My Kestrel At Port Soif - Tony Bradley

Have you noticed ever,
how unbelievably clever
the beautiful kestrels are?
with its amazing sight
in almost black night
even without a moon, or star.

Dropping from ninety to ten feet
in blustery rain or sleet
without the slightest sound
and hover, two feet away,
an unsuspecting prey
that's been long-targeted on the ground.

Circling, hovering, above the heath
it spots a urine trail,
fifty feet beneath
and  glides silent,through a rocky gap
then, so fast it swoops, to flail
its beautiful wings and tail
forming a deadly trap.

Tony Bradley

Image : Pixabay - adege

Spring - Tony Gardner

Spring has sprung, now ain't that something
Buds are bursting, Hares are jumping
Swallows flying, cuckoos calling
And the caterpillars crawling
Tadpoles swimming, chicks are fledgin'
Nightingales are Spring's sweet legend
Early Butterflies are tumbling
Badger cubs will soon be stumbling
Through the woodlands shady glades
Where the fox cubs sniffed and played
How I love this time of year
Spring has sprung and Heaven's here

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - MabelAmber

Trinity - Ian Duquemin

Of God. The Son. Or the Holy Ghost.
I've wondered in which I would trust the most…
The God. The designer. The Creator of all
If he listened, then God never answered my call
As I've prayed for peace… But the wars go on
"Protect the sick" but they too have gone
If killing is something God loves to do
I'm sorry… But I could not follow you

The Son. A man who once walked this earth
Who was crowned a king at his time of birth
Who grew to preach, and to raise the dead
To feed five thousand on fish and bread
Whose blood was wine… Who could walk on sea
This couldn't be real... It's fantasy
Should I believe in a man who lied?
Whose father just watched him be crucified?

The Holy Ghost… Of the Trinity
Where God and Son, now amount to three
The spirit of something… But I'm not sure
The death of life? That became the cure!
If death is life… Then what are you giving?
A life of struggle, not worth the living
Then show yourself, let me see the truth
Just give me an answer. Give me the proof

I'm told, I'll burn if I turn away
A sickening game that believers play
"You'll go to hell for Eternity!"
Well… Maybe hell is the place for me
As I've done my best, but that's never enough
I've fallen apart when the times got tough
Throughout my life I have felt alone
So at least I'd be able to call this home
But who is the Devil? This angel once banished
Who fell to earth and then somehow vanished
I want to believe… But what can I say?
I haven't a fiddle to play

Ian Duquemin

The Call - Richard Fleming

We watched a small boat on the lake:
oars dipped and rose, oars dipped and rose,
and strollers, happy, I suppose,
went by, each blind to our heartache.
We held each other, did not speak
too numb to search for words to soothe:
instead, embraced the dreadful truth
and, in truth’s loveless arms, grew weak.
An hour ago, we laughed and shopped,
drank coffee, waited for a bus,
then came the call that murdered us:
Time slowed, then stalled. Now time has stopped.

Richard Fleming

Image : Pixabay - TF3000

In Memory of Spring - Diane Scantlebury

Will the lure of indoor retail
Kill the daily outdoor family stroll?
Will our brief encounter with nature
Have taken its toll?
Too soon we’ll have forgotten
The visual beauty of spring,
Above the roar of traffic 
We can’t hear the song that birds sing,
From the comfort of the sofa
We can’t see the crocuses in the grass,
Or the colour pop of park daffodils
Their splendour will have passed,
Time for us can be as fleeting
As short, sharp April rain,
So will spring’s imprint on our memory
Blow through swiftly just the same? 

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Pixabay - MichaelGaida