NHS - Richard Fleming

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning …

The ward is a war-zone, a battlefield
where daily dies our confidence,
our grounds for hope, our energy.
Each start of shift, we rise to face
an enemy whose strength exceeds
our fearful expectations.
Poorly equipped, still we advance,
driven by our integrity,
while, on all sides, the dying plunge
downward through a corrupted sea,
their last breaths greenly frothing out
from choked throats as they spiral down.

Our masters moralise and watch,
hand-wringing as the casualties
increase in numbers day by day.
Spruce Generals, they spend hours with charts
while we must soldier on each day.
To those who fill the wards, the sick,
for whom there is scant hope, we fight,
but these are not good deaths, instead
men thrash in panic towards the end
as a green sea invades their lungs.
We do our utmost, still they die,
the old, the hardly old, the young.

Through night-shift trenches, barbed-wire days,
we grimly trudge, barely awake,
round-shouldered, prematurely old,
towards our shift-end scrubbing-down,
a brief respite and restless rest.
The virus takes no prisoners
and those it spares are subtly changed:
their swagger gone, they rise each day
aware of their fragility
while, night and morning, we return,
dog-tired, to grapple with our fear
because there are no conscripts here.

Richard Fleming

Amendment Not Required - Stephen A. Roberts

He could have been a hero
If he'd gone inside
To confront the shooter
But he'd have probably died

Check his job description
Does it say that he should die
In the line of duty
Or just keep watch outside?

But he could have been a hero
If he'd gone inside
Now he's just a zero
And he just wants to hide

He can only say he's sorry
"I shoulda gone inside"
To protect those children
Even if he died

Repeal the Second Amendment
Put the guns aside
Protect and serve those children
And no-one needs to die

Stephen A. Roberts

Altogether, not a bad trip - Tony Bradley

The youngster trips again, more bruises
luckily his limbs, and his spirit aren't broke
he's got good at falling, though, up quickly and laughing
some people think he tumbles just for a joke.

He'd lie awake at night, worrying, wondering
why he so awkward and clumsy and all
nobody told him, you can't run like the others
you're deformed, unbalanced, you're gonna fall.

Because his feet were growing hoof-like, not flat
they were partly paralyzed, the circulation was poor
this caused callouses and chilblains, and trench-foot
even frostbite, his feet were always sore.

Suffering this daily torture as a youngster
made him very tough to normal pain
although small, he was good at fighting
he could take a punch, but come back again.

His playground boxing skill soon got him some cred
and the bad gang 'adopted' him, their little fighter
so he never ever got bullied, or laughed at
and that probably made his school days brighter.

He loved the games and sports at school
never better than average, but loved to compete
enough skill and timing, but balance always let him down
when a smooth, flowing action required two good feet.

At 15, he passed exams to join the Royal Engineers
the Army Doctor treated it like a joke
“During wartime, in the Regulars, they'd have stuck you up front
but there's no room in the Sappers for a disabled bloke.”

With the black humour he was grinning, but his head was spinning
the word 'disabled' echoed in his ears
this was his problem, right from the beginning
small wonder his anguish, over the years.

The Army doctor referred him to his family GP
who pretended the infant polio was already written down
they suggested, now, special crutches, or surgical boots
after 15 years trying to be normal, he suddenly felt a clown.

He took it on board, now this polio tag
to him, it was like a 'get out of jail' card
Now, he just had to do his best,
or do something else, if things got too hard.

He worked on building sites, got accepted, no problem
mind you do your job, everybody gets on fine
but suddenly the 'elf n' safety' boys came in
they thought he was drunk, couldn't walk a straight line.

Mustn't work at heights, no heavy power tools,
no carrying loads over twenty-five K
"for his sake, and the safety of others"
no more manual stuff, he had to walk away.

He'd gone a full circle now, returning to architecture
despite some saying he was too dim, when he left school
but, he was artistic, and knew a lot about building now
he'd carve a career out of it, now he's nobody's fool.

Now he's in his Autumn years, reminiscing
he's had some fun, he's not one to snivel
now he's in the garden, or beachcombing with the dog
and his real raison d'etre, spewing rhyming drivel.

Tony Bradley

Ten is the Magic Number - Diane Scantlebury

Ten is now the magic number
I’ve become a statistic,
Ten years of survival
If I’d blinked hard
I could’ve missed it,
Why ten should be so special
Why not six or seven?
I suppose if it was only nine
By now I’d be in heaven,
I guess I should be glad to be alive
And be grateful for the significance
Ten has given it,
Pleased to be a lucky one
In the fifty percent that’s made it,
Be happy that the wheel of fortune
Has spun the right way for me,
For one in two is always better
Than one in four, or three.

Diane Scantlebury

Boxer - John E Blaise

In the clearing stands a boxer
Big and strong and brave,
He is panting really fast
As though every breath will be his last.
Battle scarred but not marred
Punch drunk , no hunch, still straight
He will stand and wait.
A veteran of many scraps
Ducking and diving avoiding the traps
But time has caught him up
He will soon have to stop
Will this be his last fight?
To win this one is his given right

But I have to cross the clearing

I am a coward, I am very weak
I have a giant yellow streak
So we make eye contact, shuffle around a bit
I am going to need just one big hit
I have to save face, save the day
Then he snarls and growls then barks
So I turn and run away!

John E. Blaise

Be Like a Robin - Diane Scantlebury

Bold little robin
Puff up your chest,
Be proud of the red badge of honour
That emblazons your breast,
Even in weather inclement
You never stop,
Through rain, sleet or snow
You’ll skip and you’ll hop,

Brave little robin
When times are harsh,
You’ll not abandon the land
Like the swallow,
Your stoic example
Is one we should follow,

When all seems lost
And love has grown cold,
Keep hope in your heart
And like the robin be bold,
At life’s high hurdles
We may falter and fall,
But think of the robin
The bravest of all,

In the face of adversity
Learn how to fly,
Cling firm to opportunity
Don’t let it pass by,
Even if life proves hard
And your wits test,
Be like a robin
Be bold, be brave,
Puff up your chest!

Diane Scantlebury

Tantrums - Ian Duquemin

"Begone" said the wind to the leaves on the tree
"That rustling of yours, it is bothering me"
The leaves spiralled down to the soil on the ground
Scattered on earth, they danced without sound
"Begone" said the wind to the branches of the tree
"That creaking you make, it is bothering me"
The branches broke down and they cracked and they groaned
Falling to earth they collided and moaned
"Begone" said the wind to the grandest of tree
"You could not stand my rage or the tantrums of me"
The tree stood its ground and it's roots bedded in
The wind could not penetrate the rough rugged skin
"Begone" said the tree to the wind overhead
The wind not amused at the words that were said
It ran out of puff... as the tree stood up tall
Defying the wind... and refusing to fall

Ian Duquemin