Stars - Tony Gardner

I'm wondering if all the stars

Are red and ruddy just like Mars

If all shine with a twinkling light

Or some are incandescent white

There may be some we’ve never seen

That glister with soft shades of green

But floating in the Milky Way

They may be forty shades of Grey.

Tony Gardner


Image : Pixabay - GooKingSword

At La Catioroc - Oscar Milde

Friday, midnight, moon is waning,
fortunately it’s not raining,
as three naked women frolic
in a habitat, bucolic.
Drinking potions, chanting spells,
these post-menopausal belles
try to summon up their Master,
dancing faster, ever faster
by the light of a small campfire
made of tinder and of damp briar.
In the bushes lurks old Mourant,
toothless, lecherous, unpleasant.
He leaps out, his flies asunder:
at that very moment, thunder
and a vivid flash of lightning,
simultaneous with this sighting,
quickly shatter their delusion
and they scatter in confusion …
To The Press, the witches said
how they were terrified and fled
and how clearly they remember
Satan had a tiny member.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - TheDigitalArtist

Deadline - Lyndon Queripel

With the cost of living
And the price of dying
It’s no wonder at all
To the Lord I pray
That I can afford to pay
For my own funeral.

Lyndon Queripel

Image : Pixabay - TheDigitalArtist

Kittens and Puppies (What the f?!) - Ian Renouf-Watkins

Ooh and aah we whine as puppies gambol
Aah and ooh we purr as kittens caper
Their tom-foolery consummately droll
As they fumble around in toilet paper.
Chocolate boxes and gushing adverts
Sentimentality dripping off every frame
Pets at home, pets in the park, pets asleep
And even dogs that apparently play cards.
So when you’re next fussing over pets
Remember the Syrians, Yemeni’s too
Afghans and Libyans forgotten by you
Bleeding and dying left without hope
But then again, that puppy is so dope.


Image : Pixabay - janeb13

Without Djokovic in the Game - Kathy Figueroa

Way down south in Aussie Land
We now know where the unvaxxed stand -
If trying to cross that border
They’ll be deported in short order

It doesn’t matter if you’re a tennis star
That’s come to play, and travelled far
To participate in the Australian Open
The Australian Border Force has now spoken

Novak Djokovic is a tennis hero
But to Aussie PM Scott Morrison, he’s a zero
Novak’s tested positive for COVID-19 in the past
And his natural immunity should indefinitely last

But they won’t let him enter the land “down under”
“No vax? No pass!” they proclaim and thunder
The 2022 Australian Open won’t be the same
Without Novak Djokovic in the game

Kathy Figueroa


Image : Pixabay - Tumisu

Inside the Bluebird - Ian Duquemin

I sit on my bed that is made from a door
My feet on a rug neatly placed on the floor
The wood burner glows as a log does ignite
I gaze at the warmth of its flickering light
Shadows move freely like spirits at play
The rain on the roof washing daytime away
A spiral of smoke rises up to the skies
As the flames come alive in my eyes

Inside the Bluebird, a magical place
My very own home and my very own space
No more am I lonely and never more free
An Indian's eyes they look down upon me
Telling me I should give thanks for this day
The spirits will chant all my worries away
Sandalwood incense that hangs in the air
I breathe in to heal and repair

Ian Duquemin


Image : Pinterest

Images - Richard Fleming

This is a tree, he said and pointed to a tree.
We have seen images, they said.
There are many trees, he said. This tree is cedar.
We have seen images, they said.

Here is a flower, he said and pointed to a flower.
We have seen images, they said.
There are various flowers, he said. This is a rose.
We have seen images, they said.

This is a cat, he said. See it moves. Watch it stretch.
Just like the images, they said.
This is a dog, he said. Watch as it wags its tail.
Images are better, they said.

That is the sky. Those small birds are swallows, he said.
We have seen images, they said.
Over there are blue mountains and a lake, he said.
Can we go back inside? they said.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - JESHOOTS-com

Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine - Hilaire Belloc

My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,
Come, open the door to us, let us come in.
A score of stout fellows who think it no sin
If they toast till they're hoarse, and drink till they spin,
Hoofed it amain
Rain or no rain,
To crack your old jokes, and your bottle to drain.

Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets
As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,
The miser his gold, and the student his debts,
And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets.
For there's never a wine
Like this tipple of thine
From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine.

Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go
By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx,
But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow,
If the Devil's above there's good liquor below.
So it abound,
Pass it around,
Burgundy's Burgundy all the year round.

Hilaire Belloc

Image : Pixabay - koreafreund

Piste Off - Stephen A. Roberts

Oh to be in the ski-lands again 
Riding the crisp white; 
Tiny toy villages below 
 
Then down through the corduroy; 
Dark pines and white blanketed 
Alpine pasturelands 
 
Snaking under the clanking gondola 
Where smells of gluhwein and schnitzel 
Signal awaiting cosy comfort 

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Stephen A. Roberts