Leg Of Lamb - J. Archer Avary

all I wanted
was to win
the leg of lamb
at the Saturday
meat draw
I rushed to the pub
after work
bought two strips
from the ticket man
and listened
for my numbers

the leg of lamb is
always the first to go
then the beef joint
then the gammon
then the steaks
then the whole chicken
with sausages
until the only thing left
is a package of Chinese
chicken drumsticks
then it disappears
and I feel like a loser

all I wanted
was to win the
leg of lamb
to win something
anything
so I went to the pub
next door
where numbers
are now on sale
for the next meat draw

J. Archer Avary

Making Your Mind Up - Becky Hall

A numerous, moment by moment, daily ritual,
automatic, or considered
decisions are personal;
stamped as our own.

Truth can be in short supply
when revealed, could be denied,
presumptions we must set aside
let facts, not rumours, in our minds, reside.
Whispered in our ears
played out before our eyes,
lies acquire a myriad of disguise
lurking in our peripheral vision
intention; to cause division.

What then should we do
when faced with a decision or two?
let our moral compass guide,
be willing to listen to another view,
don't just accept; question,
information accumulate-diverse providers assimilate,
we may find the track of truth arrives at an unexpected destination
delivers us to a different platform,
after making our mind up.

Becky Hall

Armistice Day, France - Trudie Shannon

Armistice Day
And the café is two thirds empty.
Vacant seats that evoke images
Of men unknown
Who drank coffee, made love, fathered children
Teased their siblings, loved their fathers, idolised their mothers.
Unknown and faceless here and now
Yet these empty seats exude their presence somehow.
Their voices infiltrate the conversation and the music,
Their invisible footprints leave muddy trails upon the floor
And the dank smell of their unwashed bodies and uniforms
Permeates the air and outside there is a
Staccato rhythm to the silence.
It is not raining.
It is not nighttime
But there are ghosts, drifting hopeful
Around these empty tables, these vacant chairs.
And suddenly in isolation, tears cascade into my cup.

Trudie Shannon

R.I.P. Sean Connery 1930 - 2020 - Anon.

Dr No was first to go
then Blofeld followed after,
now they are joined by Bond, James Bond,
there in the Great Hereafter.

Sean Connery, AKA Bond,
the very first back in Year Dot,
has left us shaken also stirred.
He was the best Bond of the lot.

Anon.

Tunnel Vision - Donald Keyman

King Gavin has been banished from the palace
For refusing to accept the poison chalice
For he and wise old Soulsby knew
That the virus would still get through
Brought in by people who are exempt
Who treat the rules with pure contempt
The essential worker back from holiday
Has an unwanted souvenir of their stay
Just like Carter’s mummy’s curse
But this one’s real and much worse
Questions need to be answered quick
Before the rest of us all get sick
The silence smacks of cover up
Are they waiting for the penny to drop
That the reason more people might die
Is the businessman in his suit and tie?

Donald Keyman

Anthem For Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
---Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,---
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen

This item is from The First World War Poetry Digital Archive, University of Oxford (www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit);
© Copyright The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted.

The Old Soak - Tony Bradley

I bath several times a week
I’m a hygienic bloke
okay, at least twice
I have a good soak.

With my bad balance
I can’t stand for a shower
I like a nice, long bath
well, more than a hour.

It’s the best place for my poems, too
‘cos my mind always becomes clearer
with a cup of coffee, my recent buzzwords
and a big slice of Madeira.

Occasionally, I’ve even dropped off to sleep
it’s all steamed up, the mirror’s gone foggy
the coffee’s spilt, and my fledgeling poems
are like the slice of Madeira . . . a little bit soggy.

Tony Bradley

My Dog's Plea on Bonfire Night - Tony Gardner

Shivering and frightened
nowhere to find safety
Stay by me Daddy
As strong as a stone
There's lots more of those
Loud bangs and hisses
Won't they ever stop
And leave me alone
It used to be one night
That we burnt the Budloe
But now it spreads long past
Traditions we’ve known
A one night remembrance
Of something so joyful
Has turned into something
Wild, loud and so awful
So stay by me Daddy
Until it's all gone.

Tony Gardner

Junk Food Addict - Diane Scantlebury

‘Mine’s a pint’
She’ll order it without thinking,
The irony is
She shouldn’t be drinking,
Later at the chippy
She’ll order a large fish
With extra-large fries,
Her belly’s grown bigger
And so have her eyes,
She’ll swear that chocolate bars
Have got smaller,
A sad downward trend of late,
Perhaps she’ll buy two
To compensate,

They’ll be stashed
In the top cupboard
With the other guilty treats,
The crisps, cakes, pop and biscuits,
The celebration sweets,
Emergency supplies to supplement
What she thinks is the meagre
Diet of a rabbit,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit,

She’s surrounded
By media pressure
To be fit, to be healthy,
But she can’t afford the fancy food
Of the privileged and wealthy,
When there’s a takeaway on every corner
Maximizing temptation,
Limiting her choices,
To a junk food addict these outlets
Have seductive, louder voices,

Just one more won’t hurt
She’s no longer thinking,
If there’s two for one she’ll grab it,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit.

Diane Scantlebury