When I was young
And just a child
I loved to bake with Mum
We weighed the flour
And greased the tins
Oh, it was such fun
Buns and cakes
We would make
The bowl and spoon licked clean
And pasties and pies
All golden brown
Were the best I’ve ever seen
My favourite part
Of baking with Mum
Was rolling the pastry out
I spent lots of time
Making shapes out of mine
And was a curious grey when done
It puzzled me though
When Mum rolled hers out
Why she made a clicking sound
But when I rolled mine
There was never a noise
And the answer I never found
But now I have grown
With kids of my own
And we’re doing the pastry thing
And the answer I found
To the curious sound
Is of course my wedding ring!
Jenny Hamon
Rage Against My Machine - Ian Renouf-Watkins
My body is telling me I’m old, older still at least
Because bits don’t work and some, so full of metal
That bone has gone amiss somewhere...elsewhere
Awry, around, through and down, it bloody hurts!
Warmth, not anymore, not felt, seen or even heard
Anyway, I feel absurd; irascible in fact, so much
So, knowing I should have given up, but years ago
When my body told me to stop, no, that’s enough!
Is enough, enough? I want more, don’t you?
To breathe easy, walk easily, run… don’t laugh
At me, it isn’t funny… is it really that uncanny
To dream of such simple pleasures, quietly?
It’s a bastard, a git, a complete shit storm of feelings
Coursing through me, as my legs still refuse to work
Properly, righteously angry, I want to scream loudly
But no one will hear it tumble, only, a useless mumble.
From my lips, slips the tip of something lost
Not found again, not ever retrievable, or even able
To really articulate how I’m feeling. Lost perhaps?
But, mostly, dog tired, stretched and horridly feeble.
Ian Renouf-Watkins
Because bits don’t work and some, so full of metal
That bone has gone amiss somewhere...elsewhere
Awry, around, through and down, it bloody hurts!
Warmth, not anymore, not felt, seen or even heard
Anyway, I feel absurd; irascible in fact, so much
So, knowing I should have given up, but years ago
When my body told me to stop, no, that’s enough!
Is enough, enough? I want more, don’t you?
To breathe easy, walk easily, run… don’t laugh
At me, it isn’t funny… is it really that uncanny
To dream of such simple pleasures, quietly?
It’s a bastard, a git, a complete shit storm of feelings
Coursing through me, as my legs still refuse to work
Properly, righteously angry, I want to scream loudly
But no one will hear it tumble, only, a useless mumble.
From my lips, slips the tip of something lost
Not found again, not ever retrievable, or even able
To really articulate how I’m feeling. Lost perhaps?
But, mostly, dog tired, stretched and horridly feeble.
Ian Renouf-Watkins
Romantic Nihilist - Andrew Barham
Highlights golden in brilliant sunlight
Glow softly in your chestnut hair, a memory
As I wait outside these grey-stone walls ...
Acting on an impulse,
I grasp a handful of fallen leaves
Scattered on the cracked paving at my feet;
Gently, I toss them to the wind
And they are gone,
These wisps of amber and crimson.
Crystals of frozen water,
Glittering like tiny diamonds,
Gust up from the wall,
Swirling motes of light
That billow and eddy about my face
As they drift ground-wards
To settle at my feet.
The wall crumbles into ruin
With the passing of ghosts and time,
And soon, the snow reaches above my knees
To cover me completely
As the seasons revolve;
Until, one day, there is a wisp
Of chestnut hair, streaked with blue,
Scintillating with golden highlights
As the sun bursts through the skeletal ruins
Of the grey-stone wall;
Liquid snow seeps into the gullies and fissures
Formed by cracks in the jagged paving
Where new flowers bud
And spread wide their vivid inflorescence
Redolent of a rainbow,
As a hand, soft, gentle, and warm,
Touches mine, caressing away the wintry chill
Until I'm warmed through,
No longer frozen to this spot,
As we walk away
Into the brilliant sunlight ...
Andrew Barham
Glow softly in your chestnut hair, a memory
As I wait outside these grey-stone walls ...
Acting on an impulse,
I grasp a handful of fallen leaves
Scattered on the cracked paving at my feet;
Gently, I toss them to the wind
And they are gone,
These wisps of amber and crimson.
Crystals of frozen water,
Glittering like tiny diamonds,
Gust up from the wall,
Swirling motes of light
That billow and eddy about my face
As they drift ground-wards
To settle at my feet.
The wall crumbles into ruin
With the passing of ghosts and time,
And soon, the snow reaches above my knees
To cover me completely
As the seasons revolve;
Until, one day, there is a wisp
Of chestnut hair, streaked with blue,
Scintillating with golden highlights
As the sun bursts through the skeletal ruins
Of the grey-stone wall;
Liquid snow seeps into the gullies and fissures
Formed by cracks in the jagged paving
Where new flowers bud
And spread wide their vivid inflorescence
Redolent of a rainbow,
As a hand, soft, gentle, and warm,
Touches mine, caressing away the wintry chill
Until I'm warmed through,
No longer frozen to this spot,
As we walk away
Into the brilliant sunlight ...
Andrew Barham
Competition Winner - December 2013
A Universal Truth - Ian Renouf-Watkins
A bubble so clear, a small roundel of tear
Glass-like yet fluid, it shimmers and slides
Dripping and dropping it’s so full of light
Sliding down gently, it’s the water of life.
Ian Renouf-Watkins
Glass-like yet fluid, it shimmers and slides
Dripping and dropping it’s so full of light
Sliding down gently, it’s the water of life.
Ian Renouf-Watkins
The Man from Mars - John E. Blaise
From outside of society
the man from Mars stares agape
At our play now pay later life style.
Run by money driven capitalistic,
bourgeois, fascist hypocrites
who donate small amounts of money
from large corporate funds
to appease the silent majority.
Fat cats skimming off the cream
Sitting on millions.
With ego's the size of hot air balloons.
World run on currency
Environmental decisions made to fill wallets
By self-opinionated bigots
Everything contaminated and polluted
Apart from areas surrounding their domains
Their warm insulated castles.
Eyes closed, noses raised firmly upwards
Oblivious of any real poverty
Caused by corrupt third world governments
Backed by Western money
Laundered through offshore Islands
By shady illegal gangster firms
Dealing in tainted drug money
Helping to sustain monopolies and empires
All set up for future generations to inherit.
John E. Blaise
the man from Mars stares agape
At our play now pay later life style.
Run by money driven capitalistic,
bourgeois, fascist hypocrites
who donate small amounts of money
from large corporate funds
to appease the silent majority.
Fat cats skimming off the cream
Sitting on millions.
With ego's the size of hot air balloons.
World run on currency
Environmental decisions made to fill wallets
By self-opinionated bigots
Everything contaminated and polluted
Apart from areas surrounding their domains
Their warm insulated castles.
Eyes closed, noses raised firmly upwards
Oblivious of any real poverty
Caused by corrupt third world governments
Backed by Western money
Laundered through offshore Islands
By shady illegal gangster firms
Dealing in tainted drug money
Helping to sustain monopolies and empires
All set up for future generations to inherit.
John E. Blaise
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