With Each Broken Pane... The Wealthy Gain - Ian Duquemin

It's not about the broken panes that collapsed within the twisting lanes
It's not the beaches dulling sands or fast receding greener lands
It's not the people born and bred, not even what this poet said!
The problem only came to view
With cash put down by you
It's all about the mess you've made
It's there within the bricks you laid
An island now controlled by wealth
To satisfy yourself
But who am I to speak aloud?
These words are surely not allowed
Yet here they are for all to see
As you look down on me

Ian Duquemin

Christmas Passed - Bryant Doyle

That first Christmas, . . . God, she looked gorgeous
fleece-lined boots right up to her thighs
snuggly coat, so warm, but so short
pouty little mouth and big bright eyes.

I was Donovan, and she was a Cilla
and even though we were still at school
every day was Heaven, . . . especially Christmas
back then I was such a happy young fool.

The bright Xmas lights, from the shops and streets
reflected in people's faces, and the pavement snow
all huddled round, to hear the band playing carols
everyone singing, smiling, faces aglow.

Christmas carols now, don't seem so clear
the lights, and the tinsel are never so bright
I don't hear laughter, see faces aglow
just empty day, and lonely night.

The happy young fool didn't realise, nothing lasts forever
all good things soon come to an end
this Christmas, . . . just reminds me, for it to be special
it has to be shared, with a special friend.

Bryant Doyle

Roots - Tony Gardner

I gather from your letters that you're doing fine out there
The grandeur of that great, wild land is way beyond compare
The Northern Lights are such a sight they take your breath away
And yet you say you miss the douit that tumbles to the bay.
You've seen the wild and lonely plains, the big sky up above
But yet you say in that fair land, you still dream often of
That little home you loved and left, and one you left behind
But you just had to follow where the Trail of Life will wind.
I hope you're happy in the land that you have made your own
Perhaps it's true the isle you left, kissed by the ocean's foam
Could never offer all you dreamed, but still you write to me
Of missing little gurgling streams, which tumble to the sea.
You never would be happy, prisoned on this little isle
And I, in that great land of yours, would find it hard to smile
But childhood memories cannot die, so evermore will we
Re-live those rambles where the douit goes tumbling to the sea.

Tony Gardner

R.I.P. David Jones - Stephen A. Roberts

Image: (http://www.librarising.com)

I can't explain the sorrow I'm feeling
And I shed a tear for what it is worth
For the loss of music's chameleon
David Bowie, the Man Who Fell To Earth

In between all my snuffling, weeping sobs
I'm pouring change and coins into the juke
Force feeding the pig with Diamond Dogs
To hear those great songs by the Thin White Duke

Years ago Top of the Pops in my beige home
Your strange androgyny shocked my parents
Aladdin Sane, Ziggy, the Laughing Gnome
Starman to "Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence!"

Jean Genie plays, I wipe away my tears
David, you gave us all your Golden Years

Stephen A. Roberts

A Present Worth Having? - Diane Scantlebury

If I gave you a box
All tied up with string,
Decorated with pretty paper
A beautiful thing,
Think how disappointed you’d be,
When you looked inside
And nothing could you see,

Long ago I made a promise
You made one too,
But time eroded your memory
Honesty and faithfulness
You just couldn’t do,
Now I’ve moved on
And no longer resent,
The box of empty loneliness
You left for me,
Or the wasted years spent,

When a gift is offered
Surely you’d agree,
At most it should be given with love
And at least sincerity,
I decided not to judge you
Although countless others would,
For a present is only worth having
If the giver's intentions are good.

Diane Scantlebury