Writing Poetry - Jenny Hamon

A seed is planted in my brain
It rattles round and becomes a grain.
It germinates every now and then
And has me reaching for my pen.

The best ideas come to me
In early morning, about half past three.
To quickly scribble then is the key
Or sleep will not return to me.

As I go about my daily bread
Random ideas pop into my head.
I write them down while I remember,
While it’s still a glowing ember.

There is no rhyme or reason when
The wondrous ideas flow from my pen.
I really have to scribble my thoughts
Before the thinking process aborts.

The poetic juices begin to flow
The spark of an idea begins to glow
It will happen no matter where I am
In the bath or traffic jam.

I only know I must record
The vivid thought before it’s absorbed
Into the dark depths of my brain
Never to be recalled again.

So no matter where I be
I carry pen and paper with me.
I have to say that people stare
When I’m jotting down notes and riding my mare.

The thoughts that come thick and fast
I must capture before they’re lost
And when the poetic moment has died
I think no more, my brain is fried!

Jenny Hamon

One Sky Moment - Janinka Diverio

I have not included an image with this post as Janinka prefers to let the text stand for itself she says; "It allows the reader to conjure up his/her own images and relationship with the words. I respond very well to visuals but in this case I like the words to stand alone in their own naked and raw glory.... "

One Sky Moment - Janinka Diverio

Effervescent sheets of mauve
Dance around the mallow
As crisp, cotton and
White lace
Doilies and paper shapes
Pirouette and beckon
And spin themselves around
Street-lined and bobbinesque bays

Umbrella clouds float above
Horizontal falling rain drops
Whilst a phalanx of sheep’s wool momentarily
Shrouds the sky.
The horizon trimmed with pinking-shears
As zig-zag tree tops protrude and pierce
The ever-white infinite, yet sometimes
Interrupted blue as
Pallid mauve ribbons
Remind me of you.

Janinka Diverio

To David Bowie - Stuart Price

Man of whimsy, pale beauty and thinness
Close adored friend of both ways fantasy
And lonely teenage bedsitter distress
Whose pain and trouble you alone could see;
You were as cool as cool as man could be
Exploring the stars is there life on Mars ?
Oh how we all wanted to be like thee.
Iconic, ironic not moronic
Your created personas a tonic
For the strikes and stress of the Seventies.

Stuart Price

(Very loosely based on Keats wonderful poem ' To Autumn')

The Rescue - Jenny Hamon

The pager pierces the slumbering room,
He leaps out of bed and peers through the gloom.
There must be a problem out in the rough sea
Problem enough that they need to call me.

The wind is howling, the sea is boiling
But out at sea a sailor’s calling.
No second thoughts, there’s a job in hand.
The crew are ready, the boat is manned.

The night is black and the sea is high
But the call is urgent, someone could die.
They slip the mooring and head out to sea
Leaving the shelter of the harbour’s lee.

Full speed ahead and set the course,
The waves are huge, the weather worse.
They battle on, no thoughts of slowing
Through mountainous waves and gale force blowing.

The radar’s like a heartbeat glowing,
On the screen the yacht is showing
We’re nearly there, get ready boys
(It’s hard to shout above the noise.)

The crew are trained, they are a team,
The Coxswain slows alongside the beam
One by one the sailors are pulled on board,
No wasting time they cannot afford.

They take the casualties down below
While other crew establish a tow
The yachtsmen now are safe and sound
Aboard the lifeboat, homeward bound.

The homeward journey’s a slow rough ride
The lifeboat battles against wind and tide
The speed is slow, but with casualties aboard
A successful rescue is assured.

The dawn is breaking, it’s morning now
The mooring chain’s secured on the bow
He heads for home, into bed he slides,
Don’t put your cold feet on me, she cries!

Jenny Hamon

Without so much as a sigh - Andrew Barham

Without so much as a sigh
My father dies
Exhausted
By the struggle
To stay alive
And the nurse turning him
Cries …

Death,
A dark presence
Lurking in the corners and shadows
Perched up there
Near the ceiling,
Waiting –
Pounces!
And it's all over.

He could see it
As he lay
Helpless
The terror in his eyes
Every time
He looked up there
Unable to speak –
To communicate;
The man I looked up to
The man I could always talk to
About anything
About everything;

Death
Is not so complete –
It leaves everything
Unanswered …

Andrew Barham