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A Sonnet for Smiling Sorley, by Barney MacFarlane

29/5/2020

A casual stroll into a well-known room,
Expectant of a mere acknowledgement,
When startled currents from your heart exhume
Joyful commotions plausibly thought latent
And the object of this mislaid stimulation?
Perchance now intimate of some power innate,
While presenting practised communication
To place the happy visitor in a dizzy state –
A charming individual whose still small life
Is considered more in months than ages,
A summer lad indeed and free from strife,
Ergo while still engaging, disengages.
Indeed, you might have thought you’d seen it all
Ere Sorley had you in his radiant thrall.

I Will Return, by Guy Fletcher

29/5/2020

I will return to Whitmore Bay
to watch the sparkling sea
when these dark times are over
with my soul floating free.
I'll drink coffee at O'Shea's
as so many times before,
be caressed by the warm sun
as I wander on golden shore.

Yes, I will return to Whitmore Bay
stroll to friar's point and view
the quantock Hills under
a sky painted a dali blue.
On my way back I'll eat
fish and chips at Boofy's cafe,
I miss the smell of the sea
but I will return one day.

Fishbones, by Adrian McRobb

29/5/2020

They lie in dark water
staring at the land
time is spent
for them
but they look
anyway
once they breathed
saw sunlight
drank beer
until
they sank

On storm surges
they stand
on tidal beaches
fretting
for a glimpse
of candle glow
that glow
that warms
a fretted soul
cold from deep water
home again
just a league
offshore
reaching for sand

When the sea
thrashes in torment
they sing
for lost loves
to kiss
their children
hold wives
in close embrace

But dark nights
are an empty chalice
no soul
just tidal water
and noisy shingle
dragging beaches...

No More Heroes, by Guy Fletcher

15/5/2020

I remember a Stranglers gig
Many decades ago, they were dressed in black
With attitude and Dave Greenfield
Played sublime keyboards.
We had a plethora of lager
Dancing like there was no tomorrow
In times when I felt little sorrow.

So may you rest in peace Dave,
Another figure departed from my youth
Joining Lemmy and Jim Morrison
In a band beyond the clouds.
I put on the old vinyl,
No More Heroes with the volume high
As I remember.... Days long gone by.

The Next Ice Age, by Bruce Levine

15/5/2020

The frozen lake no longer exists
Heat has stolen time
Chemicals in food has changed lives
Women becoming barren
Flight of songbirds
The phases of the moon mutating
As the world becomes further
And further adrift
Lives on hold
Fantasies taking over
As video games become the new reality
Tides rising around the corpse
Of another time
Stigma reinvented
Jobs forsaken in favor of escapism
As adolescence extends into middle age
And maturity evaporates
Half way through the forbidden
Grandmothers laugh
Gold threads extinguished
Without knowing when or why
A torpedo blasts against the rocky coast
Sending shale amongst the cacti of Arizona
And the lake swallows the debris
Lost forever in the next ice age

Mandala, by Paloma Lenz

15/5/2020

A thousand poppy flowers
dance on the shore of
a sea illuminated by
the soft light of the moon
reflecting off a pale thicket
of coral and weeds
stretching the extent
of an endless meadow
home to rabbits and
dragonflies, their buzzing
drowning out even the endearing
trill of a songbird up
in the nearest tree, the
sound traveling into
the depths of the dirt farther
than the bones and exhausted
roots of sleeping plants
until it breaks through to the surface
and is met by the blue expanse
of a clear sky
and centered is the eye
of the willing prey,
entranced by the
ceaseless sway of
his spirit.

The Old Priest by Ian Fletcher

8/5/2020

So the old priest is dead
coronavirus they said
dying alone spluttering
and choking in his bed
this venerable soul
who promised his flock
prayer would save them
from all earthly harm
for whom all the troubles
of the world could be cured
by a parable or a psalm.

Morning River, by Guy Fletcher

8/5/2020

I cycle along the river patch
Seeming to float as if a ghost,
Verdant trees whispering on this morning
When the sky is Pre-Raphaelite blue.
The sun fills the river with diamonds
And by the weir minute waves
Are the hue of an old man's beard.
Here a heron guards imperiously
As birdsong graces the soft spring air.
The cathedral peers from behind trees
But God's treasures are elsewhere
With nature at its glorious best
And just for a while observing this view
Problems dissolve....like the morning dew.

Tongue-Tied, by Paloma Lenz

8/5/2020

My tongue only sways,
never sings
the tune - that
song of triumph,
an explosion of
splendid color -
so many others are
used to.

I only watch the two
dance cueca, laughing and
clapping, surrounding by
the cries of onlookers -

“La consentida,
amor de amores,
yo iré contigo”

The words surge
through my bones,
but
my lips fumble, not knowing
what to do;

I open my mouth, horrified
by the flat notes
that blandly ring out.

I fear Mamá has heard, her
tongue so well-rehearsed.

And so I remain silenced,
the glorious sound
just a hummed tune.

V.E.Day, by Adrian McRobb

8/5/2020

Dead soldiers lie still in ditches
broken buildings broken windows
orphaned children in uncaring homes
barbed wire and concrete teeth

Victory in Europe...scorched earth
parades and clinking medals
shiny shoes march in parody
tide still washing bodies
paid their ferryman
with dreams of life

Tell those with fly filled mouths
how we bravely fought
Brylcreem and perms
in dancehalls...

Dover's blue birds
starvation ration
egg powder
and Vera Lynn

Unmarked graves like confetti
at cruelties wedding
mass graves, unwanted humanity
more unremarked
damp basements rusting chairs
past nail pulling
furtive fleeing men hiding
lost art discovered
in a siding

Victory!

Envelopes with Windows, by Sandra James

8/5/2020

They tumble
through the weary chink
demanding, insisting
regardless of their intrusion
upon constricted ledgers.

Jostling for precedence
ahead of simple pleasures
they swallow
every last resource and hope
of freedom.

Compassion, by Mary Wallace

8/5/2020

Was it lack of attention
Did I not tend it enough
Did it storm out one night
Slamming the door in a rage
Or trickle out over a decade
Unnoticed and unmissed

Shadows of it remain
I catch glimpses as I watch the nightly news
Refugees, poverty, war
But youths in crashes fill me with rage
Thoughts of parents
Have been replaced with
"Lucky they didn't kill anyone else"
As if compassion can be negated by stupidity

It has gone
And with its absence
I am lessened.

The Soup Beckons, by Bruce Levine

8/5/2020

The soup beckons
Tantalizing strands of onions
in beef broth
Gruyère cheese melted
over a crust of bread
Steaming ambrosia
embracing the palate
Warming a gourmet’s heart
and stomach

Ode to My Dyson Vacuum Cleaner, by Janice Siderius

4/5/2020

Oh instrument of heavenly cleanliness
How thou hast transformed my days!
You hang there on my laundry room wall
Ever ready to aid my forays.

How wondrous are thy long-lived batteries
That allow me to do my job
In far less time, with much more ease,
The floor I no longer must swab.

So vanish dog hair! Dust bunnies be gone!
O’er the cord I no longer trip.
Ev’ry dollar I spent at the vacuum store
Is a tribute to great salesmanship.

I'm Sorry, by Mary Wallace

2/5/2020

I'm sorry I'm late
But I can no longer tell
Week days
From weekends
Facts
From fiction
Writing
From rubbish.

This Strange World, by Susan Brice

1/5/2020

There is joy concealed in
The secret nests of birds,
Tiny soon to fledge eggs
Pecking a way
Into this strange world.

There is joy concealed in
The tight closed buds of
Tree, flower, fruit:
Sap rises green,
Unfurling life
Into this strange world.

There is joy concealed in
These dark-clothed days.
Seeds of sunshine sparkle;
Light of love’s imagining
Liberates us from
The fears we feel
In this strange world.

Summer Garden Day, by Guy Fletcher

1/5/2020

He listens to classic FM
on a summer's day bright and blue
Reading H. G Wells' Time Machine.
He learns about Morlocks and Elai
Then pauses to observe a Robin perch
On his sumach tree's branch quite unaware
Of the human condition called despair.

His relaxation crashes
Entering his own time machine
Wishing he could have cherished
The good times so much more.
He attempts to return to the pages
But, alas, the damage has now been done
So walks away.... from the afternoon sun.

In Isolation, by Ana Marie Dollano

1/5/2020

I hear the midday tolling of the bells
a deep dismal peal, that echoes
through the streets, bare and bleak.
I ache, staring at the quiet emptiness
hovering over the lonely neighbourhood

And the days are counting...

I pause to hearken to the silence, cold
and distant descending towards reality
whose gentle prodding
summons me to marvel at the heavens.
And so I stop to gaze at the birds
as they soar, at liberty,
twirling and wheeling past each other
how I yearn...

And I admire

from a distance, the forgotten splendour of flowers in bloom,
quivering with pleasure of gentle wind
and I lift my head to savour the moment,
delighting in the wind swirling,
whirling, around … me.

And I open my eyes

and I realise, the silence
and the bells, and the flowers,
and the birds gliding freely
And I, I remain
on the other side, looking out
through the window,
day after day until such time when
the days will reveal.

The Ordinariness of our Existence, by Adrian McRobb

1/5/2020

Whorls of thought lie
in absent rock-pools of the mind
as petrol winking in a puddle

Mirror who's stiffened glass
refuses entry to another space
as Alice-like we try to escape

Our butterflies pinned to display
the ordinariness of our existence
a fly trapped in a bottle of shadows

Poetry

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