Blog Archives

Paradise Lost, by Mary Wallace

29/1/2021

Follow our path to the waterfall
To the place that is no more
Where our stream still flows
But no one goes
Under the cascades roar

Follow my dreams to their resting place
It's called paradise no more
For my love was found
On stoney ground
A casualty of war

Say my goodbyes to our meeting place
My love's on a foreign shore
It was made for heart's
Not torn apart
It belongs to us no more

Monsters, by Adrian McRobb

29/1/2021

Little monsters
said mum
"Crocodiles!"
Aunty Vie said

boxing coach
tried to teach
those rules

National Service
failed them too

My aunty
three streets away
said..."Robin Hoods!"

A local secret
Nationwide
"People don't like
to be hurt!"

Clubs-pubs-rubs-dubs
monickers like..."Thumper!"
Bent coppers
Scotland Lard
under the cosh...tosh?

a blind boxer
their charity
where government failed
they dispersed
clarity

Ronnie was first
Reggie next
incarcerated
they died as heroes do
and the lies
started...

Now Ron and Reg
are..."Brown Bread!"

A Predictive Text Poem, by Adrian McRobb

22/1/2021

Mia Peony writhes digestive sex
its drivelling meow circular Beano
win eye won't tow smell a bird
Garibaldi, Anita voice?

Sumswang twists tow a main
rebate wiley loaf on tea
six of tea bleeds dichotomy
Coriolanus art alley backwards!

Saving, by Alex Andy Phuong

22/1/2021

Saving this day
Living in this present
Do more than exist
Willingly resist
Negativity
And keep
Doing
And going
Along the journey
Towards the
Ultimate discovery
Of this present day
To save the day

The Vatenbizer (Wadenbeißer), by David Walby

22/1/2021

Watch you ankle,
watch your toes,
they will strike you don’t you know,
keep your cupboards shut and closed.
And keep out your tiny foes
I shall tell again
that Creatures dwell therein,
deep within in your cupboard in,
when given chance,
surely they will strike,
the Vatenbizer bite,
will give you quite a fright.

Beauty on the Wall, by Guy Fletcher

22/1/2021

She hears the clock tick on a rainy day
remembering the deep past
when laughter and music erased the sound.
She lights yet another cigarette,
it's killing her but doesn't care
her gaze leading, as it always does,
to the grand painting on the wall:
red lipstick pout and platinum locks
and Aegean eyes you could drown in.
She sighs, flicks ash onto the carpet
pouring another G&T
to numb existence then stares again
at the alluring painting on the wall,
oh, so little of her remains at all.

On Love, by John Cooper

22/1/2021

Sometimes it simply goes unspoken

Sometimes it is shouted to the sky,

Sometimes it leaves us just heartbroken

Most times it makes our hearts fly!

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.

Before the Light, by David Walby

15/1/2021

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.

Rags of Glory, by Adrian McRobb

15/1/2021

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!

My Nana's Netty, by Adrian McRobb

8/1/2021

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...

Rest, by Alex Andy Phuong

8/1/2021

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

Chasm, by Swati Moheet Agrawal

8/1/2021

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.

The Gods Talked, by Michael H. Brownstein

1/1/2021

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.

Whaling, by Adrian McRobb

1/1/2021

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

Alone, by Ana Marie Dollano

1/1/2021

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.

Watering, by Alex Andy Phuong

1/1/2021

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

The Lost Weekend, by Guy Fletcher

1/1/2021

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.

Poetry

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