September Song - Richard Fleming

Outside the parish church, we pause,
exchange the old banalities
we flee to, at such times, because
we cannot face finality,
then nod, acknowledging a friend,
shake sundry hands, and hasten on
but cannot really comprehend
that one so long beloved has gone.

She seemed so permanent and set
on living, never letting go,
to relish life and joy and yet 
seemed not to see death as a foe.
The very air appears tight-lipped
as though the earth has ceased to sing.
It is as though the world has tipped
and scattered, headlong, everything.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - Placidplace

The Final Journey - Stephen A. Roberts

And so it came the end of life
In Balmoral heralded by pipes
Via Edinburgh to London, the resting places
All of them lined with mourning faces

Near Poets’ Corner in the Lantern room
Atop the catafalque in the eerie gloom
A normal lady who by twist of fate
Came to be our Head of State

Outside, a dying carpet of wilted flowers
Lies beneath the royal towers
Where the bereft masses queue
Hoping to get just one last view

From the Thames a tide of tears
Flows to salute 70 long years
Strangers unite in a shared grief
Old soldiers salute their CinC

The people weep to see the end
Victorious they can no longer send
Her Majesty, their revered Queen
The only monarch they’ve known or seen

Citizens of every stripe and sex
Shuffle through to pay respects
A man in sandals and white socks
Stares in reverence at the box

Tomorrow then is the final day
The cortège will make its way
In the shadow of the Shard
Past the silent funeral guard

From the Abbey a stepping stone
Through London streets once her own
To Windsor Castle where by default
She will rest in the Royal Vault

Bells will ring and cannons fire
Along the journey to the shires
Past transport hubs and corner shops
And across the Nation, things will stop

Stephen A. Roberts

Floral Tribute - Simon Armitage

© Simon Armitage
       Poet Laureate


Image : © Daily Mail

Coronation - Richard Fleming

That day in 1953
my family watched it on TV,
an innovation in our house.
I sat, as timid as a mouse,
enchanted by the pageantry,
the Coronation coach, the glee
of onlookers with Union Jacks,
the smooth-faced footmen made from wax,
toy-soldiers, cavalry, and guards
in uniforms like Christmas cards
We gazed in wonder and delight
at images in black and white
yet even monochrome impressed:
imagination did the rest.
I saw the young Queen, head erect,
in ceremonial robes bedecked,
her features, solemn and composed,
stiff-upper-lipped, thoughts undisclosed,
for in those far-off, post-war days
we still clung to our British ways
so joy and sorrow were suppressed,
not on parade: we thought it best.
But that day, gathered round the set,
a loud, exuberant quartet,
we sang God Save The Queen and cheered
till the last image disappeared.

Richard Fleming


Image : Twitter - @BarbaraRich_law

Silver Blue Eyes - Tony Gardner

Silver blue  skies
And  stars    diamond  bright 
Bring  nothing  but  coldness
And  frost  ghostly  white
Just  as  behind  beauty
A  cold  heart might  live
Selfish  with  no  warmth
Or   sweet  love   to  give
And  I  found  excuses
For  your  coldness  and  lies
But  the  truth  always  showed
In  your  silver blue  eyes.
 
Tony Gardner  


Image : Pixabay - cocoparisienne