Something Changed - Lyndon Queripel

Something changed
I don’t know why
I don’t know where or when
Something changed
I don’t know how
But it was different then

Something changed
I don’t know what
But I know it’s true
Something changed
It’s not the same
Was it me or was it you ?

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - geralt

Christmas Toys - Edwin C. Ranck

Say, I like toys,
    Christmas toys.
Remember when we were boys
    Long ago?
Then you were a kid
    Not a beau.
And on Christmas Day,
    Oh, say,
We got up in the dark
    And had a jolly lark
Round the fire.
    The cold air was shocking
As we peeped in our stocking--
    And, way down in the toe,
Now say this is so--
    Dad placed a dollar.
Made me holler.
    Yes, sirree,

They were good to me.
    Remember Jim?
Mean trick I did him.
    You know Jim was surly?
Well I got up early
    Took his dollar out,
And put a rock
    In his sock.
Gee, he was mad,
    Went and told dad;
But dad he just laughed
    And said:
Might's well be dead
    If you couldn't have fun.
Then for spite,
    I kept that dollar 'til night.
Funny, seein' these toys
    Made me think of us boys.
But now, Gee!
    Christmas ain't like it used to be.

Edwin C. Ranck

Image : Pixabay - rosecoutre0

Christmas - Sir Walter Scott

The glowing censers, and their rich perfume;
The splendid vestments, and the sounding choir;
The gentle sigh of soul-subduing piety;
The alms which open-hearted charity
Bestows, with kindly glance; and those
Which e'en stern avarice.
Though with unwilling hand,
Seems forced to tender; an offering sweet
To the bright throne of mercy; mark
This day a festival.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had roll'd,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all its hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night.
On Christmas eve the bells were rung,
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;
That only night in all the year
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donn'd her Kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress'd with holly green;
Then open'd wide the baron's hall,
To vassal, tenant, serf and all:
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And ceremony doff'd his pride.
All hail'd with uncontroll'd delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

Sir Walter Scott

Image : Pixabay - Myriams-Fotos

Ten Days Before Christmas 2021 - Kathy Figueroa

'Twas ten days before Christmas
The weather was drear
And people in Canada
Were experiencing fear
 
A sense of gloom
Was felt everywhere
As Virus Omicron
Hung in the air
 
New government restrictions
Took more rights away
And the pandemic made everyone
Fretful, not gay
 
People socially distanced
They stayed well apart
And the strain on their lives
Made an ache in their heart
 
There wasn’t a lot
That filled folks with joy
It seemed daily news
Was designed to annoy
 
The media blared
That predictions were bleak
And a third booster shot
Was what jabbed folks should seek
 
For the virus multiplied
Incredibly fast
And it looked like forever
The pandemic would last
 
So over the season
Was cast a pall
And people didn’t feel
Very merry at all
 
Businesses floundered
Money was tight
As the pandemic’s end
Was nowhere in sight
 
Prices went up
People were concerned
Things started to cost
Much more than folks earned
 
Breakups and suicides
Were on the rise
Propaganda spread facts
But some were shown to be lies
 
It was a time without merriment
Without social life, without mirth
A time to make you worry
About man’s fate on this Earth
 
People began to wonder
“How will this end?”
It was like humanity
Needed a friend
 
But as Christmas Day
Drew nearer and nearer
The true reason to celebrate
Became clearer and clearer
 
It wasn’t about presents
Parties and food
It was more about
Heartfelt gratitude
 
It was about faith
And miracles wrought
About good news for man
That Jesus Christ brought
 
A way to ease
Burdens of the soul
A way to make
Broken spirits whole
 
So we celebrate
His compassion and caring
His way of life
Of kind deeds and sharing
 
Though times are rough
And, of the virus, we’re fearful
Remembering “the reason for the season”
Will help us feel cheerful!
 
No matter the race
Culture, or creed
Good news is something
That we ALL need

Kathy Figueroa

Image : Pixabay - GlauchauCity

Confession To A Murder - Donald Keyman

To a woodland glade 
with a brand new spade 
in the middle of the night
I know that it’s not right
I’ve claimed one more
I’m beyond the law
You better stop me soon
From playing my tune
But maybe it’s too late
Here comes the middle eight
There’s a deadly toll
In that grassy knoll 
They’re beside the tracks
I’m hazy on the facts
But you did your best
It’s lucky I confessed

Donald Keyman

Image : Pixabay - jarmoluk

The System - Ian Duquemin

The warning signs were in his eyes
The pain was locked away inside
His body beaten black and blue
From every punch his parents threw 
And yet not one reached out to him 
The evidence was on his skin
His fear so obvious to see
A short life spent in agony 
Locked away alone to cry
Yet no one ever wondered why? 
No food or toys. No time to play
No bed for him to sleep and lay
No one rang the warning bell
To save this child from living hell
To wrap him in a caring arm
And keep him safe from any harm
"The system" let this poor boy die
Of that "The system" can't deny
How many more will die the same? 
And you "The system" still to blame
These children, they depend on you 
To see things from a child's view 
To hear the things they need to say
Not leave them there, and turn away
Another victim of abuse 
"The system" there is no excuse 
So hang your sorry head in shame
Admit that you were too to blame
You left him there to die alone
Hell for him, was in his home 
You listened to his parents lies 
But missed the truth within his eyes

Ian Duquemin

Image : Pixabay - geralt

Sons - Richard Fleming

On a yellowed flyleaf, half a century ago,
my mother wrote to say Birthday Wishes
and Mum, that name that buries self away.
I was her firstborn, headstrong, loving,
exuberant, wilfully astray.
My childhood fears, unbidden tears,
the small, lost battles of the day,
she dissipated in her arms.
My daughter holds her sons that way.

Richard Fleming

Image : Pixabay - VaniaRaposo

Belief - Tony Gardner

Tim  was  only  6  years  old
But he'd  heard  schoolfriends  say
That  Father  Christmas  wasn't  real
And  didn't  drive  a   sleigh.
That  Rudolph  was a  fairy  tale
Elves,  just   imagination
But  Timmy  knew  that  they  were  wrong
And  he  had  confirmation
For  just  last  year  he'd  seen  them  all
The  reindeer  and  the  elf
He'd  sat  on  Santa's  lap  and  asked
For  more  than  just  himself.
He  asked  that  Mum and  Dad  might  stop
The  arguing  and  fighting
And  be  just  as  they  used  to  be
Loving  and   inspiring
Santa  heard, and  so   this  year
Is  beautiful and  gay
So   Tim  believes  in  Santa  Claus
No  matter  what  they  say.

Tony Gardner


Image : Pixabay - mohamed_hassan

It’s Irksome - Diana Pritchard

this shadow that follows
cancels out my moves
taunts and teases
traces my extremities
from my nose to my toes
making out that I lie
like poor Pinocchio
I’m no Narcissus
seeking self-reflection
I have no beauty
but see my ageing mother
in all the windows
so have no need of shadow.

Diana Pritchard

This is an Ekphrastic poem based on a painting of an Indonesian Shadow Puppet - Kresna, Wayang Kulit Purwa, Central Java.

Image : Nurmalinda Maharfar Wikipedia

I Think Just How My Shape Will Rise - Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

I think just how my shape will rise
When I shall be forgiven,
Till hair and eyes and timid head
Are out of sight, in heaven.

I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late, consider me,
The sparrow of your care.

I mind me that of anguish sent,
Some drifts were moved away
Before my simple bosom broke, --
And why not this, if they?

And so, until delirious borne
I con that thing, -- "forgiven," --
Till with long fright and longer trust
I drop my heart, unshriven!

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Image : Pixabay - Darkmoon_Art

Another Island - Stephen A. Roberts

I grew up on another island
With the mackerel man and his evening shouts
Down quiet roads we rode our steeds 
Through the gorse and fern-swathed land
To the beaches pure and empty
And the smell of sea-washed sand

The past is another island
Sepia toned and fishy boned
Limpet mines and limpet crabs
Winkles in a canvas bag
Doors unlocked
Ships on the rocks
Craning in at the
Old White Rock

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Copyright Pete Davies

Think - Kathy Figueroa

Think of how much better society would be today
If all of those young men hadn't died in such a brutal way
Think of the advancements in humanities and science
If, to deadly conflict, the world had expressed defiance
Surely, there must be nonviolent ways to “settle old scores”
Or curtail tyranny, than to engage in endless wars
If only humanity’s feral instincts could be tamed
And mankind’s noblest higher qualities were what remained

Kathy Figueroa

November 11, 2021 Lest we forget

Lost Paradise - Lyndon Queripel

The vandal of the scandal
The villain of the piece
Flying off the handle
With friends and enemies
From pillar to post
And light to shade
The ghost that hurts most
Is the one that’s betrayed
By a kiss, a broken promise
Denied, tried and finally died
Like a lamb, a sacrifice
The price of lost paradise.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - 4222320

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.

Moth to a Flame - Ian Duquemin

I'm drawn to you… 
Like a moth to a flame 
You set fire to my wings, all over again 
Broken, I spiral, and crash to the floor 
But you help me back up, just to burn me some more 

I come to you… 
Like a moth to a flame 
Knowing this glow, will bring pleasure and pain
Your light, inferno. The passion in you
To burn in your flame, I am honoured to do 

Ian Duquemin


Image : Pixabay - Josch13/Hans

Icarus - Richard Fleming

I am falling from high
but they do not notice.

The air, through wings
that promised much,
keens like a mourner.

Creeping ants below
evolve
to shepherd, ploughman, angler.

I fall unseen.

Someone
will dream it later.

I have no time
to scream.

The water is
hard as stone.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969

Eco Meeting - Donald Keyman

St Greta of Thunberg 
Stared cold as an iceberg 
At the men in suits 
Who didn’t give two hoots  
About the eco crisis 
Any more than Isis 
Harangued by a minor 
Who didn’t mention China 
They dug in their heels  
Against her childish squeals 
Built more cars and sealed 
Fossil burning deals 
And, way out east 
Launched a coal-fired beast 

Donald Keyman


Image : Pixabay - tiburi

Standing Up - Tony Gardner

I   miss  my  younger,  fitter  self,  with  aches  and  pains  unknown
Maturity's  crept  up  on  me,  my  youth  has  long  since  flown
There's  much  I  can  no  longer  do like  drinking  all  night  long
Or  pulling  in  the  Tug of War, to  the  beat  of  Rugby  songs.
It's  simple  things  that  I  miss  most, like  picnics  with  some  friends
In  meadows  where  the  grass  would  tease my bare  feet  and  finger-ends.
I'd  lay  full  length  in  soft,  green  grass,  in  Eden's  Fields  I'd  reign
If  I  lay  there  today  I  doubt  I  could  stand  up  again.

Tony  Gardner


Image : Pixabay - Fotorech

Open Mic Evening - Tuesday 2nd November 2021- Cancelled

Open Mic Evening - Cancelled

Unfortunately the Café cannot host us this month.

We hope we will see you on the 7th December.

Cop Show Revisited - Joan Etoile

There's always a sexual tension 
Between TV coppers on the force 
But I'm not sure that I noticed it 
Between Sergeant Lewis and Inspector Morse 

Cagney and Lacey, Starsky and Hutch 
All loved themselves far too much 
Who loves ya baby Kojak said 
Then took his lollipop off to bed 

Romantic interest Columbo lacked 
And never got to remove his mac 
Naughtiness was never allowed 
For Chiefs Ironside and McCloud 

Today though, anything goes 
In the latest TV cop shows 
No traditional heists or busts 
Just endless tales of perverted lust 

Joan Etoile

Image : Pixabay - geralt

Lemmings - John E Blaise

He is in a queue a line of people.
No end in sight like a slow meandering river.
Dusty path sweltering heat sore feet.
Vultures ride thermals in the cloudless skies,
Below the humming buzzing flies,
The distant unknown creature cries.
Shuffle forward zombie like for hours and hours.
No end in sight no tunnel no light
Walk forward onwards in a trance.
Avoid the quicksand try to make a stance.
Some of the people wear masks or veils.
Bloodshot hollow staring eyes.
Snake like the line winds and moves.
Towards the final destination.
Shuffle forward zombie like for hours and hours.
Will there be sweet times peace and solace.
Is this the path to happiness.
Life's elixir,nirvana arcadia,Avalon Shangri -la
Is it close how far.
Time to contemplate reminisce remember.
How important and significant life has been.
He has arrived now all can be seen.
There is nothing nothing nothing nothing.

John E Blaise


Image : Pixabay - janeb13

Rodents - Diana Pritchard

A rodent is a creature who endures
a never-ending need to chew and gnaw.
Incisors growing constantly ensures
a strong developmental, ageless jaw.
A squirrel with a bushy tail must chomp
through gathered nuts from oak or pine or beech
while beavers busy making dams leave stumps
of trees they fell with axe-like accuracy.
They build their cosy lodge above their lake
while mice move into homes of someone else
and scratch at night to keep us all awake
and raid the larder leaving signs and smells.
It’s rampant rats we fear the most, it seems,
who find their way into our dreaded dreams.

Diana Pritchard


Image : Pixabay - Glavo

My Cat Yorick - Oscar Milde

Came home last night the worse for drink
and didn’t really pause to think.
Opened the window, popped the cat
outside to do its this and that.
Awoke this morning, shocking head,
tongue like sandpaper, full of dread.
My tower-block flat’s ten stories high
Alas, poor Yorick. Cats can’t fly.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - SarahRichterArt

A Little Knowledge Is A Dangerous Thing - Lyndon Queripel

Do you know where we are
Can you count every star
With your naked eye
Do you know the way to go
Can you stop the acid rain
Falling from the red sky
Do you know if it’s a dream
A white vision of light
Or a flight of fantasy
Do you know the key
Is this life a mystery
A soul dance with destiny.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - PatoLenin

Daddy Long Legs - Stephen A. Roberts

Hey there, Daddio 
clinging to the window  
craning in to see  
where to leave your progeny 
I admire the symmetry  
of your elegant fragility 
with the waning of the sun 
you know your summer’s done 
are our autumns just the same 
staring through the pane? 

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Stephen A. Roberts

Screaming Bees - Ian Duquemin

No angels came to greet me, only darkness 
Swarms of screaming bees had filled my mind 
Everything so black… Much like an ocean 
Drowning… I was motionless and blind
Strip lights flashing, in and out of focus 
Panicked voices, calling out my name
Every silent breath, a breath of struggle 
Numb from any feeling, or the pain 
No blinding light or doorway, lay ahead of me
No healing hand, or whispers of concern 
Nothing, but the sound of angry insects 
Breaking free to summon my return
I opened up my eyes, in some confusion 
Everything so sterile, white and clean 
Had I simply drifted here, from out of nowhere? 
A place the living never should have been
Fragile as a man of many ages
Nothing making any sense at all 
Left wondering… If I should ask forgiveness? 
Yet knowing that no one would hear my call
In life I wasn't worth the gift of living 
Yet even death refused to welcome me
And so I just drifted, through this life of wonder 
Where through the darkness, I had learned to see

Ian Duquemin

Image : downgraf.com - Pierre Alain D

Dark Nectar - Tony Gardner

Through  soft  September's  early  morning  mists
I  sally  forth  in  sturdy  thorn-proof  clothes
To  face  the  prickly  blackthorn  which  resists
My quest  to  reap  her  lovely  blue-black  sloes.
Soon  I'm  homeward bound  with  hard  won  prize
The  sun  breaks  through,  a  bird  sings  merrily.
But  now  it's  time  for  work  and  methods  wise
To  tell  and  mix  the  ancient  recipe;
 
       "Pick  and  prick  the  purple  berries,
       add  the  sugar  and  the  gin.
       Then  the  almonds,  not  too  many,
       seal  it,  let  all  soak  in."
 
For  months  it's left  until  at  Christmas time 
With  carols  sung  and  turkey  eaten,  then
Before  the  fire,  our  glasses  we  all  prime
With  dark  old  nectar  sweet,  -  our  own  Sloe  Gin.

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - LaMaLaMa55

Bad Sports - Donald Keyman

They’ll take the knee but not the needle
As on the pitch they whine and wheedle
They like to think that they’re the best
Above being jabbed like all the rest

A vaccination ref? - it’s so unfair
I’d rather go and style my hair
I’ve no time to get that appointment in
I’m gonna take my Bentley for a spin

With everything that we have learned
You’d think that they would be concerned
About the deadly threat of the viral strain
When a gentle tap has them writhing in pain

Donald Keyman


Image : Pixabay - shauking

Recluse - Richard Fleming

All scattered to the winds and ways,
like blushing cherry blossom blown,
the friends, he knew when not full-grown,
have vanished from his elder days.
The carelessness of childhood meant
that friendships were a thing to find
then let escape. No contract signed.
No deal. A currency unspent.
If friendships had been coins or gold,
he might have locked inside a cage
all he had gathered to assuage
the loneliness of growing old.

Richard Fleming

Image : Pixabay - michaelform

Immortality Is Overrated - Lyndon Queripel

I tried to write a poem
About how I’d like to be remembered
Well believe me I tried
But all I could think of was
I’d like to be remembered as
The man who never died
But there again you see
Who would remember me
If I just lived on
And you and everyone
That I knew too
Would all be gone ?

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - Juhele

Head Space - Diane Scantlebury

Cooped up together,
We bicker,
We snap,
We cry,
No reason why,
There’s no space,
No place,
For our thoughts,
We laze,
In bed
Too long,
Without purpose,
No need to rise
We close our eyes,
Every hour
Merges seamlessly
Into the next,
Without plans,
Without dreams,
Nothing’s achieved,
And the day passes
At a pace,
When there’s no space,
No place,
For our thoughts.

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Pixabay - mohamed_hassan

People - Sarah Alexander

We are miracles of creation, supposedly in God’s image
We have evolved over the millennia to become the dominant species
From the golden age of Athens to the imperialism of Rome
We have created creeds, cults and deities
To satisfy our needs and wants

We have built monuments in stone to last for all eternity
Paintings and words so inspirational they span the centuries
We have invented instruments to torture, weapons of destruction
Given guns into the hands of children
And slaughtered without a conscience

We are lovers, we are killers
We are passionate, we are demonic
But the worst crime of humanity is the raping of this planet

Sarah Alexander

Image : Pixabay - byrev

September 11th 2001 New York - Theresa Le Flem

American flags hang dismally
like forgotten laundry slung across balconies
dirty and betrayed
A grey skin of steam
plumes by the Hudson River
It echoes the smoke in our memory
Something to fill the gap
Where the twin towers stood like brothers
proud against the skyline
mothers search for sons
There is no looking
only seeing, disbelieving

American flags in tatters torn
like skin like someone waving at the moon
It’s so unreachable untouchable
this enemy of life
No amount of kindness or forgiveness
seems enough

When hate itself becomes the sword
that pierces every word and thought
What can dilute the poison draught?
Who can achieve a goal in life
if death itself is the task?

Two cylinders of buildings
where people starting work
carrying coffee, filing letters
are ignited by a spark
Death such as this
makes history itself unworthy
of the task of recording
so many lives lost senselessly

We have this hole in Manhattan to fill
It aches, it kills us still
they all belonged to us you see
now we’re loosed from it
but we don’t feel free
Our question lies uncomfortably
Why not me?
Why not me?


Image : Pixabay - Armelion

From Theresa Le Flem's collection 'Meet Me at Low Tide' available here.

Romance - Oscar Milde

Young love’s romantic that’s for sure
it’s dewy-eyed, intense and pure,
emotional to wild extremes,
hot-blooded too, the stuff of dreams.

Old love is different, of course
it’s like a voice that has gone hoarse
from too much talking. Old love must
celebrate contentment, trust. 

Oscar Milde


Image : Pixabay - sabinevanerp

O Shining One - Ian Duquemin

How you have fallen, O shining one
When once like a star you so beautifully shone
Son of the morning, from heaven you fell
To dwell in the darkness, and fires of hell
Lucifer, you were the bringer of light
Angelical Venus that burned in the night
Rebellious angel, who tried to save Man
And alter the wrath of a heavenly plan

Ian Duquemin

Image : An engraving by Gustave Dore from Milton's 'Paradise Lost'. (Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

Cell By Date - Lyndon Queripel

There was a strange fellow called Queripel
Whose driving was really so terrible
When a police car gave chase
He thought it was a race
Now he’s driving up the walls of a prison cell.

Lyndon Queripel


Image : Pixabay - diegoparra

Rock Star - Stephen A. Roberts

The troubled rock star pours out his heart,
How he’s suffered for his art
The unwilling victim of every tart
Who set eyes on having a part
A dime store cashier before his fame
He no longer wants the game
Tired of playing the same old song
He doesn’t know where it went wrong
The 3 chord anthems that he wrote
No longer float his sinking boat
He doesn’t miss his youthful curls
The tours, the pools, or the girls
He craves a simple quiet life
With a youngish, caring wife
Perhaps a farm in the rural hills
Away from spliffs and coke and pills
But you can bet your bottom dollar
That a comeback album will surely follow
When the royalties are running thin
His CDs in the remainder bin
He’ll be back just wait and see
Except that now it’ll be on daytime TV
Talking to Eamonn, Piers et al
About his new stuff, his new normal
A mellow thoughtful cleaner sound
Rooted in his new found ground
They’ll politely hear him out
Before they mention that drinking bout
In a seedy Parisian brothel bar
Before he crashed the drummer’s car
After the hotel trashing in Tokyo
Into the gambling den in old Soho
He’ll laugh to hear these trotted out
Those stories booze had blotted out
He’ll disown those bad boy years
Comparisons with Britney Spears
Trying not to flip his lid
He wonders “who am I trying to kid?”

Stephen A. Roberts


Image : Pixabay - kalhh

Ratty - Joan Etoile

Oh dear, dear Ratty
Cried a distraught Toad
Why ever did you have to
Cross the road?

An electric car
The whispering death
Was the reason that you took
Your last breath

No more tales from the riverbank
Sitting under the weeping willow
Rattus in peace, old chap
On your tarmac pillow

Joan Etoile

Image : Joan Etoile

Revenge - Richard Fleming

Perhaps there is an explanation, dear,
but you’re not here to set my mind at rest.
Death puts a stop to questions, so I fear
this one must stay unanswered or addressed.
Among your things I found a photograph:
it must be recent, you look hardly changed.
A stranger smiles beside you as you laugh,
your hair and solemn features disarranged.
In looking closer I can ascertain
you two are linked: there is a recklessness
about your pose, while he is cool, urbane.
It pains me so, this photograph, and yes,
our marriage wasn’t perfect: I would stray,
but, posthumously, you’ve made sure I pay.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - Free-Photos

Sanctuary - Diane Scantlebury

In the dreary shadows
Of the snug they lurk,
Haunting the establishment
Without their wives,
The lonely, disillusioned, disconnected,
Dissatisfied with their daily lives,
Happier in the company of like-minded others
They grumble as they drown their sorrow,
Darker their mood slips
With every sip, every swallow,
As deeper into the mud
Of their misery they wallow,
And contrary to the myth
Where home’s their comfort and hub,
They find blissful sanctuary
In a pint down the pub.

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Guernseypoets

Hope - Sarah Alexander

I am old now
My eyes peer out from wrinkled flaps of skin
Age bleached in a crumpled canvas

The sisters tend me silently
Bringing with them the coldness of hours spent in solitary prayer
I have walked this earth for centuries
My penance for robbing its innocence

Long ago I danced with my sisters, our feet
bruising the grass, our voices raised to celebrate the passing of the seasons
A time gone by
When we found truth in the stars and sky

But a multitude of voices called to me, plaintive and gilded with honey
I listened. I reached out a hand and in a moment the casket was emptied

None but I now bear witness to the plague unleashed
That has crushed our souls, buried our children and twisted our thoughts ever since
Then in the midst a single voice spoke
It said let me out sister for I am Hope

A small winged creature whiter than foam on the sea brushed my cheek gently and drifted away
I am Hope - look to me in your darkness and pain
I see your sorrow. I know your name.

So I wait now, my spirit housed in this tattered shroud
I wait for Hope to return, give me peace and light my way home.

Sarah Alexander


Image : Pixabay - Sinousxl

Mound - Donald Keyman

They built that mound in London Town
For the traffic to drive around
Resembling a power station made of peat
It’s at the end of Oxford Street
This carbuncle covered in wizened crops
Is supposed to lure you back to the shops
It looks such a sickly threadbare hill
It’s as if the gardeners lost the will
To make it look like the rolling dales
They settled for a slag heap from south Wales
It’s supposed to be a piece of statement art
To warm the Nation’s jaded heart
Instead we look and ask each other this:
“Is it Banksy taking the piss?”

Donald Keyman

Image : splashnews/Daily Mail

Bee-hind - Tony Gardner

Is there anything lovelier under the sun
Than the wonderful sight of a BumbleBee's Bum ?
Though they can be white or yellow or red
They're a vision of splendour it has to be said
It makes me smile every time that I see
A BumbleBee flashing his backside at me.

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - ekamelev

Lifeboat - Ian Duquemin

Well I see you… 
Like a kind of lifeboat 
On a stormy sea
Reaching out to rescue me
To pull me from the waves
That try to drag me under 
Above you… The clouds 
So angry in their thunder 
But you find me… 
And save me, time and time again
While the clouds burst 
Drenching us in rain
But you hold me near 
And those clouds all disappear 
As in your arms 
I have nothing to fear 
You're a lifeboat 
Tumbling on a stormy sea
Always there to save me, from the depths of my insanity 
Never alone… 
Not drowning on my own
Just keeping me safe… 
And bringing me home 

Ian Duquemin

Image : Mumbai Mirror

Cold-Water Swimmer - Oscar Milde

In bobble hat and rubber shoes,
she looked a most unlikely muse
but, seeing her, I scrawled a sonnet
(I had my surfboard. I wrote on it.)
She stood there dripping, shaking cold,
and was a pleasure to behold:
a poem-in-flesh, a fishy tale.
I’d read each verse if she were braille.
She brightened up my day entirely.
Cold-water swimmers do inspire me.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - Free-Photos

Parade - Lyndon Queripel

Who rained on your parade

And stole the thunder
From under your feet
Who took the wind
Out of your sails
Breaking the heart of your beat
It wasn’t me was it ?

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - RyanMcGuire

Days Pass - Joan Etoile

Measured by medications
The wheel of the pill dispenser 
Goes inexorably round
And is filled each week in a ritual
After breakfast and blood pressure testing.

To see that it’s safely down
To the recommended level.

On go my glasses as
The pills all look the same to me
There are so many to marshal 
Jumping like fish from the foil packets
Elusive under the furniture. 

Now which of them are for breakfast and
Which ones are to go with my tea?

Joan Etoile

Image : Pixabay - ID 27707

Dumbfold - Stephen A. Roberts

I was in the Market building  
Practising my shielding  
The island slowly yielding  
To the new dawn  

Blue mask grey eyes  
Sitting outside  
Looking so fearful  
Looking so normal  

How did we get here 
Governed by our fear 
We’re catching no colds 
All wearing dumbfolds 

Your eyes are shining  
And slowly brining 
We’re saying nothing  
Voiceless, choiceless 

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : ©Stephen A Roberts

The Old Oak - Tony Gardner

There's a big old tree in the corner
Of the field just along the way
It's the only tree around here
So it's special....well to me anyway

I've known it since I was a nipper
When I used to climb up and sit
On it's branches so strong and sturdy
And contemplate Life for a bit.

I loved to see new leaves in springtime
And the acorns as they grew then fell
Many's the time I would wonder
What stories this old tree could tell.

Did it grow from a careless dropped acorn
By a bird flying so high above
I like to think someone with vision
Planted that acorn with love

Maybe he dreamed it would flourish
And that many years after his time
A boy would climb its strong branches
And be moved to write a small rhyme.

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - mbll

Owl - Richard Fleming

In a green lane in St Peter’s
near midnight, under a full moon,
a pale owl flew across my path, silently,
then low
over dark fields to the tree-line, hunting.
 
I turned
to watch his tireless sweep
over dumb ground, mist spreading like a shroud,
till I lost sight of him,
and coldness, creeping,
turned my leaden footsteps home.
 
In bed, near daybreak,
I jerk awake, heart pounding,
mindful of accelerating time, moments eaten up,
of golden, soundless wings,
that questing eye;
sharp talons reaching for my heart.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - Comfreak