Blog Archives

The Flat by, Adrian McRobb

31/5/2019

Where is the girl with the sad eyes
staring out the window at trains
the girl with the long weekends
she can't fill

The new one isn't nice
has parties, dances with heavy feet

We miss the wraith, quiet, mouse silent
a no-one in silence

Present tenant breaks switches
slams doors and doesn't paint flowers

We miss the girl who cries friendless
wishing the weekends away

She just went...with him
we thought she would return
we were wrong...

Who Would've Thought? by Robert Steward

29/5/2019

Who would’ve thought
When I entered the school
Our eyes would meet
Like cobalt blue marbles?

Who would’ve thought
Your smile would curl up,
Would make my heart skip,
And make me feel young?

Who would’ve thought
When I talked about home
Your heart would melt
Like pistachio ice-cream?

Who would’ve thought
Our story would last,
Would burn like a fire,
And never go out?

Your Voice, by Philip Galfano

28/5/2019

I still hear your voice
kindling my memories
and reawakening deep desires
in my heart,
the very same voice
that quivered with anticipation
over bed sheets consummated
during nights of love making,
and letting ourselves go
to so many overwhelming desires
in the shadow of the night
that peeked timidly from behind the shutters.
I still ache for that voice
that filled my soul with fragments of life,
of your life into mine,
then I let myself go
and what is left now is a gentle sound of time
that whispers those passions
we lived and fulfilled.

Summits of the Seven Continents, by Guy Fletcher

28/5/2019

The American ascended the highest peaks
of all Earth's seven continents.
What exhilaration he must have felt
and yet insignificant as well
as wild winds roared and he crunched on snow,
true freedom like an angel in the clouds
far away from the maddening crowds.

But descending from mighty Everest
altitude sickness claimed his soul
yet he had fulfilled his ambition
and who amongst us can claim as much?
And I wonder if his ghost roams
those lonely peaks high above where we fret,
up there you could be a god...and forget.

The Futility of Experience, by Ian Fletcher

24/5/2019

When we are young
we seek experiences
needing them in fact
to build up knowledge
of the world to search
for our own answers
to the eternal questions
confronting humankind
yet the tragedy inheres
in that the accumulation
of experiences we find
dulls our responsiveness
and blunts our minds
thus draining not filling
the vessel of wisdom
as if forming a shell
around the soft kernel
of an uncrackable nut
shutting us off forever
from the essence of life.

Poetry is White, by Adrian McRobb

24/5/2019

Poetry is white
like the bowl
measure for measure

so the earth
and it's symbiotic percentages
flour, yeast, water, salt
and kneading

fire, water, carbon, air
and pressure
measure for measure...

Kindly Leave the Stage, by Gordon Lawrie

24/5/2019

Bob Dylan is 78 today. These are actually song lyrics.

Kindly leave the stage my friend
The lights are going down
Your part is nearly at an end
You must lay down your crown
Time and tide they wait for no one
Least of all they wait for you
Now you must watch from the wings
The rest is not for you to do

You said the times they are a-changin'
They always were, they always will
But now it seems we're only tryin'
To make the time stand still

Take another bow my friend
But this must be your last
The curtain falling at your feet
Must be a veil across your past
Your one-night stand is nearly over
Tomorrow will bring a different show
Your audience is swiftly leaving
They've got a long way to go

You said the times they are a-changin'
They always were, they always will
But now it seems we're only tryin'
To make the time stand still.

Memories of a Summer Evening, by Philip Galfano

22/5/2019

Memories of a summer evening
Fond memories of a summer evening,
the moon shined timidly on our window-sill
while you tendered your hand
to a furtive ray of light that landed softly
over your uncovered breast revealing
overwhelming desires and deep emotions
not yet consummated.
As we laid in bed close to each other
one into the other
I turned and graciously grazed your angel face
that reflected my thoughts on your welcoming body.
I offered my arms to you and you gently
surrendered to me as we shared our love
under the light of the moon filtering through.

Pink Roses, by Guy Fletcher

20/5/2019

Pink roses bloom every year
in my neighbour's garden.
Today they are admired by "new" people
for the old lady has passed.
She used to love to watch the roses sway
on warm azure days in the the month of May

but they are ancestors though appear the same
just like butterflies and wasps hovering
and the robin perched on an urban branch
more ruthless than his form suggests.
Now children's voices fill the springtime air,
the lonely woman...is no longer there.

Morpeth Assizes 1742, by Adrian McRobb

17/5/2019

Seven men seven seals
hemp rope kicked heels
names written lots drawn
watery bowels greet dawn
accused tried now caged
men picked deed staged
noose tied ten feet
rough box no sheet
priests sign starts dance
late reprieve no chance
crowd quiet held breath
prisoners hope quick death
John Stuart, Joseph Hall
Margaret Dunn, Peter Ball
blind justice looks down
black door gold crown
milk stools knocked away
four lives end today
seven men seven seals
hemp rope kicked heels...

The Parson and Clerk, by Guy Fletcher

13/5/2019

The train from Paignton speeds through the tunnel
of the rock called The Parson and Clerk.
I am strolling to Teignmouth on a May Saturday
and pause to stare at all its glory:
red sandstone reflected on the mirror sand,
waves gently roll to sizzle on the shore,
it is a view that I peer at with awe.

The sky colours the sea blue,
grey-white clouds make cliffs seem on fire.
Oh, I have passed Coryton Cove
famous for the hole in the rock
and others like pocket pyramids
but it is this cliff that I adore the most
truly a gem...on the South Devon coast.

Unenlightened, by Ian Fletcher

11/5/2019

At sixty-one I’m still
befuddled by it all
with no known God
to finally save me
in a kingdom come
nor words of wisdom
to say to younger
souls who ignore
me anyway. Thus
shall I stumble on
unenlightened along
that well-worn path
towards the grave.

Don't Insult the Crocodile Until You Cross the Water, by Adrian McRobb

10/5/2019

They come
we see
big hats
carry guns
we help
heavy bags
deep jungle
hidden city

We show
Gold-Diamonds
make tea
Yhanga bark
they sleep
we carry
up-up
then eat!

Wishing Well, by Cindy Patrick

9/5/2019

People denounce those without integrity
out of the left of their mouths
Exchange niceties, drink questionable tea
out of the right side
If you’ve never given your whole heart
meant what you’ve said
point to the tea, “Swill!”
how deep is the well of duplicity
how far the fall
We peer down into the well
do we see a reflection of ourselves
if not too deep
does murky count?
Common, we make a splash
climb out again
wash the dank smell off and shrug
The water is below the final rung
What was in that tea?
Throw me a penny

The Yellow Wallpaper, by Guy Fletcher

7/5/2019

She empathises with the woman
in the book, "The Yellow Wallpaper"
driven insane by the never-changing view
as if trapped in a photograph.
She lies in the soft grave of the bed
toxic thoughts swirling in her head

wearing a mask for the world
to hide the torments in her soul.
The pills halt the panic but cannot
free her from the mist of melancholia,
beauty not enough to dispel
the "Furies" forcing her...to Hell.

Twilight, by Ian Fletcher

4/5/2019

Suddenly by stealth
you find yourself
within the twilight
of your earthly years
when there’s no point
in looking forward
and looking back
brings but regret

so forget the future
for you have none
as your life is done
and thus withdraw
into a smaller world
one much diminished
although not over yet

and while it’s too late
to change your fate
there’s still time
to get a hobby
or perhaps a pet.

Drum-Beat, by Adrian McRobb

3/5/2019

Bows slice water
flagship heels over
Phalanx cannons
spit fire
Fearless

Mirage trails smoke
flies lower
toward horizon

San Carlos
trapped fleet
Mirages shock wave
release ship killing
Exocet!
Klaxons sound

Exeter bridge shattered
runs aground
Ardent bombed
and smoking
Yarmouth transfers crew
Sheffield gone
like Hood

Uganda
white ghosts patrol
rows
of shuddering bunks
a cargo
of nightmares
on a silent sea...

Going Down, by Tate Christie

2/5/2019

Be honest —with yourself —at least,
you stalk him like he’s prey
he works on the fifteenth floor,
you’re far too scared to say,
‘Good morning, how’s it hanging, man?
Have you lunch plans, cos I’m free?’
He makes the mistake of smiling
Freshly showered, smelling great-
Shoves your decorum off a cliff:
pushes ‘Stop’ around floor eight
You’ve pinned him against cold steel
Before your brain kicks in
You stutter an apology,
But all he does is grin
He dips his head, kisses your nose,
Continues to your mouth
Then the intercom breaks the mood-
Demands you proceed south…