Blog Archives

A Glorious Day in April, by Guy Fletcher

26/4/2024

It's April, spring has finally arrived
after many months of dreary rain:
I reside on my garden bench
under an azure Aegean sky
to the mellifluous tone of birds,
splendid pink blossom drawing my eyes.
the weather certainly a surprise.

The sound of lawn mowers and children's laughter
fills the suburban air,
people escaping the monotony
of rain dripping down window panes.
The sun paints gold into my hair
and though my problems have not gone away
they seem so much less serious today.

April Winter, by John O’Keefe

19/4/2024

They’re all saying today
is the year’s coldest day.

Anxiety,
yesterday’s snow’s converting to ice,
dirty and slippery and hard.

Ominous,
the wind’s gaining fresh vigor,
roars of gusts herald violently that
a difficult day this remains,
p’aps behind the horizon
concealed is faint relief.

Now is not the accepted time
to be roaming the streets,
I’d better go inside.

That’s the thing,
inside where?

(illustration by Toni VerkruysseI

The Death of Shelley, by Guy Fletcher

19/4/2024

"The Funeral of Shelley" - Louis Edouard Fournier

He knew foul weather was due
yet still set sail on his tragic journey
at Lerici with his boat Don Juan
perishing in a sudden summer storm.
Shelley's body was found 10 days later
with poems from Keats in his pocket
and after a month his corpse was dug up,
pitiful remains burnt on the beach
though the heart was not consumed,
kept by Mary until her dying day.
It must have been a terrible scene
immortalised by a poignant painting,
the flames on the sand devouring his form
but his fine words survived the fire and storm.

Dark Lens Duality, by Sterling Warner

12/4/2024

Astrologists and psychologists
share mutual cosmic alignment
await each total solar eclipse
anticipation mingled with elation.

words catapult over linguistic barriers
life lessons influenced by zodiac signs

on the Major Arcana, each card tossed
reveals momentum, aids spiritual evolution.

Cartomancy aficionados contrast tarot deck
divination to “six-five beat” lunar month
patterns while therapists predict personalities
promote self-reflection based on moon phases.

Quake at 7:58, by Ian Fletcher

12/4/2024

Mid phone call the office
shakes. Things start to fall
but by the grace of God
I have survived!

The news highlights
collapsed buildings and
the inevitable tragedies
of the unlucky ones.

Yet for the likes of me
the day and life go on:
the phone calls resume,
those emails are sent.

For we must forget
that our fate rests
on random movements
of tectonic plates.

Ian is a headteacher in Taiwan, felt the earthquake, but has confirmed that he's safe.

Eclipse, by Guy Fletcher

12/4/2024

I remember the eclipse
from tweny-five years ago,
the dawn of a new century
none of us realising
the horrors which lay ahead.
We stepped outside from the workplace
to view the darkening heavens.
Was it my imagination or did birds
cease singing from the trees?
Some people smoked, some I have forgotten
but the survivors so different today,
all ghosts, many not here anymore.
I recall my old self staring in awe
then return to reality once more.

A Compassionate Teacher I Once Knew, by Jo Riglar

5/4/2024

WINNER
SIDERIUS SHORT POETRY
COMPETITION, 2024

No label I knew fitted Mr Gann
No dogma as written, no social plan.
No policies, no hashtags,
Real smiles for tough kids with fags.

His handclasp was warm, affirming
Like an old habit, a way of life.
His eyes held truth, as he knew it.
No plaster saint, no compromise.

His imperfections, revealing.
His self-compassion, healing.
A teacher’s heart, for every kid
Did he ever judge? He often did.

Trading In, by John O’Keefe

3/4/2024

NOMINATED,
SIDERIUS SHORT POETRY
COMPETITION, 2024

She says,
it’s a used bicycle not an old car
that would have trade-in value,
we’ll get you a brand-new Schwinn,
no matter the cost.

Maybe
you can sell the old bone-shaker for $100 tops,
look around in your circle or figure out Plan B.

My circle:
depressos, food thieves, social workers,
middle-aged L’s perpetually between jobs,
abandoned women with three gym memberships,
binge-drinking PTSD veterans,
“actors” and “writers.”

Plan B then,
whatever that is.

Elegy to Innocence, by Paul A. Freeman

3/4/2024

NOMINATED,
SIDERIUS SHORT POETRY
COMPETITION, 2024

Amal, whose name means ‘hope’, has starved to death.
At checkpoints, laden lorries were delayed
(what few there were). Her final gasping breath
amidst the sound of rifle-fire was stayed.

Ahlam, whose name means ‘dreams’, has lost her home.
Her neighbourhood got bombed and was destroyed;
the roads, her school, the mosque’s protective dome.
Her life that was, is now an orphan’s void.

Barak, whose name means ‘blessèd’, lies stone still
upon a mattress, in a makeshift tent.
His legs got amputated and the chill
of fever points towards a life soon spent.

When crimes ’gainst children’s guiltlessness take place,
what light can tarnished innocence embrace?