The Troll - Tony Gardner

Deep there in the darkness underneath the bridge
Sits a scary fella, hungry for a meal
And if you don't tip-toe circumspect across
He may hear and grab you tightly by the heel
If he thinks you're tasty, he'll eat you with his bread
If he thinks you're pretty he'll take you to his bed

Underneath the dark bridge hides the scary Troll
Just waiting for his meal to come along
So tip-toe as you pass him, across his scary bridge
And never, Never, NEVER sing a song
If he catches you, he’ll eat you, with salad for his Tea
If he likes you he will cage you where none will ever see.

Tony Gardner

Bang - Trudie Shannon

There was an angel
She was small and insignificant
Dressed scantily in an old spotted nighty.
Her wings cygnet coloured
Her voice not good enough for the heavenly choir.
She spent a lot of time on the move
Criss crossing continents in the blink of a humans eye.
The first time, she just lifted a missile and hid it, under his throne.
She didn’t ask, just waited till he was required elsewhere
He was all seeing and everything so she guessed that if he’d minded
He’d have said.
After the first thousand, seeing as there was still loads of room
She became bolder, lifting whole nuclear missile installations.
She scrambled after submarines and aircraft, swept beneath the ground,
Gathering, gathering, even the chemical and biological stuff.
After that it was the small stuff, the mortars, mines, grenades
And then every kind of gun and knife.
Soon she’d managed to lift every kind of weapon known to man
Out of human harms way and stashed it carefully with all the rest
Under his throne.
She was amused at her own cheek.
He’d said nothing, though lately she’d noticed
He couldn’t rest his feet upon the ground,
His throne having lifted a little.
Obviously on earth the disappearance of life’s essentials was noticed

And the people were suspicious, each suspecting the other and fist fights broke out.
In the meantime, from where our angel stood, things were looking up for humanity.
That’s when he summoned her.
She flew as fast as cygnet wings can fly
And stood before him, head bowed at his majesty.
I’ve watched over your collection long enough, he said.
Now it is your turn to do something with it.
That flummoxed her, as far as she was concerned, it had been sorted.
He wasn’t angry or anything, just offering her an opportunity, he said.
Okay, she said, I’m on it.
So from beneath his throne she started lifting, carefully,
So he wouldn’t come down with a bump,
Every piece of weaponry that she had stashed.
It took a few trips.
Where to now she wondered?
Then remembered the black hole just outside of nowhere
And she took everything there, throwing it in recklessly
And then something she hadn’t considered happened.
There was the most enormous bang.
The biggest bang since last time, things exploding imploding
Clouds and gas and colours she’d forgotten she remembered.
This whole thing lasting forever and she watching the whole time.
And when time stood still and the flashing was over
She saw a sphere floating where once there had been a black hole
And she guessed that may be she’d inadvertently used her opportunity
To a worthwhile end.
On the earth, several scientists marvelled at the new star

And wondered if it were a portent, beyond scientific explanation.

Trudie Shannon

The Unicorn - Tony Gardner

On May Day morning I ascended
Wooded slopes to catch the thrill
Of the sunrise in its glory
From the top of Chancton hill

At the top I wandered slowly
To the Ring and sensed a shade
Then I heard the muffled hoofbeats
Still felt easy, unafraid

In the eastern sky the wonder
Of a beltane rising sun
Lit the legendary story
As the unicorn came on

Enchanted then I watched the vision
Trot up there before my eyes
Saw the sweaty grey coat gleaming
Felt that I was recognised

Snorting though his silken nostrils
Bright his single gold horn shone
Flashing cold, blue eyes upon me
Tossed his head and galloped on

Was I dreaming, was I weary,
Was the sight unconscious will ?
I believe I saw the legend
Last May Morn on Chancton Hill.

Tony Gardner

The Diners – Richard Fleming

The woman with provocative hair
is sitting at a rhombic table
with a man whose bow-tie is a daffodil.
Waiters flicker to and fro, like great white bats,
navigating among tables and themselves
by means of high, inaudible squeaks.
She taps her menu with a scarlet finger,
looks up, smiles. Her skin is alabaster pale.
Bow-Tie Man has a small black beard,
shaped like an arrowhead,
with streaks of silver.
His black eyes twinkle.
She orders baby’s ribs, he choses artists’ fingers.
They call for soup distilled from human tears.
To follow, they will share poet’s brain with vegetables al dente.
A chateau-bottled red will wash it down.
They speak in cultured accents
of mutual acquaintances in non-existent cities
where music is forbidden and clocks do not exist.
They talk of towers constructed underground,
lit through by neon,
tall rooms, suffused with pulsing light,
where fish swim languidly in streams of air.
When served, he eats the fingers slowly,
discards small bones into a patterned bowl,
brings napkin to mouth, dabs his beard.
They drink the broth of tears: pronounce it salty.
The Woman’s lips, a blood-red wound,
open and close like an anemone.
She laughs shrilly, pats Bow-Tie’s hand,
falls on the small ribs, devours them like a wolf.
The waiters come, replenish glasses;
serve up the poet’s brain
on a dish shaped like a massive coin.
Surgeon-like, the waiters
sever hemisphere from hemisphere
with glinting knives like scalpels,
their movements quick, decisive, confident,
borne of experience and expertise.
Then they retreat and the diners commence.

He takes the left side, she the right.
Their teeth are sharp and very white.

Richard Fleming

‘Crow’- Magnon - Chris Hudson

Shining bright over Moytura
A glistening sea of spears and blades
In the dark, denizens illuminate
Their caverns by the flames of many torches
While druids hatch dragon’s eggs on Phoenix’s fire
And Willow the Wisp nestles in the willow
The Goddess Kali dancing on the skulls of her enemies
Birch and broom in furious dancing duet
The Fire-Witch laughed when we raided our foes

As the Great Inventor sent forth his magic
The Serpent Queen was singing in her bower
The Hunter stalked the Plain of Wonder, club in hand
Tumuli where thousands of warriors lay sleeping
Their serried ranks lined up beneath the soil
A lone eagle surveying the hills and valleys from afar
Where is the hero who will put paid to the shining Beast?
Whose eyes slay the darkness, whose breath
Is melting the swelter out of the land?
Whose paw-prints excavate oceans?

Alas! The broom, anemones, roses and trefoil are blighted
And our hero’s mind is distracted by the Beast’s unblinking lids
His spear is pinned to the earth by ivy and convolvulus
In his idleness his convulsions pierce the earth, itching
Who can heal him from his perturbed faculties?
Where is the blacksmith who can forge a weapon
To penetrate the Beast’s armour?
The blandness, the corruption boils over in his mind
The Song holds him motionless, feeble yet so strong
He sees a rustling cloud, vapours hissing in the sun
Whilst the earth groans in agony and volcanoes roar

Chris Hudson

Potion of Mystery - Marcus Buchanan

“We’re here today to make a broil,
A potion that will make blood boil.
Pour the heat from a dragon’s fire,
Pour into it your heart’s desire.
Add the spike off a dragon’s back,
To make a brew that will, human, crack.
Throw in the string of a dragon’s heart,
Add an external body part.
Melt the bud of a dragon’s tongue,
Then plop in some dragon’s dung.
After all this is complete,
Cook at two, eight, six degrees heat."

Marcus Buchanan

Star Warrior - Chris Hudson

To navigate the eternal now
Seeking past and future in the present
Star warrior, eagle-like amongst the galaxies
Flowing your Technicolor slip-shifting
Aura of light, life and love
Amongst the stars - cry your dreadful cry:
WHY?

Chris Hudson

Untitled - Chris Hudson

Carried on a dragon’s back
Into oncoming clouds
The ground is very far away
Hear the thunder’s loud!
The tail writhes and flashes
The wings are sunblinks
Underneath the dragon’s belly
Unsteady sways the rider’s seat
Catch a vision as moon and stars flit past
This dragon’s path is lit
With a glistening white
The moon’s pale face reflects upon the day’s heat;

The path turns red beneath
The blood seeps slowly forth
All is agony, the dragon’s slain
And slides into the earth again
Amidst this faerie construction
Of images complete.

Chris Hudson

The Angel From Hell Came Driving. (with his dog) - Alan Marquis

The wind a force of darkness, running its endless race,
the moon a huge silver rocket, soaring supreme through space,
as neon light bathed tarmac, at the last-stop petrol point,
when the Angel from hell came driving, to Charlie’s Hamburger Joint.

He’d a baseball cap on his head, a beard filled with boils at his chin,
a jacket of smooth black leather and Levi’s worn pretty thin.
His T-shirt glistened and glimmered, in that light it seemed like new,
but that was just reflection, from oil-stains, more than a few.

Wheels kicked-up dust in the car park, headlights cut night like a knife,
as he leaned on his horn for a moment, to call for the love of his life.
Skidding through a cloud, spilling beer from an ill-balanced bottle,
throaty engine roaring as he revved impatiently at his throttle.

Then a vision in shadowed light, she appeared from around the back,
Charlie’s black-eyed daughter, Conchita, munching on a snack.
Twenty stone of blubber, her bum almost four feet wide,
but the Angel from Hell adored her, `My Babe, My Babe,` he cried.

She hurried across the parking lot, her progress not with ease,
unfamiliar with any exercise, and her face filled with triple-cheese.
The Angel wrapped arms around her, or as much as he could reach,
in desperate effort to move her, like pushing a whale on a beach.

Struggling for breath the Angel, tried to lift her to the truck’s floor,
there wasn’t a moment to waste, and she’d never fit through the door.
Heaving one leg in a panic, he couldn’t manage both together,
and time was not on their side, if they wanted to live forever.

To the Angel’s mangy, cross-bred dog, this excitement lacked any fizz,
since he knew if arses got shot tonight, the first one would likely be his.
So leaping from the truck, he stole a triple cheese then bit Conchita’s butt,
and she cleared the tail-board in a mighty jump, thanks to a wise old mutt.

Then Charlie came screaming from the joint, greasy scarf around his head,
waving a twelve-gauge shotgun, he aimed to fill the Angel with lead.
But swirling dust in the driveway, spinning wheels, he was just too late,
as Angel hit pedal to metal, and in the back rolled his black-eyed mate.
(and a dog eating a burger)

Away along desert highway, seeking life they could live by their wits,
a forty burgers a day fat chick, and an Angel with a beard full of zits.
And whatever you may make of this tale, one thing is sure alone,
the Angel and his big Conchita, both owed the dog a bone.

Alan Marquis

The Oak Tree and The Pixie - Janinka Diverio

Image: Taken at Blaise Castle, Avon by Janinka

A very different style for me (in that it doesn’t derive from a personal experience) but this poem celebrates the Glos/Wiltscountryside I have grown to love so much and was inspired by my favourite childhood book The Faraway Tree. - Janinka

The Oak Tree and The Pixie - Janinka Diverio

Stoic, tall, proud, high
Branches, trunk and leaves to the sky

Long-reaching arms fingering polka dotted blue
A garland of filigree leaves stretched around of you

A pixie plays and hops amongst your tangled roots
Throwing her hat and jumping with earth-trodden pixie boots

Oblivious and unaware of the sound upon the ground
Blades of grass protrude like turrets of a castle surround

Treecreeper friend scurries messages your way
An invitation for you to come and play

Occasionally, you rustle or a leaf floats gently down
As if it were a feather from your regal crested crown

Midst robin-egg blues and skies of satin white
Pixie calls for black bird and try as they might

With wings out-stretched and in full span
They try to fly to the land of cyan

Cloaked skies turn grey and leaves are shaking loud
As Pixie tries in vain to hop upon a cloud

The yellow beak of blackbird sings a merry little song
As Pixie flies upwards to where she might belong

On the canopy of leaves that sway gently to and fro
Little contented pixie reaps her seeds to sow

Janinka Diverio

Frog Prince Story Poem - Elle King

The Sakura trees are blooming,
Now in the beginning of spring,
The weather is turning sunny,
And the birds begin to sing.

But one story that I love,
And it happened with our backyards pond,
It was so beautiful and magical,
As if from a flick from a wand.

The grass so green and soft,
The ponds water so blue and clear,
But something in that water,
Was drawing me near.

A frog had hopped out,
Making noises with its inflating throat,
As if it were trying to speak to me,
It let out a giant croak!

I was into fairy tales,
This was a chance I didn’t want to miss,
So I picked up this little frog,
And gave it a little kiss.

All of a sudden, within a flash,
I was stunned to see a prince,
I shook my head in disbelief,
saying ''it was only a coincidence'

A dream, a dream, it has to be!
I should try and get myself to awake,
I pinched, I yelled, I rolled around,
but I realised this wasn’t fake.

Such a beautiful figure,
Stood in front of my very eyes,
From a frog a prince appeared,
Although I’m very surprised.

A fairy-tale this still must be,
There’s no way this could be real,
Seeing a frog and picking it up,
with a kiss to seal the deal.

This must be a magic trick,
Or it could have been an actor,
Or I could still be reading the frog prince book,
And it’s at the end of its chapter.

But alas, it was only a book,
Oh prince how I’ll miss you,
That’s the end of book 1,
You'll have to wait for book 2.

The frog that jumped out of our pond,
Was no coincidence,
because after the kiss occurred,
I found my beautiful frog prince.

Elle King