Blog Archives

This Slow Life, by Mary Wallace

25/4/2020

I miss my family and friends of course
I grieve for the lives lost
And for the jobs lost
Yet a slow stroll through the Liquid Ambers
In their full Autumn glory
Along the path in my small town
Colours my world
Quiet time with pen and paper
And the cats on my verandah
Old friends from books revisited
The feeling of neighborly solidarity
Although we're social distancing
Hearing the birds
Smelling the flowers
This slow world suits me to a T

Cupped Hands, by Adrian McRobb

24/4/2020

I hold the water of my love in cupped hands
no matter how hard I try, it still drips through
love is pain and hurts, I refill it with my tears
one day I will pass the water on to another
but until then I must keep it as full as I can...

Redneck Protest, by Ian Fletcher

24/4/2020

When I see them standing
with their holstered pistols
clutching automatic rifles
holding up their placards
demanding their liberty
with their Big Mac bellies
and backwoodsman beards
refusing to be locked down
or to submit to authority
I think “thank God I’m not
part of the land of the free.”

Hoard, by Steven Holding

24/4/2020

A room, his room, slowly consumed
by the weight of rubbish and years of clutter.
In here you will find everything
that is of no real use, of no real purpose.
In this house he hoards
things to make sense of himself.

Milk bottles stand on windowsill, filled with dead flowers,
papers years old stacked against the wall,
page three girl Susan, nineteen, likes swimming,
she must be at least thirty-eight by now,
still smiles, blu-tacked on cracking plaster.

Balls of string, boxes of wires, broken televisions, at least six or seven
jostle for a place amongst the jumble,
make no sound or complaint about the mess only an
elegant silence when asked any questions.

This company is preferable to any other.

Supermoon, by Guy Fletcher

24/4/2020

There's a supermoon on show tonight
Much closer to earth than normal,
Proud and full, almost blood-red.
Thin languid clouds ghost by
Adorning her with temporary stripes
And I realise just how frail,
Insignificant all of us are.
This controller of the oceans
Frets not about our petty woes,
Admired by many a poet through the ages.
We're gone in just a blink of the cosmic eye
Yet the moon still reigns... In the night - time sky.

Among the Stars, by Paloma Lenz

24/4/2020

Up there lie
the most incredible worlds,

farther than everything
[we) already know.

Up there exists
what we’ve always
(look)ed for.

(Up) in the sky
is humanity’s
one true
purpose.

Life, and everything
below, between, (and)
above it’ll be discovered

Those far(away] lands
will one day become
our own homes

because
as the years go by,
this spirit of ours
will surely never die.

A Strange Kind of Easter, by Guy Fletcher

17/4/2020

This is a strange kind of Easter:
are the Italians still singing
or have they too fallen silent
like ghostly St Peter's Square?
The rug is pulled from the feet
of this materialistic world as I
stare at flowers under an azure sky;

lesser celandine, a silky pink rose
sway softly in the warm breeze;
oblivious to the suffering
of humankind whose technology
is impotent in every nation
oh, the thin ice of civilisation

Escaping from grim news inside,
here I am caressed by God;
resurrected flowers on a sun-kissed day.

Mr Adams, by Adrian McRobb

17/4/2020

His taste is impeccable
his dress is quite superb
eats from gold trimmed china
with manners that are reserved

cleanliness is his watchword
he always wears white gloves
no-one has seen him without them
they are both as white as doves

some say he is eccentric
he only strolls at night
a very sinister purpose
he seems to shun the light

although, in the morning
he sits in the early sun
surveying his neat garden
its his idea of fun

he cuts a handsome figure
never seeming to get fat
the epitome of relaxation
Mr Adams...is my cat

Static, by Paloma Lenz

17/4/2020

We are
blind
toward what
we will
not permit.

Charm, by Ana Marie Dollano

17/4/2020

Simplicity is the flower
that exudes a fragrance
far more distinct and extraordinary.
It captures my heart.

Hart Island, by Ian Fletcher

17/4/2020

REUTERS/Lucas Jackson/NY Post

Who are these people
these nameless corpses
sealed tight in body bags
pathetic plastic mummies
so infectious their bodies
cannot now be touched
nevermore to see the light?

What God, what Allah
would leave them thus
abandoned and forlorn
pitied by none but us?

Remains to Be Unseen, by Cindy Patrick

17/4/2020

Out of the corner of my eye I see Miss Morgan
Ambling around my chair. Gone these 11 years
Her black ears turned grey, belonging now to Gracie, who came,
no bigger than a cup,
meowing from an apple box
Deer chomped the Japanese cedar
rooted in Morgan’s ashes,
chewed the purple smoke bush
rooted in Wee Baubee’s remains
Not knowing what deer bone meal lies
under the rest of the garden,
that George walks along and urinates upon
Dragonfly corner may be where he gets to sleep
forever, in decades of ash legacy,
feeding the up and comers.

Script, by Sandra James

17/4/2020

What if…
there was no Higher Power
God, Krishna, Buddha,
Jehovah, Holy Spirit,
Supreme Being?

What if…
there was no
Big Bang Theory?

Perhaps we are simply the scribblings
of a manic, cosmic author
who penned his, or her, narrative
at the far end of the universe
in response to
his weekly writing group prompt
‘Bat’?

Zoom Rooms, by Tim Dadswell

10/4/2020

In a forest of magnolia walls,
under lighting to appal Dietrich,
tech-savvy Samaritans assist.
Between skew-whiff volumes on shelves,
and filing cabinets wedged into corners,
curious toddlers intrude.

Our height variations are basalt columns.
Wild concentration contrasts abound.
There’s a dawn chorus of unmuting,
chatting, sharing, and saving.

I’ll type it up later.
I’ll tweet about it now,
and forget it all tomorrow.

Denouement, by Sue Clayton

10/4/2020

Twisted tortured limbs, remnants of perished boughs,
racked by perpetual squally devastation,
entwine warped wooden fingers in supplication to the heavens.

Battering elements shred coats of bark,
brittle leaves fragment and fall, gnarled knots weep,
as mouldy ferment slithers over festering roots.

Ebony tentacles clutch the dark blanket of nightfall,
that veils tormented gum trees from their denouement,
hoary statues, testament to the dark side of nature.

Willing Slaves, by Dart Humeston

10/4/2020

they kept sending the cards
massive credit lines
bonus rates due
to our great credit
which was not so great
which was not even good

would have to jump
fifty FICO points just
to get to lousy

but they kept sending the cards

we did what the gargantuan
banks and credit card companies
demanded

we spent and we spent and we spent
until our souls were hallowed out,
our very cells gorged by debt

even then,
they kept sending the cards

The Path is Muddled, by Paloma Lenz

10/4/2020

Hair braided,
skirt hem swaying,
her frail hands open,
trailing along the ridges of
decrepit homes
topped with plastic sheets
caked in sludge.
The path she warily
trudges on is muddled
by a century's worth of
dirt and grime.
She passes through
a bustling crowd of
Animals and Humans;
the moos and shouts
signal nothing -
they are but a repetition
of countless days and nights.

When she returns
to her deteriorating home
at dusk, she looks to the sky.
She listens to the tune of her heart,
strumming, beating, with the
whispers of the stars -
mapped among the constellations
are her purest of dreams.
Carried by hope,
she flies with the
closing of her eyes.

Drifting with the Stars, by Guy Fletcher

10/4/2020

It is a sultry summer night:
She escapes from the claustrophobia
Of her stifling bedroom
And lies in the summer garden
Staring up at dead stars
And the full moon shrouded by
A thin cloud, as if a ghost,
Framed by a glorious golden halo.
Now she is free from petty woes
Hypnotised by the star-freckled night.
An owl hoots as she falls asleep
Drifting through the vast blackness of space.
She is hauled back to earth hearing cats scream
And tries in vain to return to the dream.

Epidemiology, by Adrian McRobb

10/4/2020

I've recently found a word
to help with my biology
its a new discovery
its epidemiology!

I could've seen it anywhere
not books on trigonometry
the study of diseases
its epidemiology!

Chris Witty is fond of it
its part of his pathology
he studied it at college
its epidemiology!

Doctor Calderwood fell foul of it
she didn't study geography
it drove her out of office
its epidemiology!

If we discover a vaccine
to help with this dichotomy
studying how its spreads
yes,,,its epidemiology!

An Instant, by Stella Gaucher Murovic

4/4/2020

Now is the time to listen, to pause,
spaghetti cooking on the stove,
music cascading down your ears,
and the man stirs and stirs
the wooden ladle in the stainless-steel pot.

So listen to the small voice,
hear its notes, its cries, its songs,
the unraveling of your mind --
your thoughts of fear
your thoughts of death.

The cars stationed like sentinels,
their motors for once at rest.
The birds are hidden beneath their wings
and the animals finally at peace,
while we're waiting for a sign . . .

and everyone is the same.
So kneel before your gods --
pray to the father, the son and any spirit,
remember your angels, patient as ghosts,
perhaps then you will hear
the beating of your soul.

COVID-19 Consolation, by Gunilla Jean

3/4/2020

"What you want when you're down is soft and jiggly, not muscled and stable." – from That Lean and Hungry Look by Suzanne Britt Jordan

Consider yourself invited, Mina encouraged,
squeeze me Mina urged; dry your coronavirus
tears on my curvaceous skirt, let’s sing about
renewal as I settle your tattered nerves;
hug me ‘til our pulses become one or as long
as you dare; my generous full-figure’s ideal
for loving, cuddling, embracing, consoling—not
obnoxiously strutting down high fashion runways
like fragile, anorexic models; pitch perfect,
big-boned gals like myself never break
like plastic, playboy pretzels who avoided
human touch before self-quarantine or
social distancing became the norm….simply
afraid they’d fracture bones, crack nails,
scratch skin, smear lipstick, ruffle hair;
both vagabonds and heroes surrender to
my calypso heart, tantalizing, irresistible,
enticing, no less during pandemic days
than blissful nights of endless, cushy celebration;
take my hand, stroke my cheeks, kiss my lips,
move forward, reciprocate my tactile affection.

The Turning, by Ian Fletcher

3/4/2020

You’ve always
sensed you were
approaching it:
yes, even though
it had seemed
not out of sight
but out of mind.

Yet now you find
this subtle change
a sinister turning
for it has fixed you
firmly in its eye
moving ever nigh
in untimely haste
never to be at rest
until it shall reap
its final harvest.

Something in the Wind, by Adrian McRobb

3/4/2020

From a casement window
watching things blow by
in the wind

The silent terror
screams in my brain
there's something
in the wind

not the poly bags
or hurtling gulls
something unseen
breathed in
incubates

two metre rule
turns to four
then six
we avoid
each other

masks become
fashionable
everyone's a doctor

a cough earns
stone face stares
hushed breath
in the stores

there's something
in the wind...

Only Mama, by Ana Marie Dollano

3/4/2020

Your love perfumes the air I breathe,
sweet, delicate.

Your fragile arms enfold me,
secure, comforting

Your words are music,
soothing, healing.

Only you, Mama,
restore my courage
ease my spirit
calm my soul.

Unrequited Love, by Paloma Lenz

3/4/2020

Swirling emblem of creation,
womb capable of life
and devastation.
Unparalleled in fidelity,
majesty, and
fragility;

Skin streaked with
irreparable scars, bloated
by the expanse of
endless sea,
throat coarse, dry,
and searing:

Eternally
persevering.

Heart rushing,
bursting; from this
sprout trees and flowers,
their roots only growing
with intensity as this love
blossoms and invites.

It’s a spectacular display
masking the
pain she hides inside.

“The climate has
always changed.”

Plastic straw
obsessions - their myopic ideals,
delusions - claim them,
but the temperature only
continues to rise.

She perpetually
averts her eyes as
she supports
her own demise.

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