Blog Archives

A Winter Stroll, by Guy Fletcher

15/1/2021

I exit suburbia and stroll
over a quaint bridge, the stream
still full after rivers of rain
but this New Year's Eve morn
the sky is azure and the field
under the Wenallt is a transient white,
sun rises, birds flicker from tree to tree
I feel they are serenading me.

The branches, a giant's skeletal fingers,
are adorned with glistening diamonds
from the slowly melting frost
as a dog and owner pass by
and a grey horse stands on the crest of the hill
its breath replacing the morning mist.
In the solitude of this early hour
I can believe... in a higher power.

3 Comments

Before the Light, by David Walby

15/1/2021

1 Comment

Before light there was darkness,
before darkness there was the void.
Within the void the Old Ones slumber,
deep within the primordial deep,
before the onset of time,
The Old Ones sleep,
waiting for the time to cease once again.
Darkness engulfs the Earth once again.

1 Comment

Rags of Glory, by Adrian McRobb

15/1/2021

2 Comments

The pipes shrill out their epic story
of English shame and Scottish glory
so we might travel too arrive
back in time to the '45
of clansmen tall I tell the tale
who marched on London to no avail
from Glenfinnan to Culloden Moor
where bayonets flash and cannons roar
a breed of men who were never to own
a Scottish King on an English throne
and all that remains of this today
are empty crofts and livestock that stray
so hark to the pipes and if tears you would weep
shed them for Scotland, and not for the sheep!

2 Comments

My Nana's Netty, by Adrian McRobb

8/1/2021

2 Comments

Tea stained toilet, scented
with orange gentian oil
freezing in the winter
Izal toilet paper of skin toil
God and Goddess tiled floor
from an old Victorian mansion
helped my Latin and my Greek
an educational expansion

It used to be outside, until
the council built over the roof
not really any warmer
but of less wet reproof
the latch door got painted
so we might feel more posh
although the white porcelain
still got the tea-pot wash...

2 Comments

Rest, by Alex Andy Phuong

8/1/2021

1 Comment

Rise above the rest
Also, life is not a test
Try to be one’s best

1 Comment

Chasm, by Swati Moheet Agrawal

8/1/2021

1 Comment

She busied herself whenever he passed,
she’d evade him;
only then he’d turn smooth as silk,
amiable and warm,
he’d try to win her over.

He would hang around stealthily in her study
where she sat writing poems,
he never read a line of her poetry,
but knew she wrote deeply, sonorously.

What was it she sought?
So passionately, fixedly and silently?

Sometimes
when he looked at her,
he felt like he was gazing at a star –
distant yet dazzling,
a star he was too afraid to reach out for,
a star he’d have to put back in the sky.

1 Comment

The Gods Talked, by Michael H. Brownstein

1/1/2021

2 Comments

So the gods talked
and nothing really happened
until a storm from the south
breached the enclave and blackened.

Then the smallest god
stood up and spoke his piece:
Nothing will change ever.
The people are not geese--

Geese ride together in the sky,
each takes a turn in front.
They depend on each other
when the wind becomes too blunt.

If people could lead and follow,
a lot of this would be solved--
so my suggestion--
let the people evolve.

2 Comments

Whaling, by Adrian McRobb

1/1/2021

1 Comment

Lets write a poem
to help save the whales
it won't really help
but the air will fill sails

the slaughter has started
please try not to offend
our ecological policy
is right round the bend

we'd rather not see pics
of what really goes on
it spoils our breakfast
this harpooners song

they lure them to coves
and then cut them apart
a most terrible thing
is the cold human heart

Flipper the trusting
is skinned off the coast
please don't spill your tea
and pass me the toast

1 Comment

Alone, by Ana Marie Dollano

1/1/2021

1 Comment

A lone is the feeling within that seems to
L anguish deep in my heart, but my soul finds joy
O h, for silent prayer and pleasant thoughts at
N ight fly and charm their way to where
E vening candles illuminate through the mist of time.

1 Comment

Watering, by Alex Andy Phuong

1/1/2021

1 Comment

Watering is like
Forgiving, because they both
Clean both in and out

1 Comment

The Lost Weekend, by Guy Fletcher

1/1/2021

1 Comment

A famous author entered the AA meeting,
he had penned a novel featuring an alcoholic
based mainly on himself.
It was turned into a film noir starring Ray Milland,
(in another life a Cardiff schoolboy).
The whisky is more alluring than any woman
allowing dreams to blossom briefly
before his soul crashes down.
The author, Charles Jackson, relapsed
just one of the lost on plastic seats,
writing had not cured his psyche
and he couldn't face sobriety anymore.
But it was alcohol which made his name,
oh, but what a terrible price for fame.

1 Comment

Poetry

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