All Summer Long - Steve Rowe

Sky and earth
where I dwell in circles turning
land of birth
air of breath in wind and curl
beneath the clouded heavens
furled
I make for water from the heath
to skim the surface
low beneath
the hills of bracken gorse
and sanded slopes
in coarse and sheltered dips
where we hid on weekends
watching ships
caress the edge of our seen world
while sunlight warmed our skin
and we gamed upon the dunes
our clan in faithful tunes
of common days
when all was well and still
and life was fresh
in youth and thrill
and simple to the core
from the valley to the shore
and when we ran
and chased and tagged and raced
in full energy
and leaped and jumped and twirled
like flags in the breeze
sending signals of our ease
shameless and careless
in earnest release
of joy and guileless peace
a ritual of our earthy song
encased in heaven's bliss
all summer long

Steve Rowe

Remembering Fred (Fred Williamson 1941 - 2017) - John Carré Buchanan

Fred wrote of very simple things
The things he'd seen, places he'd been
Monkeys dancing in the trees
Dolphins, sunsets, a cool breeze
He looked to be a frail old man
with weathered face and tattoo hands
but the smile he wore was strong
it made him stand out in a throng.
He wrote poems on paper scraps
and couldn't always read them back
but his wit, his smile, his zest for life
always made listening worthwhile.
Yes he wrote of very simple things
But Fred you got it right
you left a world a better place
because you helped show the light.
I'll remember you
through some words you wrote;
for you "walked the land with head held high
With dignity purpose and pride
We value you for who you were
and what you were inside." *

John Carré Buchanan

*Inside - Lester Queripel and Fred Williamson

Brought You Onions - Adam Clayton

I brought you onions in my backpack
Sifting through those dry skin pickings
Felt like building our rickety shack
While the sun shines in through beetroot fittings
I picked four pound of pendulous pears
Hung up/lightbulb-ing by the back wall
Our love grows up through minute tears
It’s like this fruit tree – 9 foot tall
We’ll make you jam and chutney too
Not just to share but to give your family
Don’t care if they don’t know who grew
These plants or who it is that owns the tree
I’ll bring you melons and cucumbers out the span
They hang down, engorging daily in the sun
Like this joy, which grows according to plan
Apple, from the day we met you were the one

Adam Clayton

Testament - Richard Fleming

Forget the florid words
and speak in language, commonplace,
of what our brief connection made
of us, our lives, how we were changed.

As for myself, I am enhanced.
For you, perhaps the same is true.
I only know a better man
emerged: a testament to you.

Richard Fleming

A Study, Oil on Canvas (1970) - Julian Clarke

Bohemian, in her semi-nude pose,
Dunhill cigarette impatiently burns
Belying loves truth of white petal rose.

Art of capriciousness in amber eyes
Captures spirit like dancing fireflies,

Lying abandoned, Pucci’s Capri pants,
A chiffon scarf her modesty covered in scant.

Of course her playfulness be cast in part
Cold Excalibur, drawn, pricks crimson heart.

Poets scribe her in gilded lily prose.
Enigmatically the painter flourished
Blood red, on lips, thorn of Baccara rose.

Julian Clarke

Nature - Tony Gardner

It's a wonderful day
with the sun smiling down
Warm breeze tickling leaves
with a soft happy sound
And the tinkling of water
gurgling along
In sweet harmony with
the Lark's joyous song
I know that I'm lucky
and I look forward to
The daybreak each morning
empty and new
When I see by the trees
if the wind's cruel or kind
If the moody old sun
will hide or will shine
Guess I can't hide it,
I'm an old Country boy
And far from the city
is what I enjoy
But I've seen so many
Summers and Springs
Wonder how many more
will this old Life bring
I've been a good boy,
well as far as I could
Slipped a few times
as anyone would
But we all have our time,
and Nature's not Fair
Some have more,
and some less than their share.

Tony Gardner

The Young, The Very Beautiful - Owen Monie

The young, the very beautiful, on days
when sunshine warms the tide-washed azure bays
they make their own,
stride on the sands like emperors of old,
utterly fearless, confident and bold
yet not full grown

nor yet past youth and beauty as we are,
who sit and watch them from our little car
which rarely starts,
with each a bag of chips upon our knee
and battered fish (with extra salt for me)
and aching hearts.

Owen Monie

Les Bourgs Hospice: Angels? - Trudie Shannon

I have read and I have heard
About the ‘angels’ who care for those in the hospice.
I have met and shared with them, these ‘angels’
But never saw a golden wing or glowing halo
Never heard celestial voices singing in the corridors
Never caught a glimpse of heavenly perfection.
But each day I did see, did share, did live
With real, tangible people, diverse and individual
Who in their every word and action
Expressed the absolute beauty of true humanity.
To be referred to as angels is the ultimate tribute I guess
But to me conjures images of intangible figures adrift in the sky.
I’d rather see the mother, the wife, the child, the sister
Whose feet get tired, whose shoes get worn
Whose hearts ache, who have meals to cook, clothes to wash
Kids to get off to school, parents to care for, friends to laugh with
Who eat, sleep, cry, hurt, dance, sing, play, fall, and love
And love enough, to share with strangers, their quiet compassion.

Trudie Shannon