar
Contemplating the meaning of life over a pint of beer
While ogling a favoured waitress,
But nowadays they're all sports bars –
That ubiquitous telly staring down at one
From every possible point of vantage
Advertising sports, endlessly …

I hate sports – thugs in gaudy uniforms
Paid ridiculous sums of money
To knock a bit of rubber
Or an inflated bladder
About with their hands or their feet
Or batter it with sticks and bats
For the entertainment
Of beer-swilling couch potatoes.
It puts one off by focussing one's attention
On something utterly ephemeral and worthless;

Been too long since I had a drink at the airport,
Yet, I remember a time when we would never dream
Of going to the airport
To board a flight or see someone off
And not have a drink while we were there …

Andrew Barham

I Did It For You Mum - Shannon Shell

Do you know how scared I was?
All I wanted was to help you see justice brought.
I wanted to take it all back, say it wasn't true.
But I kept on going because I love you.

Do you know scared I was...sat at the bottom of those stairs?
But I got involved to try and stop your nightmares.
I hurt mentally...but you have the scars on show.

That morning the look on your face told me all I needed to know.
I'm crying inside but the tears you can't hold back.
Metal to your face...I heard your lip crack.
He denies it ever happened. Well the bastard is wrong.
Mum, I want you to know that I believed you all along.
You may have left me but I never believed a word he said.
Every time he walked into the room, I saw your face filled with dread.
You said you fell off the tandem, it sent a chill down my spine.
I realize now I am your world and you truly are mine.

I may only be a child but I understand your pain,
I'm your grown up daughter, pure as a drop of rain.
I feel a million miles away.
Your house is mine too and that's where I want to stay.
Every time that pig tried to break you down.
Just remember I’m the one still around.

Don't forget we're survivors, oh God that's so true.
Mum I just want you to know,
I did it for you.

Shannon Shell

October - Martyn Legg

October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?

I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.

This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?

October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?

Martyn Legg

Standby - Andrew Barham

Yet again, I go darkly into an uncertain future
That looms before me, threatening with challenges –
Each, an Everest without its guiding Sherpa;
Turbulent currents – the Future wildly plunges
Through deep canyons of fear and despair:
I know not how it will go as I begin
To set in motion this upheaval from my lair;
I can only enter these dark waters to sink or swim.

The relative calm of safe routine –
Relaxed in the stormy eye with each tomorrow
Ascertained beforetime as each day seen
Follows on from this time we borrow:
It matters not that I was not ready
To tear apart and rend asunder
This lulling peace and serene tranquility
To fly forth and into the raging storm blunder.

Andrew Barham

Acrobatic Poetry - Fred Williamson and Lester Queripel

The words leap off the page.
Onto the empty stage.
It’s the start of the show.
The ideas flow.

Words rain from my mind.
I juggle them into line.
Poetry prose and rhyme.
Easy to find.
Pumping from my brain.
Like an express train.

Words, like busy bees.
Like monkeys in the trees.
A wordy display.
A worthy array.
The show must go on.
There is no pause.
Even after the applause.

Fred Williamson and Lester Queripel

Save our Seas - Jenny Hamon

The crashing seas upon our shore
Bring flotsam and jetsam for us to endure
Because in these days of plastic packs
The sea just washes these things back.

A wander along the high tide mark
Exposes things jettisoned after dark.
A rubber shoe, some empty cans
Tossed over the wall from someone’s van.

Besides the local rubbish here
The sea returns things from yester year.
How long did the bottle take to float
Across the ocean, or thrown from a boat?

Fishing nets, a broken crab pot,
A bundle of rope tied in a knot
A fish tray and a bright red float
Washed over from a fishing boat.

The rubbish washed up from the deep
Are treasures we are forced to keep
As many years hence, everyone knows
These things will never decompose.

Maybe we must have a think
Before this rubbish is on the brink
Of taking over everything,
And killing the gifts the oceans bring.

Let’s keep the beaches as nature’s way
Or a terrible price we all will pay.
Teach future generations how to live
And to appreciate their heritage.

Jenny Hamon

Raven Rules - Andrew Barham

Canny old crow
I hear his wings
Beating against the sky
I can't see –
Otherwise,
The Forest is silent;
Ancient trees
Shrouded in moss
Which falls in tatters
From moss thickened limbs
Murmuring ancient wisdom to themselves:
I look up
Into the distant canopy
Hearing the Raven calling –
My camera
Set at 28, as wide an angle as it will go
Can't take it all in:
Tree trunks as wide
As a Silver Ghost is long;
Trees …
Moss …
Raven
Rules …

Andrew Barham

I’m Looking For A Minute - Lester Queripel

I’m looking for a minute I can never seem to find.
If I don’t find it soon I’m going to lose my mind.
I’ve looked everywhere for it and now I’m at my wits end.
If I don’t find that minute soon I’ll go around the bend.

I’ve looked under tables, I’ve looked under chairs.
I’ve even looked under other people’s affairs.
Maybe if I don’t try so hard it will suddenly appear.
Maybe it’ll come up and bite me in the rear.
Maybe it’s already here.

Or maybe it’s over there.
I’m starting to despair.
I’m getting in a real tizz.
Aaah look........................................................there it is.

Phew, what a relief.
It’s beyond belief.

But now that I’ve got it.................what am i going to do with it?
A nod’s as good as a wink, so give me a minute to think,
Then I’ll let you know.

Lester Queripel