Blog Archives

It's The Louvre, Baby1, by Cindy Patrick

28/2/2021

FOOD, TRAVEL

At the Bellagio fountains, a jaunty stream of water sprays
extraordinarily high. Not programed to be a little squirt
What is to notice? Coloured lit water
Off the farm, away from the cubicles or the children,
this noise is exciting. Mona Lisa exhibit. At Las Vegas. Culture shock.
Do people have tee shirts saying, It’s the Louvre, Baby!?
The engorged shrimp from unknown origins taste dirty to me
But off the farm, seafood is exciting
Wandering. Gawking. With people who instantly befriend us because we are from Canada, too!
Mobsters created a façade of decadence. Sin away!
On the plane ride home, we’ve gotten away
with something. From something. Vegas tourism thanks us
for our patronage. We don’t feel dumber, but we don’t feel smarter either.
As we stare at the Visa statement. I think of the Bellagio fountains. The water
streams all fighting for more height, more colour.
More attention. As we all are.

Terminus, by Adrian McRobb

28/2/2021

TRAVEL

He walked on wet streets coat collar up against the buffeting wind of his mind
hands thrust deep into the small universe of his pockets where secret things hide
crossing pathways of the silent city complicated girder patterns chase his passing
avoiding those who would threaten conservation by crossing diagonal trackways
peddling the shoe leather of tomorrows heel-bar in puddles of yesterdays dreams
headlamps light up hopeless faces as they try to escape their blue screen TV lives
the nearly men squeezed by the lemon juicers of hot offices and endless numbers
lives glimpsed through curtain gaps promise better times and quickly snatched away
trying desperately to break through the glass ceiling of self imposed hopelessness
faceless in their crowds who fill trains and cross bridges merging into singularity
walking until daylight looms crows of conscious reality trapped in a beggars dream...

Flight Path Towards Heaven, by Krystyna Fedosejevs

28/2/2021

TRAVEL

Our flight must have been blessed
to Munich from Madrid.
At least six priests on board
and one nun in habit.

Soaring higher than birds,
like angels we glided.
Of religion or not
together we travelled.

Our fate predetermined
before boarding the plane.
With rotating staff strikes,
it could have been insane!

But safely we took off
and the same we landed.
Different ways we went
though clergy stayed banded.

Longing, by Mary Wallace

27/2/2021

TRAVEL

There was a year
Where the world was spread before me
An 'all you can eat' buffet
Of land and sea

There was a time
When I chose countries with my heart
Savored mountains and cities
Music and art

There was a day
When I conquered the world alone
And knew that my hardest task
Was going home

There is an ache
An insistent need to explore
To step outside my daily life
To roam once more

Under the Sun, by Andrew Carter

27/2/2021

TRAVEL

ultraviolet

light navigation system –

bee under the sun

Strike Three, by Marjan Sierhuis

27/2/2021

SPORT

The bases are loaded
The bat swings. Strike three
A seagull screams

Travel Along, by Alex Andy Phuong

27/2/2021

TRAVEL

Take a journey,
And venture into the
Unexpected,
For only some aspects
Of reality
Contain unpredictability,
Yet the people who take
The initiative
To avoid certainty
Can change themselves
Certainly

Scrumptious, by Sue Clayton

27/2/2021

FOOD

I scrape out the bowl
Attempt a pastry roll
Give the spoon a lick
Its coating’s so thick

Mummy’s all things nice
Like sugar and spice
She’s lovely and yummy
And her baking is scrummy

She serves food full of flavour
For the mouth to savour
Be it chocolate cake
Or potato bake

Whatsoever the dish
Each mouthful I’ll relish
Because tasty or luscious
They’re all as delicious

Pancake Day, by Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

27/2/2021

FOOD

Time to use up all her milk, eggs and flour,
clear larder shelves, ready for her Lenten fast.
But first, a family feast to fasten slackened bonds.

If only she can get them here, circled around
her worn, pine table – stained by years of angsty dramas,
inked by mundane routines. She whisks her eggs and milk,
stirs in stoneground rye: then lets the mixture rest,
cold on her chilly windowsill. Yesterday, she called

her young, said Please come, forget your differences.
Each one, stranded from the rest, answered, Thanks, mum.
I’ll try. See if I can. She buys muscovado, sweet crystals
to soften acid lemon juice. Fills a carafe with muscatel, for toasts.

Hot fat sizzles, spits from the frying pan. Her doorbell
rings and there stand her brood of prodigals – ready
to eat and drink: free of hiccups or choking grudges.

The Andrew Siderius Writing Contest (end of week 2)

27/2/2021

Disgruntled Tomato Lover, by Peggy Gerber

26/2/2021

FOOD

Tomato plants blossom in my garden,
vibrantly green, fragrant and strong,
fruit bursting with juicy deliciousness,
sweet as a nightingale’s song.

I worked my fingers to the bone
planting seeds on that cold Spring day,
joyous in my anticipation of the
savory taste coming my way.

But, alas, the rabbits ate all the leaves,
gray, bushy squirrels ate all the fruit,
sly, fat, arrogant woodchucks
ate the rest, those tough old coots.

As I view this hateful destruction,
I rage at the roots upon the floor,
whereas now when I crave juicy tomatoes,
I must drive to the nearest store.

Guilt for Dinner (Western Balkans), by Miya Yamanouchi

26/2/2021

FOOD, TRAVEL

Rotten is the world that always tells you no.

We’re eating pizza:
your rabid colleague pounces at our table,
ravenous for coins.

I want to feed him, but I never carry any.
Lover tells him no.

He retreats, foaming profanities,
and then you arrive: less frenzied, more pitiful,
Lover says your limp is staged.

Approach is different: “it’s embarrassing” you say,
“you’re eating, I’m not.”

Lover threatens to stab you, Waiter intervenes.

I wish I had euros,
I would’ve given you them all.

For I want you to know that this world,
isn’t actually rotten.

A Haiku About Food, Travel and Sport, by Gordon Lawrie

25/2/2021

FOOD, TRAVEL, SPORT

Food, Travel or Sport?
This poem hits none of the themes –
You have to pretend.

Hint from the editor: we're getting a lot of submissions that don't relate to any of the themes at the moment. We don't publish these.

Coffee and Vanilla Slice in the Afternoon, by C. J. H. Dickens

25/2/2021

FOOD

With a smile and a wave I catch the eye
Of the waitress standing a short distance away.
She returns my smile, then asks, "Can I
Get something for you, sir, today?"
My answer is just as she expects,
Macchiato and vanilla slice, for two –
Nodding a 'thanks', she respects
My need to be alone with you.
She returns with coffee and cake quite soon
And closing my eyes, I imagine you here
As we sat, side by side, each afternoon,
At this very table, for many a year.
Tomorrow we'll each be back once more –
I'll drink your coffee (as well as mine),
We'll leave the waitress your cake (as before),
And we'll have each other till the end of time.

A Cafe in Madrid, by Guy Fletcher

25/2/2021

TRAVEL

A statue of Lorca we passed by,
he held a lark and appeared sagacious
in the Plaza de Santa Ana
under an azure Spanish sky.
I took a photograph of a portly soul
just staring from her picturesque balcony,
the branches of trees wore spring clothes,
sun caressing our hair on this gentle stroll.

We paused at an alluring cafe
drinking cold beers on a mid-week afternoon
so that the crowds were sparse
in much finer times than today.
My dear, where did your laughter go?
you were so contented then
but I was blissfully unaware
that your eyes would lose...their loving glow.

As I Watch You Leave..., by Sandra James

24/2/2021

TRAVEL

I want to put my old head
on your shoulders
give you all the answers
crib notes
codes
and guide books for your travels
shield you from danger
wrap you tightly in soft cotton wool
until…my mother’s memory
taps me gently on the shoulder
and asks…
When did you become so wise?
How did you learn?
I had to let you go…

A Dream with the Past, by Marie Johnson-Ladson

23/2/2021

TRAVEL

It seemed like I was outside looking in.
I saw family I hadn’t seen in a while.

They were having fun.
I said, can you all hear me?
They smiled and nodded their heads, as if to say, yes.
I said, can I join you?
They waved their hands, as if to say, no.

I could hear a voice in my head say, not yet, you still have a lot to do.
Enjoy where you are now.

When I awoke, I knew my travel with my loved ones were at peace and grateful to have felt that closeness again.

Fishbones, by Adrian McRobb

21/2/2021

FOOD

I came home late to the apartment, stealing in with a bag of guilty dreams.
Finding you in the bath, overflowing with betrayal, broken glass on white tiles tablets in the sink, smiling teeth from the plughole of its mouth.
Your arm over rim in supplication dripping life in hasty revenge, I held your head to stop you slipping.
But, you slipped anyway, a shadow passing too quickly...

Found your scarf today destroying me again, each blue and yellow inch, an unwelcome jack-in-a-box.
Taking me back a year, and memories I had kept in unlabelled boxes, flooding back in a surging wave of sewage and broken trust.
That regretted hour of forensic notebooks and flashing lights, missing you every day.
A remembered bin, its sarcastic lips firmly closed on the remnants of a last meal, smoked salmon we would never share again...fishbones!

Olympic Bound, by Sue Clayton

21/2/2021

SPORT

She’s lithe of body supple of limb
Strutting the beam
Full of vigour and vim

Astride the bars she soars in flight
Pirouettes and circles
A spectator’s delight

Across the floor she leaps and bounds
Cartwheels and handstands
Her moves astound

In this queen of sports she’s fearless and bold
Striving to be at the top of her game
Hoping one day she’ll win a medal of gold

Convict's Lament, by Mary Wallace

21/2/2021

FOOD, TRAVEL

Just me and Ma, alone and cold
We have to steal to eat
There's not much room for honesty
Not living on the street

A loaf of bread was all I took
Cop nabbed me on his beat
And now I'm here without me Ma
A sailing with the fleet

Van Diemen's Land, Australia
A place of flies and heat
And worst of all, I've left me Ma
For sharks and rogues to cheat.

I see'd her standing on the dock
She'd braved the wind and sleet
And cried as I was lead on board
With chains around me feet

Tabata Traumata (Octameter poem), by Krystyna Fedosejevs

20/2/2021

SPORT

Exercise I must,
for health and good looks.
Fitness centres closed,
my flabby muscles
tone in homemade gym.
Zoom session bustles:
instructor teaches,
everyone hustles.

Tabata online.
Sound not always there,
screen pic issues posed.
I wish to decline
if doctor agreed.
I’d opt to recline,
soak in bath bubbles.
Rid pain and troubles.

Love at First Bite, by Marjan Sierhuis

20/2/2021

FOOD

Red lips quiver and her skin starts to shiver as her teeth bite into the succulent red flesh.

Taste buds tingle senses sing while juices flow down her chinny-chin-chin.

She licks the juice off her fingers and closes her eyes while the moment lingers.

Sporting, by Alex Andy Phuong

20/2/2021

SPORT

Sporting personal style
Sometimes waiting a while
Playing games and having fun
Enjoying days in the sun
Despite dark and gloom
A life is like a room
Of one’s own
As people
Do sports athletically
While playing parts
Theatrically
Within their own narratives
While having the willingness
To do more than simply
Give or take

New Castle – New Food, by Andrew Carter

20/2/2021

FOOD

A man finds little rest in Sydney’s Inner West,
endless traffic passes fast – it’s the hectic eclectic.

Noise relentless, housing prices senseless, suits up pressed
travel a money trail by city light rail – power – electric.

He’s growing older, his pen flows bolder – he needs to be set free, from the sophisticated, superficial, latte-sipping, fake Greenies.

And the mung-bean-eating, feral hippies hugging our native trees, like churchgoers performing eye-service, to be seen.

Trendies walk by with freshly frocked puppies lit like guppies
stepping in sync with upturned nose – “Oh no, doggy’s done a pile.”

Tasteless wasters and cork-sniffin’ wine-spittin’ yuppies;
Ol’ mate smiles wryly, then barks out loud – “Doggy style.”

Distracted by the enemy, he fell short of glory land,
now Newcastle is his home, with a garden growing plenty.

Quietude, nature, and food to move a budding writer’s hand:
a writer’s place with a vege patch and space for fruit trees – serenity.

Shall Love Render Miles Meaningless? by Barney MacFarlane

20/2/2021

TRAVEL

To snatch your light once more means I must wait.
Yet waiting strains and chokes my creaking nerve.
While questions sweat the skin, anticipate
That dreaded distance fear alone must serve.

Can love, that seldom grasps embrace, endure
While borders fashion boundaries from our whims?
Your unspoilt smile remains for me the lure
Which drums the blood around my yearning limbs.

Will passing weeks excise me from your heart,
And from the sensual, rampant sense awake?
Or has our lust, osmotic, reached the part
Where love can bear us, soaring, in its wake?

Such distance then may not usurp those powers
To crumble time into mere fleeting hours.

<<Previous

Poetry

Archives