Blog Archives

The Stranger, by Guy Fletcher

29/2/2020

She drifts in and out of dreams all day
and wakes confused and tearful
frowning as a stranger strokes her face;
it is her distraught daughter
wiping dribble from the old lady's lips.
She used to be such a lively one
but now she's gone, Dorothy gone

crosswords untouched in years,
what dreams swirl in her broken brain?
The tragedy is she is not alone,
others exist in the care home lounge
with eyes that have left this world
a sight terrible to look upon,
now she's gone, Dorothy gone.

Cemetery, by Ian Fletcher

28/2/2020

Oh you below
were your lives
happy or full
of sorrow?

That I shall
never know
but I am sure
none of you
will have any
tomorrow.

For you belong
only to a past
that did not last.

Yet your silence
speaks to me:
“What we are
so you shall be.”

Dark Days, by Adrian McRobb

28/2/2020

My mind is dark
in this season of the crow
obsidian glass

Cold dank days, sluggish mind
grey months undo my psyche
unravelling thoughts

Stone, stark outlined
against charcoal clouds
drifting melancholic thoughts
sacrificial offerings of darker musings

Ravens rise leather flapping
feathers of jet, funeral crows
suit my mood

Mould velvet figs, shrivelled
birth maggots of gangrene memory
squashing underfoot

Dead words striding halls
of sickening self pity
lancing swollen ideas
of pus flowering imagination

Darkness rises
filling my soul
with anxious dread...

Love and Feathers, by Cindy Patrick

28/2/2020

She cried, “You threw me away!”
His lying eyes showed hurt
Who’s hurt?
We breathed uncertainty, vapours of torment
She cried, “You taught me to fly, but you didn’t teach me to land”
Lives not their own
Lives belonged to Her
The other she. Not born a ruler but power was hers

She, who was thrown away, left, void of air, but still breathing
The air felt too thick and heavy
She looked up and cried, “You threw me away!”
Sky. Clouds. Her arms thrusted up in the air
Fly, fly again
The sky was so vast, with so much to investigate
She lifted, she faltered, she soared a little
She caught herself on her way down

Another He was waiting. In the wings.
Creating a soft place to land
Not that she needed it

Passion Flowers, by Adrian McRobb

28/2/2020

Black Orchid
like suspenders
and kneeling
on wet grass

Smell of violet
makes me think
milk white thighs
and a velvet dress

Gypsophilia
tiny buds
a sweater girl
in an April calendar
watering her garden

Moon Rose
and dew
like sequinned mules
remind me
of you...

Ersatz, by Sterling Warner

28/2/2020

bright
gold
sunrays’
honied pause
brings forth reflections
nurtures bolder expectations
vanquishes actual false news with powerful truths
sustains ethical behavior
beyond grave triage
magic ticks
often
take
flight--
quick
steps
into
future bliss
leaving dust layered
memories among hallowed fields
of crowded souls where apocryphal loneliness reigns
placing prospects above caution,
facts before beliefs:
false yellow
brick roads
to
Oz

Mother Love, by Rona Fitzgerald

21/2/2020

In Dublin’s Avoca café, I’m almost at home.
Kitchen bustle, clink of cup and glass
fresh coffee, scones, berry jam.

At the next table, the younger woman
places mother, fusses over the menu.
Have the soup mammy, it’s very good.

Mother, slim, veins like tributaries,
jaunty scarf - says she’d love a scone and hot chocolate
gets a scold about cholesterol.

I think of my mother. Our illicit late-night suppers.
Tablecloth, good china, pancakes, toasties.
And the ritual cigarette that later took her precious breath.

I dare not look up. Head down, back to my book.

The Poet, by Adrian McRobb

21/2/2020

The poet bends to his thankless task
scribbling his muse across acres of paper
words tumbling forth, hastening as years speed by
to leave a desperate mark, before his span is done

Not, for monetary gain or fame
although some do
but, rather for art or hobbies sake
one day perhaps?

To see a line or two
of his thoughts, hopes, desires, dark imaginings
appear in fine print
to show his friends
or leave to children's children
and by so doing prove
he also lived, and life was not a dream...

The Reply, by Mary Wallace

21/2/2020

After Mary's poem on the 14th February, another contributor suggested a reply might be appropriate...

Don’t be so ridiculous
It’s not your choice but mine
You have no right to dictate
How I should spend my time

You suck at keeping secrets
As if I didn’t know
The pain that’s etched in your brow
The fear you wouldn’t show

Don’t give up hope yet darling
We don’t know what’s to come
Miracles are possible
As if I mean to run

You promised we would marry
The time for us is now
So let’s stop all this fighting
I’ll hold you to that vow

We’ll face this thing together
‘Cause even if we lose
I’ll spend this time beside you
And it’s my right to choose

Transient Lake, by Guy Fletcher

21/2/2020

(Image: Geoff Gobody/Facebook. There's a football pitch under there, I think – ed.)

The river Taff burst its banks
submerging the Water Bus platform,
branches sped under Cardiff Bridge
instead of tourist boats.
Bute Park transmuted into a transient lake
the shape of the future perhaps.
For days Storm Dennis had ruled the air
causing flood devastation and despair.

The storm tortured gothic trees in the park,
rain swept across and the gale raged
as if a tormented beast.
The Gorsedd Stones were almost devoured
now appearing like a shipwreck
then the sun broke briefly through
and ghost diamonds shone but they did not stay
rain clouds returned...to wipe them all away.

The Kiss, by Adrian McRobb

14/2/2020

The kiss
which burns
that inner skin...

My Valentine's Day, by Sandra James

14/2/2020

No one gave me a big box of chocolates
And I’m glad coz it’s helping me slim
The lack of red roses is equally nice
For my hayfever is under control.

The postman has been to deliver
And for me there isn’t a card
But over the course of a lifetime
I’ve saved one more rainforest tree.

I don’t have a date for a dinner
So it’s beans on some toast just for me
They’re good for my heart
And if I should…
Then there’s no one at home here but me!

Please Go Away, by Mary Wallace

14/2/2020

I watched you walk away from me
I knew that it was right
It seemed like just a simple thing
Another silly fight

But I meant for this to happen
You weren’t supposed to know
The results came by mail today
You were supposed to go

I wanted you to go away
Before this thing gets worse
You agreed to be a husband
I didn't want a nurse

My eyes are filled with tears again
But still it's best this way
If I told you what is coming
I know you’d want to stay

There's so much time ahead for you
You need to live your life
There’s people in the world to meet
Perhaps even a wife

Pain, by Ana Marie Dollano

14/2/2020

Pain,
Agony
Inflicted by
Noxious influences. Nagging.

Valentine's Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

14/2/2020

It is Valentine's evening and by chance
he finds himself outside the restaurant
he and his ex-wife had dined
on another Valentine's night long ago.
A young couple now lock eyes
feasting at the same table as they had.
The two lovers then disappear,
he strokes his ex-wife's rich blonde locks
in days when all seemed possible.
The haunting image fades away,
there's a sad ghost reflection in the window.
They spot his presence discussing him
and the words they say will be unkind,
he walks... leaving the restaurant behind.

The Left Phalange, by Kirsty Niven

8/2/2020

I promised I wouldn't fall for you,
a cynical certainty I supposed.
A relationship in SMS –
'The Shop Around The Corner' for the modern age.
The James Stewart of my dreams,
stealing my heart with fictional adventures
and words I cannot live up to.
Psychologically mixed up
by every romantic comedy trope
slapping me around the face –
the boarding of the plane,
the long distance love.

I mourn the possibility you held,
the future forecast and fucked.

Memories, by Adrian McRobb

7/2/2020

Memories; like walking through the rooms
of a once loved house
lace curtains blow idly
across the shattered remains
of a rain streaked window

paper peels from damp moulded walls
paint, cracked a crazed
falls gently like coloured snow
as dust motes dance in fetid air

faint echoes of childish laughter
hang upon the broken stairs
an Aga in the kitchen
spews its guts over pock-marked tiles

a shadow moves with passing time
and all are still...memories

Remembering Sentosa, by Guy Fletcher

7/2/2020

Yes, I remember Sentosa:
we rode the cable car from Singapore
feeling on top of the world,
you laughed, no sign of the pain to come.
We travelled on the old monorail,
(a high speed train has since taken its place)
you strolled in the heat with joy on your face.

I remember a myriad of colours
in the exotic butterfly park
and a Hindu festival we stumbled across
so surreal in the soporific evening air.
I recall a giant stone lion
and the golden sand of Palawan Beach,
those were fine days...but now you're out of reach.

In the Autumn of His Life, by Sandra James

1/2/2020

After the heady summer ended
and autumn slowly descended into
eternal winter…I found Edward Bear
forgotten…fallen from a
shelf in the opportunity shop
shed like the golden leaves
beneath the trees
after the glory of his youth
one ear torn, a stain or two
peeping hopefully from his
lone brown eye

Pocket shrapnel…a clever stitch
and a shiny brown button
restored his faith…and mine

Poetry

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