The Chingats (One of Daddy's bedtime stories) - Tony Bradley

When my Dad was fifteen he joined the Navy
he'd lied when they asked what year he was born
he told us they weren't bothered, 'cos World War Two had started
and Belfast held no future, so bleak and forlorn.

He came out with seven medals, and a machete, engraved
on the blade, his initials, and rating number
he told my brother and I, it had been in its scabbard
since Burma, '42, when he was much younger.

He told us about the evil Japs, the terrible things they did
(it probably helped bad memories to fade)
but he told us too, about the 'chingats'
the bravest friends he'd ever made.

They were local, jungle fighters, skinny
so tiny, seven stone, wringing wet
but men with more loyalty, pride and dignity
and unwavering courage, he's never met.

He said they'd saved his mates many times
they'd stand and fight, to the last man
the Marines were braver, with them alongside
if the Japs saw any Chingats, they turned and ran.

Tony Bradley

Miss Penny - Tony Gardner

The pre dawn light is filtering through
And wakes still drowsy minds
Though others sleep and dreaming lie
I'm up and feeling fine
The dog's awake and once she's fed
She's looking for a run
I find her lead, put on my coat
And face the rising sun
Then blindly walk up to the Ring
Where through the sunless trees
She sniffs and gruffs and pokes around
Chasing things that I can't see
I'm now awake and feeling fine
Full of Get up and Go
I s'pect she'll soon want walks again
Can't I just let her go ?
But no, my Life would be so drear
Without Miss Penny's shine
Always showing, always proving
She's the the truest pal of mine

Tony Gardner

Loyalty - Chris Hudson

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in November 2012

God bless...
Beautiful England
As the last living Rose
Quivers in your hand.

The grey and the damp and the filthiness of ages
Through the stinking alleys where drunken beatings rages
Past where the Thames river does flow, glistening silver and gold
That for vain dreams and frippery was hastily pawned and sold

Night falls and moon does rise on silky sliding river
Moon sliver in the moving sky watches ocean’s shimmer
The fields of corn are ripe in beautiful England
As the last living rose quivers in your hand.

Our forefather’s planned we’d never be enslaved in this land
Under yoke of foreign oppression, by another’s hand
Will our blood rise up, brothers, and cast off our shackles?
Or tolerate and suffice in raising of our hackles?

God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand

The chain that binds us is the boundless winding ocean
This thread that runs through us like a fuse to an explosion
Like Hugo in his exile cross the waters there that pour
Yet conversely my blood my DNA not of these shores

I live and die forever through all England’s merry lands
My undaunted never failing love for you will always stand
God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand.

Chris Hudson

The Last Living Rose - Chris Hudson

God bless...
Beautiful England
As the last living Rose
Quivers in your hand.

The grey and the damp and the filthiness of ages
Through the stinking alleys where drunken beatings rages
Past where the Thames river does flow, glistening silver and gold
That for vain dreams and frippery was hastily pawned and sold

Night falls and moon does rise on silky sliding river
Moon sliver in the moving sky watches ocean’s shimmer
The fields of corn are ripe in beautiful England
As the last living rose quivers in your hand.

Our forefathers planned we’d never be enslaved in this land
Under yoke of foreign oppression, by another’s hand
Will our blood rise up, brothers, and cast off our shackles?
Or tolerate and suffice in merely raising of our hackles?

God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand

The chain that binds us is the boundless winding ocean
This thread that runs through us like a fuse to an explosion
Like Hugo in his exile across the waters there that pour
Yet conversely my blood my DNA not of these shores

I live and die forever through all England’s merry lands
My undaunted never failing love for you will always stand
God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand.

Christopher J. Hudson

Buy Local - Lester Queripel

Support it or lose it
You have the power to choose it
Buy local or it’s bye bye local

Lester Queripel

I’m still here - Tony Robert

Reclining in my comfy chair
Softly dozing without a care
Everyone asks “How are you”
I sometimes smile and I laugh too

Carers come to check I’m okay
Regular visits 3 times a day
People always in and out
“I’m still here” I want to shout

“Have you eaten, been to the loo?”
They want to know everything I do
They sometimes think that I’m not trying
But all this effort is very tiring

I maybe taking a bit too long
But these days I don’t feel so strong
Used to labour all the day
Milking cows, baling hay

Worked from dawn until sunset
Farm works hard, there’s no rest
Loved being in the open air
Fit and healthy with love to share

Raised a family the best I could
Taught them to be honest and good
Now I’m old and not so agile
They can see I’m a little bit fragile

Good old Dad they often say
He made us what we are today
And they seem so very glad
To have a loving, caring Dad

I can’t respond but I hear
And sometimes shed a silent tear
I know how much they care you know
If only I could tell them so

My family are really good to me
It’s the way that it should be
A seed once planted starts to grow
Remember, you reap what you sow.

Tony Robert

You Whisper Lies - Shannon Shell

You whisper you lies in my ear.
I’m crying inside but you don’t care.
My heart is bruised and torn in two.
You’ve pierced my soul and taken it with you.
You don’t see how I feel.
I say I’m fine but that’s not real.

Take some time and search your soul.
You don’t understand what you stole.
You see my smile but look in my eyes.

I’m a broken girl because of my sacrifice
I’ve given up so much to believe in you,
Even though we both know that’s not what I should do.
I took down my guard to give you trust.
You shredded it and now I’m lost.

The tears you don’t see are full of pain.
Did what you wanted and never complained.
I’m so naïve and so young.
Didn’t want you to believe you’d do me wrong.

But now I know just what’s your game.
Never again will I get played the same.
You were fake I was true.
I’ve been done like that before, it’s nothing new.

Behind a mask I hide.
So no-one knows how I feel inside.
You can peel this mask from my face.
But what you’ve taken you can’t replace.

Shannon Shell

Loyalty - Chris Hudson

God bless...
Beautiful England
As the last living Rose
Quivers in your hand.

The grey and the damp and the filthiness of ages
Through the stinking alleys where drunken beatings rages
Past where the Thames river does flow, glistening silver and gold
That for vain dreams and frippery was hastily pawned and sold

Night falls and moon does rise on silky sliding river
Moon sliver in the moving sky watches ocean’s shimmer
The fields of corn are ripe in beautiful England
As the last living rose quivers in your hand.

Our forefather’s planned we’d never be enslaved in this land
Under yoke of foreign oppression, by another’s hand
Will our blood rise up, brothers, and cast off our shackles?
Or tolerate and suffice in raising of our hackles?

God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand

The chain that binds us is the boundless winding ocean
This thread that runs through us like a fuse to an explosion
Like Hugo in his exile cross the waters there that pour
Yet conversely my blood my DNA not of these shores

I live and die forever through all England’s merry lands
My undaunted never failing love for you will always stand
God Bless Beautiful England
As the last living Rose quivers in your hand.

Chris Hudson