Blackbird - Richard Fleming

With catapult, once school was finished,
I went to hunt in woodland, high
above Belfast, in summer light
and heard, among leafed branches spread,
a blackbird, singing like a bell.
I took aim, shot; the missile flew
unerringly, my aim was true.
with awful suddenness it fell,
all broken. Exultation fled,
to be replaced by sickly fright.
I knelt to watch it slowly die.
Within me somewhere, light diminished.

Richard Fleming


Image : Pixabay - Jetiveri

One Knee - Diane Scantlebury

One knee’s sore from kneeling
We used to give applause,
We still perform the actions
But no one remembers the cause,
There’s a personal tragedy
Behind every sensational line,
Our eyes skim over death and injustice
We’ve become atrocity blind,
One knee’s sore from kneeling
What’s the point?
Do we really care about the cause?
When nothing changes,
Do we have to keep up the applause?

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Pixabay - YvonneHuijbens

Junk Food Addict - Diane Scantlebury

‘Mine’s a pint’
She’ll order it without thinking,
The irony is
She shouldn’t be drinking,
Later at the chippy
She’ll order a large fish
With extra-large fries,
Her belly’s grown bigger
And so have her eyes,
She’ll swear that chocolate bars
Have got smaller,
A sad downward trend of late,
Perhaps she’ll buy two
To compensate,

They’ll be stashed
In the top cupboard
With the other guilty treats,
The crisps, cakes, pop and biscuits,
The celebration sweets,
Emergency supplies to supplement
What she thinks is the meagre
Diet of a rabbit,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit,

She’s surrounded
By media pressure
To be fit, to be healthy,
But she can’t afford the fancy food
Of the privileged and wealthy,
When there’s a takeaway on every corner
Maximizing temptation,
Limiting her choices,
To a junk food addict these outlets
Have seductive, louder voices,

Just one more won’t hurt
She’s no longer thinking,
If there’s two for one she’ll grab it,
Cause she’s addicted to junk food
And can’t kick the habit.

Diane Scantlebury

S.O.S. (Save Our Statues) - Oscar Milde

Prince Albert with his pier-side view
and Hugo up on Candie’s rock
must tremble, if a stone statue
can tremble when it gets a shock
as, one by one, monuments fall.
If one’s pulled down, what next, them all?

It must be worrying to be
a statue, innocent or not:
the subject of such scrutiny,
regarded by some as a blot
to be reviled, to have to move
because campaigners disapprove.

Things change, we know that, nonetheless,
while change is good, some is less so.
Should we not focus on progress,
move on from wrongs of long ago,
together face a future shared
where threatened statues may be spared?

Oscar Milde

Extinction - Donald Keyman

Do you remember saucy page three
It was a sight for sore eyes to see
And (wrongly it seems) we revelled in our misogyny

We were always down the shop for a pack of fags
And - back in the days before they were wrapped in bags -
a sneaky peek at the top shelf mags

Now I must admit I’m a little scared
About all the things that we maybe dared
Do, think or say when our trousers were flared

Now time has finally caught up with us
And wrinkled and grey, bemused by the fuss
This old white rhino bites the dust

Donald Keyman

Secret Cabaret - Ian Duquemin

In this secret cabaret
Sheets in twisted disarray
Hair disheveled, skin unclean
The mirrors misted ghostly sheen
Amidst this den of tortured lies
Still echoing perverted cries
Bodies stretched now lying still
Contented with unholy fill
Sweat drips cold on hot licked flesh
The sins which neither shall confess
Heartbeats simmer, silence loud
No love in here allowed
In the shadows candles dance
Ignited by a spirit trance
One which holds no bounds of sleep
Enticing those to fall in deep
In an act of mortal whim
Where every bent and splintered limb
Shall blindly fall undignified
And keep their shame inside

Ian Duquemin

I'm so sorry, Guernsey - Tony Bradley

Born a bit later, I didn't suffer the war
only witnessing the damage, left behind
the wrecking of homes and families,
the disease and destruction of body and mind.

Plymouth, 1950, still blackened from the bombing
was reeling still, years after the trouble
I was born at 3, Clarendon Terrace
but 1, 5 and 6 were just piles of rubble.

The grown-ups had anxieties still in their heads
some women saved things, without knowing why
string, and jars, in boxes under the beds
and fearing the siren of death from the sky.

Children were viewed as the future, now safe
my brother and I were brought up with a swagger
encouraged to glorify, and brandish spoils of war,
a helmet, a Luger, or a German dagger.

Maybe 'cos they sensed the grown-up's old fears
young boys' bravado made them act the fool
I remember you'd get a seething six of the best
if you drew a swastika on your note-book at school.

Imprisoned on your own island, it must have been worse
the enemy's robbery and threats must have been numbing
I'm in shame now, how, in ignorance, we played. .
"quick, in the loft, the Germans are coming . . . ."

Tony Bradley

I Was Guilty - Rosemary Slimm

Its 11 o’clock on a December day
I’m lazing around
Drinking hot chocolate and eating crisps …and
I’ve got the light on –
Wasting the electric again!

Yes – I’ll admit it
I’m guilty.

At least I was guilty
You name it – I was guilty of it.

Guilty of being born …..
“Didn’t ask to be born”, I’d say.
Ah, but you “just came along” I’d be told.

“You caused months of morning sickness
You were a forceps birth
You needed to be bottle fed
--- and --- what a lot of work”, Mum said.

Yes – I’ll admit it
I was guilty
You name it – I was guilty of it.

Guilty when at school ……
You can’t do this
You shouldn’t do that
It would look better if you did it like this.

You have too much to say at home.
You don’t say enough when we go out to tea.
You don’t help enough in the house.
You don’t help at all in the garden.
Not enough “do’s”, far too many “don’ts”!

Oh, and, by the way, you don’t go to Church every Sunday.

Still guilty – a teenager now ……

You watch too much TV.
You eat too much chocolate, get up too late,
mess around with your hair,
put that muck on your face.
It’ll be dark in the Cellar Club anyway,
and no-one will be able to see you.

Oh, and, by the way,
Your long nails look like claws.
You wear your hair too long but
Your skirt is too short.

You are too shy in company
But silly when you’ve had a couple of Babychams!

- and so it went – on and on.

At least that’s the way it seemed on a bad day.

However ………..

I knew nothing about major, full-on guilt until –
I became a mother myself!

Then you have the guilt factor for evermore.
Whatever you do
Whatever you don’t do
Your are damned if you do
You are damned if you don’t.
“I blame the mother myself for all that trouble !”

This one’s a life sentence. I am a mother - Guilty as charged.

BUT WAIT ………

There came a time – somehow
(and hopefully it comes to us all) ……

It gradually crept upon me – I got to thinking:

OK --- so I’m guilty
Guilty of what?

Being here, alive in the world
Being me

Yes, I have faults
Yes, I fail miserably in many ways every day

BUT

Are we meant to try to be perfect?

I am unique – we are all unique
There is no-one else like me
I am a one-off
I can choose to be miserable
I can choose to feel guilty – but it really is my choice – I’ve got the power now.

Now – at last – I prefer to try to be the best I can be
I can enjoy life

I am ok
I am worthwhile
I am a little bit special …….

Life is good
And good experiences (as well as bad) are there for the taking

(they don’t always cost much money or effort).

SO

That good, quiet, passive, repressed little girl,
always apologising ---
has finally gone …….. well almost!

I’ll keep pushing the guilt cloud away when it does cloud over me (which it can still try to do, more often than it should).

But I reckon I’ve had my share !

And what’s wrong with a little bit of naughtiness anyway?

I’ll drink to that !!

Rosemary Slimm