Blog Archives

Forgotten Remnant, by Guy Fletcher

28/5/2021

The subway on Kingsway
was once a thriving canal
bringing coal and other materials
into the heart of Cardiff.
I seem to sense the ghosts
of hard men on the barges
yet now there is only
an empty whisky bottle and graffiti
and a forgotten metal remnant from the canal years.
Countless thousands of feet have ventured here:
shoppers and drunks, many long gone.
Through the arch the grass
of the castle and wall come into view,
I climb the steps under a sky of blue.

Dislocation, by Adrian McRobb

28/5/2021

Night leaks into the windows
of the sleepers who inhale
subconscious unreality
in anamorphic dreams

waking with early fogged minds
remembered nights madness
pours off them in droplets
into a cup of malady

sunshine syrup of melancholia
invades in a toxic wave
searching for themselves
foil wrapped on floors

metamorphosis of dichotomy
shred and split sardonic
duality beckons schizophrenia
on condensation glass...

Crossroad, by Alex Blaine

28/5/2021

Lonely
guitar
shivers
a
blues'
tear.

Summer, Demon, Daemon, and Cicada, by Kumar Vikrant

28/5/2021

The cloudless, blue summer sky in the heavens above,
The air feels recycled, almost artificial

My trance-like state, broken by the cicada songs,
Yes, it is a song, not a cry or scream

The cicadas provide a welcome break,
Otherwise, the demon in my head would have eaten me alive

The hot summer air scorches my face as I walk through the lush green meadow,
Mother Earth talks to me noisily, like an orchestra

Is the meadow alive? I ask mother Earth!
One of the cicadas talks to me, welcome dear visitor

I look into the cicada’s eyes, bright red, almost demon-like,
Its red gaze penetrating the depths of my soul, burning it

I tell the cicada, ‘I have everything, yet there is a chasm deep within.’
Not unlike the serpent, amid this heavenly meadow

The cicada sings to me, my eyesight overpowered by the bright summer light,
The air now a pleasant breeze, the demon now a benevolent daemon

Method Role, by Alex Andy Phuong

28/5/2021

As people leave their homes,
And venture into reality,
They leave behind
Everything that remains inside,
And might employ masks
As an attempt to hide.
Nevertheless,
All people have roles to play,
And some do more
Than what others might say,
And having the courage
To cope with adversity
Methodically
Is sometimes more powerful
Than any form
Of method acting.

Who's For Dessert? by Gordon Lawrie

28/5/2021

Vanilla ice cream
Topped with warm chocolate sauce –
I'll have some of that.

Despair, by Ian Fletcher

28/5/2021

It’ll be a beautiful day
the forecasters say
but it won’t be for him
so beaten down by life
he cannot even cry.
He exchanges smiles
with cheerful passers-by
enjoying the fresh air
oblivious to his despair.
He looks up and sees
the impenetrable heavens
and the empty blue sky.

A Heavenly Treat, by Marjan Sierhuis

28/5/2021

Strawberries red and juicy
Ripe for the picking
A large basket, please

Seven Ducks, by Sandra James

21/5/2021

Lunch by the lake
mother duck
and four fluffy ducklings
swimming a waltz
I hum the childhood song
and wonder where is father duck
has he gone looking for the fifth little fellow
who did not come back?
movement in the reeds…
regal dad glides toward his family

and the fifth little duckling
races to catch up

A Bluebell Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

21/5/2021

Image: Bluebells, Wenallt woods

An ocean of bluebells catches my view
high up in the Wenallt woods,
a slightly different hue from the May sky
with the sun caressing my soul.
It flickers through tall trees
as I peer down from the picturesque path
at Whitchurch tower, the city, Penarth.

An ocean of bluebells catches my view
as birds sing a homage to spring
and the verdant grass appears to shine
with a myriad of diamonds from morning dew.
An army of dogs and owners will soon appear
but now I'm alone admiring the scene
and just for a while...my thoughts are serene.

Cleanser, by Alex Andy Phuong

21/5/2021

Cleaning might seem like a bore,
And some do not like doing chores,
But washing away the bad
Is good for every girl and lad,
And cleaning from both
In and out
Can remove irrational doubt,
And ease the fear
Of what lies ahead,
And remember to shower
Before going to bed

Your House, by Andy Martin

21/5/2021

I walked past your house this afternoon

hoping you might see me

and come out

even though you moved

years ago.

"I wonder where you are now?

Howling Back at the Wolf, by Alex Blaine

21/5/2021

The wolf howled
at the moon.
And I howl back
at the wolf.

Sundown, by Michael Leach

21/5/2021

multihued silk scales
and fins shimmer in sunlight--
dragons wind thru streets

warm summer sunset
at the lake—local fruit bats
swoop low, skim and drink

lamp posts spill their light
on these darkened lake waters--
large water rats swim

moonlit walking track--
eyes adjust to this darkness
while sun shines elsewhere

houseful of heirlooms--
each square inch of room has grown
empty without her

The Man, Mountain, and Meaning, by Kumar Vikrant

14/5/2021

The man with the backpack steadily forges on
Understanding the price of excellence, he keeps moving on
In search of meaning, the mammoth rock
No stones unturned, the inner blazing fire

The path to the mountaintop, solitary, treacherous, and demanding
The man brimming with the resolution, the divine spark in all its magnificence

The man slows down along the way
Appreciates the spring flowers, the majestic azaleas
The buzzing bees, the breathtaking views

The man shakes off the nerves, uses them to his advantage
The heavy backpack now as light as a feather
The stark loneliness of the mountaintop, the price of excellence?
The naysayers did not matter; the cold never a bother
The man bellows at the top of his lungs, ah, I understand!
The secret now out in the open, the man heads back home
Serenity, peace, and belonging, the world his playground

The Sitter, by Guy Fletcher

14/5/2021

She's amid her art class group
painting a sitter on a chair.
She pauses for a short time
wondering what thoughts travel through
the middle-aged man's brain
forced into silence and no emotion.
She detects sadness in his eyes
or perhaps that's just her interpretation,
maybe joyous images caress his soul.
It's a lived-in face to be sure,
a man who has experienced much
and she longs to create a masterpiece.
He can daydream but she has work to do
hoping a decent painting will break through.

Crickets, by Marjan Sierhuis

14/5/2021

Above the winding path
Stars light the way and
The sound of crickets
Fill the air.

I Walked in Dust, by Adrian McRobb

14/5/2021

I walked in dust, red like the land
of minarets and marmosets
strolling although a stranger
to everything here but me

a dream of heat and mirage
camel shadows and mirhabs
quietly spoken dry tongues
suggest Mecca is near

Cairo; a distant purple shadow
far away yet nearby us here
strange names strangle speech
Philadelphia is a desert town

standing on dunes of brick dust
shading our aspected glare
I don't belong in this place
another land and another time...

Kit, by Alex Andy Phuong

14/5/2021

Tool kits containing things
More industrious than fancy rings
Keeping fit
Takes effort,
And learning
The tools of the trade
Allows for new opportunities
That would otherwise
Have not been made,
So choose to be wise
Rather than disguise,
And use every bit
Of handy tool kits

Anger Issues, by Alex Blaine

7/5/2021

I don't have anger issues.
I have anger.
But it's not an issue.

The Raging Monkey, by Kumar Vikrant

7/5/2021

The monkey shouts at me
Hey! How irritating this person is
Don’t you find them stupid?
Don’t you want to rebuke them?

What’s wrong with you, man?
Why aren’t your nerves active?
Let’s bulldoze this person with our superiority
The mighty fire of our snide remarks and anger

I smile at the monkey and pet its fur
My dear friend, let’s eat a banana
I’ll show you the might of kindness
The art of mindfulness

The thunder and lightning subside in my head
Like the calm after a downpour
As I politely deal with the irritable person
I see the monkey mind rescind into the background

Not Just a Number, by Guy Fletcher

7/5/2021

He visits the plot where his grandmother
reposes, it shows a number
and has a tiny wooden cross.
He recalls studying a photograph:
she was young when it was taken
she smiled as she walked out of the sea
brushing back luscious locks, feeling free.

No, she is not just a number
for it was only a blink in time
when she strode upon the earth
but he has brought her to life again
remembering a youthful figure in the ocean.
How fine and magical these moments are,
yet transient...like a shooting star.

Literary Twister, by Alex Andy Phuong

7/5/2021

Plot twists are a lot
Like coincidences, and
Stories by Dickens

Till We Meet Again, by Marjan Sierhuis

7/5/2021

His wife has departed
He knows
The chest
It no longer
Rises and falls
The heart monitor
It no longer beeps

He leans down and
A tear rolls down his cheek
He kisses her on the forehead and
Whispers in her ear:
“Sweet dreams, my beloved.”
“Till we meet again.”

Poetry

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