Blog Archives

Gale Over Weston Bay, by Guy Fletcher

29/4/2019

I struggle on the soaked sand
between the Sea Marina and Grand Pier.
The severe wind is so fierce
it threatens to send me through the air.
There is something frightening
about the power of nature, I feel frail
insignificant compared to the gale.

The slashing rain has left the sky
and a weak sun turns the Channel silver.
There's not a soul on the beach,
it has a terrible beauty.
The breakers crash into Breen Down,
it leaves me so breathless but I adore
the vast empty splendour of Weston shore.

Easter Sunday, by Adrian McRobb

26/4/2019

Four miles left, thighs strain in energy sapping pre-cramp tension
tired and sweating, spokes flashing like silent movie sprockets
not expecting, in my path...a line of runway aircraft resting
a stained glass wonder, surprise on a sunny day
Star-Wars comes to Bedlington, V-Wing fighters explode
in a galaxy of colour, red-mauve-magenta-orange-purple
a nose full of magical fairy dust...butterflying cloud, unfolding
fluttering by, disappear into a wonderful sky-borne miracle...

This is a Man, by Ian Fletcher

25/4/2019

This is a man
living in harmony
in all dimensions
of this world

the physical: the gym
his appetite for food
strenuous exercise
and female flesh

the social: the pub
the office, friends
and the football
on weekends

the spiritual: his faith
in God, his church
his inner certainty
of his immortality

yes, this is a man
whose congruency
makes him an alien
to you and me.

Orange Moon on Maundy Thursday, by Guy Fletcher

23/4/2019

The moon shines through innocuous evening clouds
creating a halo, the street-lights
a more dazzling orange but without the allure.
The majestic full form invites admiration
yet some people peer at the pavement
ignoring the beauty held in the sky.
Long after my bones wave the world goodbye

she will still be master of the tides
quite indifferent to my fate
and I reside on a wall to stare
with wonder as in days of old.
Oh, I long for no light pollution:
a star-freckled dome and moon mystical, bright
moving so slowly...the queen of the night.

The Shadow of Death, by Guy Fletcher

19/4/2019

Holman-Hunt's portrait is a masterpiece:
Jesus has completed a hard day's toil
as a carpenter appearing to celebrate
but there's a far away look in the eyes
and his mother stares in horror at his shadow,
a ghost vision of Jesus on the cross.
His arms are outstretched, the tools on display
references to that historic day.

The circular window acts like a halo
over the head of the Saviour,
parched hills of the Holy Land
sun-kissed in the background.
The crown of thorns is symbolised by
a red head-dress near his feet.
The painting has such an awesome power,
I picture the Lord...at his bleakest hour.

"The Shadow of Death" by William Holman-Hunt (1873)

Notre-Dame by Ian Fletcher

16/4/2019

The Other Guy, Doug Bartlett

12/4/2019

Three guys were convicted of a crime.
Two guys committed the crime.
The other guy didn’t.

Three guys were crucified.
Two guys deserved it.
The other guy didn’t.

Three guys were buried.
Three days later, two guys remained buried.
The other guy didn’t.

Perfect Love, by Julie Achilles

12/4/2019

As Winter snow lies on the ground,
And nature sleeps,
I think of you.

As signs of Spring begin to show,
And nature awakens green and new,
I think of you.

As Summer's sun burns hot and bright,
And clear skies show the stars at night,
I think of you.

As Autumn leaves begin to fall,
And carpets the ground in gold and brown,
I think of you.

With each new season time between us grows,
I think of you,
A Perfect end to a perfect love.

Life, by Kirsty A. Niven

11/4/2019

Live like a sword in the wind,
those were the words you chose to live by.
You were all too aware how brief time is,
the guillotine forever hanging over you.

Through all our memories, children picking buttercups,
teenagers thumping away on a bass,
the executioner followed you –
everywhere you looked, there he stood.
Death was like family to you,
the annoying aunt who squawks and fusses.
Yet you instilled in me this message –
cut everything and never stop.

Endgame by Ian Fletcher

11/4/2019

The first moves
proved fraught
yet there seemed
such possibilities
until I was caught
amidst the maze
of the middle game
which I weaved
my way through
the best I could
to this final place
where the board
has been laid bare
and there is space
ah, infinite space!

Snow in April, by Guy Fletcher

8/4/2019

There's something surreal about snow in April:
farmers' crunching over hillside fields
and lambs shivering as a bitter wind blows,
winter's last breath, or maybe not.
Yet in February it was 20c,
weather different from when I roamed
on Caerphilly mountain as a boy
carefree, throwing snowballs with sheer joy.

Yes, there's something surreal about snow in April:
rather sad for it's doomed to melt
long before snow in winter-time,
reminding me of the transience of life
and that each moment should be grasped.
April is a fickle month
snow creating an alluring scene
but now the land... has transformed back to green.

Hero Worship, by Ian Fletcher

6/4/2019

Their heroes were that rebel
without a cause blue-eyed
James Dean or Marilyn Monroe
peroxide blonde on the screen
and Elvis Presley the ‘King’
heralding Hendrix, Janis Joplin
and the poetic lush Jim Morrison
a change of taste bringing in
those icons of my generation
from Sid Vicious to Kurt Cobain
meeting untimely or tragic ends
in decade after dismal decade.
Who are your heroes my friend
are they living or are they dead?
Spare me as it matters not a jot
for all the ragged glamorous lot
are consigned like you and me
to the foul dustbin of history.

Across the Land, by Philip Galfano

5/4/2019

Children’s voices familiar sounds playful happy across the land

Children’s cries stricken with terror hiding unsure sound of guns
Dead bodies tears broken hearts
Living in fear life is unfair
Death is approaching a young man holding a gun
Screaming pacing slowly step by step pointing at children
Scared faces trembling praying
Sound of gun clicking shooting blood pouring

Across the land children playing
Running chasing each other laughing holding hands
Across the land
Life is unfair

The Tourist, by Ian Fletcher

3/4/2019

Her latest selfie
grins out at us
from the very top
of the Acropolis
with the Parthenon
in its immensity
towering behind
in profound silence
a timeless symbol
of the sublime.

So thus she came
saw and conquered
the ancient world
in a mere snapshot
who yet cannot tell
an Ionic column
from a Doric one
or see the temple’s
masonic geometry
as a grand mirror
of Plato’s abstract
realm of Forms.

Oh how Socrates
would have laughed
himself to scorn
at this presumption
as if travel could
broaden such minds
with ambits narrower
than the spaces
between these lines.

Tribute to a Poet, by Guy Fletcher

1/4/2019

Well, his words finally made it
to the front of the magazine.
Perhaps he views his poem with sadness and pleasure
from that unknown land awaiting us all.
He invites us into his world of love and travel
writing for this small magazine for years,
a welcome escape from problems and fears.

I felt he relished penning his verses
and his demise has shaken me,
a reminder of my own brittle mortality.
Although I never met the man
his words ensure I stare into his soul,
it's a fitting tribute to discover
one of his fine poems on the cover.

Quantum Echo, by O. L. Percivall

1/4/2019

What am I? Where am I? When am I?

Which answer is more important to you?

What if I said I am none of these but all of them at once?
Like a spinning coin that is neither heads nor tails but both and none.

Would you believe me?

Should I care if you didn't?

For I am here, Patiently waiting for you to catch up.

Poetry

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