Blog Archives

After all these Years, by Guy Fletcher

28/6/2024

I venture into my old pub
for the first time in decades
and in a corner I see him,
eyes as sad as a mourning mother
halcyon days far into the past
but still with a drink after all these years
now with trembling hands he consumes the beers.

Oh he used to be king of the bar
with laughter filling the smoky air
but today there are just ghosts
as he sits forlorn and alone,
what troubled thoughts invade his mind?
Our eyes lock and then a slight smile appears,
I move by his side...after all these years.

For David, by Gordon Lawrie

28/6/2024

This afternoon, perhaps even as you're reading this, I'll be attending the funeral of a valued former colleague with whom I shared another common interest. He'll be missed by many – GL

So long, my friend.
I’ll remember you fondly in the coming years.
Whenever I sought a kindly ear
You were there to listen, slow to judge
Giving cautious advice with the lightest touch.

I’ll miss the football chatter
About Hearts, the things that matter.
But this is promotion, you’re moving on.
And if next season’s fixtures aren’t quite the same
You’ll be all right, you played the game.

We’ll meet in the top league before too long
But you were different class all along.

Wrecking It, by John O’Keefe

28/6/2024

On the Via Dolorosa,
when the pilgrimage of the haughty collides
with the pilgrimage of the shiftless,
after fighting it out they mingle happily,
no one can tell them apart in pomposity,
their clamorous prayer every creature can hear.

The Addressee covers his ears and closes his eyes,
His preference is for silent worship and nothing spectacular,
and He also wants to avoid splitting headache and nausea.

Pink Roses in the Park, by Guy Fletcher

21/6/2024

She strolls around the welcoming park
the chains of the four walls just a memory
under a sky painted a Dali blue,
thin white clouds brush-stroked by the gods.
Verdant trees hiss in the warm breeze,
she watches with wonder as pink roses sway,
her troubles forgotten on this summer's day.

On a bench a drunken man rants
but only she listens to his angst
as she moves to where the roses dance,
their petals seemingly sprinkled with jewels
after the early morning rain
which adds such fragrance to the sultry air,
yes now she has cast away despair.

Broken, by Mimi Grouse

21/6/2024

You've been so long
in horrid isolation
it seems as though
you'll never speak again
because the silence
of the broken
is like the clappers
of the leper:
bigots and their acolytes
shun pain.

Blankets, by Mimi Grouse

14/6/2024

We wash our blankets one by one
And spread them out beneath the sun
To dry
Then pack them into air-tight bags -
Those faithful, brightly-coloured rags -
Goodbye
Until old Autumn rolls around
And crispy leaves conceal the ground;
The sky
Is grey with swollen clouds;
The wind is cold, and strong, and loud...
It's time
To bring them out once more -
That's just what we've been waiting for!

The Graves of St. Mary's, by Guy Fletcher

14/6/2024

I wander into the grounds
of St. Mary's in Whitchurch
on a sultry Sunday morning.
I hear a mellifluous hymn from the church opposite
whose doors are open due to the heat
adding to the tranquil ambiance.
I come across the tomb of Gordon Hughes,
a hero from the RAF, killed in 1944,
in the churchyard lie people of all ages
as a butterfly flickers, indifferent.
I notice there are two clocks on the ancient tower
both showing different times
and in this graveyard surrounded by trees
tulips sway gently...in the warm spring breeze.

White Nights in St. Petersburg, by Mary Anne Mc Enery

7/6/2024

Remember remember, those white nights in St. Petersburg?
Nights as bright as day.
Flashed flashed, your petrodollars about in the casino, overtipped the stiff-shirted waiters and draped my neck in Ural gold.
Tongued tongued, caviar off the backs of our hands, and downed vodka shots galore.
Shimmied shimmied, beside canals, with a floating orchestra and a draw-bridge that rose up like a see-saw to accommodate the gravid gondolas underneath.
Kissed Kissed, to feather the pain of my empty nest within, our fingers intertwined liked twigs.
Danced danced, in La La Land, frantic to forget the arctic winter that loomed ahead.

A Failure in the Way We Communicate, by Michael H. Brownstein

7/6/2024

This is how stuff starts
a rumor on the bus becomes
a lie in the classroom becomes
a kicking on the playground
a cloud of audience
a liter of disbelief.

Seasons of Discontent, by Mimi Grouse

7/6/2024

'Give us sunshine!' people say.
'Fed up with seeing rain all day.
Take this gloom and damp away!'
(Scowl at heating bill to pay)
'We want to go outside and play.'

'Ooh, innit warm?' they all complain.
'Wish we'd have a drop of rain.
The clouds show up then go again.'
(Slurp a glass of lime and cane)
'If we want heat, we'll move to Spain!'

Piper Bill, by Guy Fletcher

7/6/2024

On D-Day at Sword Beach
the haunting sound of bagpipes rang out
as the dying painted the sand red,
a terrible and surreal scene.
The Germans refused to shoot the piper,
they must have thought his reason had gone
and so brave Piper Bill marched on and on.

What terrors the troops would have felt
during that unforgettable time
but Piper Bill Millin survived the war
retiring to sedate Dawlish town
part of him forever by another shore
and perhaps the sound of bagpipes and his ghost
still haunts the historic Normandy coast.

Poetry

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