Sorry Situation - Ian Duquemin

There ain't no point denying, I ain't lying
That our love affair was real
Or how could I explain, this kinda pain
That's how a broken heart should feel
If I can't sleep at night, or hold you tight
It never was infatuation
I wait here all alone, for you to phone
And that's a sorry situation

I never thought you'd go, so you should know
That wasn't ever my intention
And if I made you cry, then say goodbye
I guess that I forgot to mention
That I'm in love with you, I thought you knew
I was as stupid as a fool could be
Now I'm longing for the kiss, I've come to miss
So won't you please come home and back to me

If you should stay away, another day
You know I'd understand your reasons
But not to have you here, is like a year
Without its ever changing seasons
The rain would fall all day, and come what may
There wouldn't be your inspiration
These words to you I send, in hope to end
This sad and sorry situation

Ian Duquemin

I Used To Be Indecisive But Now I’m Not So Sure - Lyndon Queripel

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve
If only there had been time to spare
But now it seems all lost in my dreams
And so instead I’m banging my head
Against the brick wall of it all

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve
Given my heart right from the start
And cast shadows out of my own doubt
If what I know now I’d somehow known then
Would I just make the same mistake again?

Lyndon Queripel

Mona Lisa’s Cat - Richard Fleming

Mona Lisa had a black cat
that was darkly charismatic.
It was taciturn, aloof,
haughty and aristocratic.

Yet, despite this, Mona loved it:
she would sit for hours, content,
in its enigmatic presence,
wondering what its strange smile meant.

Richard Fleming

Gardener’s Question Time - Edgar Allan Poet

The garden is magnificent:
the fruit trees pruned, all hedges trimmed.
Hours, countless hours, you must have spent
in keeping every lawn-edge strimmed.
Where do you get the energy?
It is a mystery to me.

Oh, I don’t manage on my own:
I keep some zombies in the shed.
They work all day and never moan
for, after all, they are Undead.
I feed them cats to keep them mild
and now and then a neighbour’s child.

That rose bush, too, is wonderful.
Do you use chemicals or what?
The answer is immensely dull:
nutrition from organic rot.
Think of the rose bush as a wreath.
The postman’s buried underneath.

Edgar Allan Poet

Strange Crud - Kathy Figueroa

A lump of crud on the wall
One morning, I did see,
So I paused to have a better look
To ponder what it could be.

How, when, or from whence it came?
Such questions left me perplexed -
And its incongruous placement
Left me feeling vexed.

Was it something a sneaky, agile
Incontinent mouse had left behind?
Or a type of fungal growth
Which, on the ground, you often find?

I called my knowledgeable partner
To have a look at the strange goo
And… slowly… leaned… in… closer…
For a better view -

As he prepared to remove
This odd addition to the décor,
By deftly, with his finger,
Flicking it to the floor.

From time immemorial,
Humans have existed with critters
And survival instincts dictate
Some will give us the jitters.

Others will make us tremble,
Or even faint from fear.
There are those so abominable
That your sensibilities they sear.

Herewith, I share with others
The hard won wisdom I’ve accrued
Through this experience, which
Was weird and kind of rude:

If you encounter strange crud
It’s best to avoid it and go on your way
…Lest it’s a humongous, springing spider
Slyly curled up waiting for unsuspecting prey….

Kathy Figueroa

Guernseymen Wear Shorts - Diane Scantlebury

Guernseymen wear shorts all year,
Guernseymen are hard
And they don’t care,
Even if the rest of us
Think they’re insane,
They’ll wear their shorts
Come snow or rain,

Whether there’s a gale
Or cool summer breeze,
They’ll be wearing shorts
And bare their knobbly knees,
No matter what the occasion
Or if the going’s rough,
Guernseymen’ll wear their shorts
Guernseymen are tough!

Diane Scantlebury

Writer's Block - Tony Gardner

It's been about a week or so
Since I sat down to write a line
I've been so busy, had no thought
No inspiration, or no time
So I have made some room tonight
In the study, all alone
To clear my mind, call for my Muse
Helped by a little Côtes du Rhône
It's all in vain for nothing comes
I've got a Writer's Block it seems
I'll walk tomorrow in the woods
And maybe there re-capture dreams

Then with my mind alive, ablaze
I shall write verses to amaze

Tony Gardner

The Catioroc Witches - Oscar Milde

Dancing at La Catioroc,
Nell and Dolly, Maud and Alice,
skipping, one rock to the next rock,
sniggering with joyous malice.
Three old witches, laying curses,
incantations, spells and verses.

To invoke their evil Master,
they gyrate and prance at midnight.
Not a stitch on, twirling faster,
ever faster, in the moonlight.
Three fat witches, chanting, smirking,
never guessing who is lurking.

Old Man Ozanne, not the Devil,
in the bushes, drunk and manic,
thinks to join their naked revel
but he causes them to panic.
With appalling shrieks of No, No!
they flee all the way to Cobo.

Oscar Milde

Living On A String - Tony Bradley

It’s ironic, when I look back
how reckless I’ve been
when I think of all the danger
and tragedies I’ve seen.

I wince now, when I think
then, I just wasn’t seeing
everyday I was risking
my very life, my being.

Now I’m much older,and
with a few frail years left
my life’s on a string
that’s soon to be cleft.

Tony Bradley