Blog Archives

Tulips on a Bench, by Guy Fletcher

23/2/2024

The flowers are wrapped in cellophane
on a bench by the ancient church.
I picture a woman residing here
just watching the world pass by,
now perhaps lying in the church graveyard
whilst rain slashes onto the flowers
dripping off the tulips like tears
invisible to many walking past
immersed with everyday problems.
It is really a pitiful sight
in the middle of this bustling village,
a reminder to seize each moment,
once vibrant tulips soon to decay,
here for a short time...then thrown away.

King's Evening Call, by Jeremy Leariwala

23/2/2024

King Zamgi urgently summoned his advisers.
Indoors, they brainstormed for long; since...
Needed then, was an updated blueprint, or
Ground plans to position them for greatness.

Organizational road map to kick-start the journey.
Reactions from the advisers were overwhelming, as...
Ingenuity took the best of them that calm evening;
Meaning that Zamgi got a tray full of priceless ideas.

“We’ll replace the wooden classrooms ASAP, &
Any other thing can wait until later.” He declared.
Now is the time to set up the overdue, modern,
GenNext-compliant Halls and theatres!

Indeed, trade-markedly Zamgi, engineers arrived.
Roaring machines followed soon, and then,
In record time, a manifestation of true leadership,
Plans morphed to the replacements of the archaic units.

The Stranger in the Park, by Mimi Grouse

16/2/2024

The way the stranger walks around,
Shakes his head, looks at the ground,
Makes me wonder where he's from;
What, in his life, has gone so wrong?

I watch him talking to the trees;
He feeds the birds, sings with the breeze,
And, from my window, every day,
I see him join the fox in play.

His hair is white, his eyes are blue
And focussed on a distant view;
He's happy now, that I can tell,
Although I do not know him well.

The way the stranger walks around,
Shakes his head, looks at the ground,
Makes me wonder where he's from;
What is his pain? How much? How long?

Sins of the Father, by Robert P. Bishop

16/2/2024

I’ve given up
all the vices I inherited
from my father.
I don’t smoke
drink or gamble anymore,
and two ex-wives have cured me
of chasing women.
The old man
was a good role model
after all.

Hubble for You, by Sterling Warner

9/2/2024

“You’ve no idea where I’m gonna take you,” Stella said
tossing her designer coat, pulling off calfskin gloves,
kicking stiletto heels under my bed, settling in a chair.

I figured she’d tutor me with astral sophistication, but Stella
telescoped my expectancy, focused on the skies, projected
like a celestial body, offered data without equivocation.

“I’m the night owl’s mistress, melancholy’s grin,
the blues singer’s lost lover, a young man’s curiosity
& the malcontent’s sole prospect for glimmering relief.”

Spellbound by Stella’s optical lens, I gazed into her eyes,
beheld the milky way & gave myself to her unworldly knowledge,
sucked like a rogue star into duplicitous black holes of passion.

Severe Thinking Problem, by Steven Holding

9/2/2024

Daylight filtered through half-full glass; empty bar and heart like the out-turned pockets of eight am Monday morning drinkers.
A distinct lack of mental wealth.
Fragile body’s failing, mind a time machine.
Pick at threads, unravelling reality. Looming illumination.
How much time? How much life?
The same as a song that’s never played twice.
Beginning to have suspicions that you can’t dance to poetry, no matter how hard you try, but who on earth would want to dictate what song a bird should sing.
No truth but your own truth and if you don’t own it, the truth owns you.
It owes you nothing.

My Cock, by Ibrahim Alhiyari

9/2/2024

I have a cock who roams my backyard daily
Making sure the turf is not infringed,
And his inseminated chickens cherishing his liquidy gifts.
A diehard patriarch, he prevents his harem
To eat, drink, or breathe without his permission.

Wary of my approach by instinct, he crows frantically at my intrusion.
Ever so cocky, he mock-attacks, even as I offer grains to his polygamous lot,
So I kicked the ingrate against the wall till he shed feathers plenty.

Standing near, irate Dad stammers, “Let him be, you beast,”
While time-coerced Mom nods dogmatically, showing her wrinkly skin and feebleness.

Though knocked down often, his machismo he never shed,
Thinks it’s his right to bully and still be served.

Footsteps, by Robert P. Bishop

2/2/2024

Don’t step on that ant
hurrying down the sidewalk
on six spindly legs.
She enjoys her morning walk
as much as you enjoy yours.

Winter Frost, by Guy Fletcher

2/2/2024

After weeks of dreary relentless rain
the sun is truly a glorious sight
as I stroll in the cool crisp morning air.
The grass is painted white
and as the sun languidly rises
it seems the fields are bedecked with jewels
as innocuous clouds drift slowly by.
Mist rolls over the golf course
and my breath is like ectoplasm
as a squirrel scurries up a tree
with branches as if skeletal fingers.
It is a fine moment to be alive
with the frost mimicking snow
and the weather beautiful...for now.

Make My Day, by Alex Blaine

2/2/2024

I've got a Beretta
and I'm going to make
my day better
by making you
deader

Poetry

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