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Demisted, by Sandra James

29/7/2022

My poem’s gone, I’ve lost it
It won’t come back to me
I wrote it on the shower door
As it steamed up while I washed.

I quickly dried and powdered
And dressed myself with haste
Then hurried back with pen in hand
To find the steam all gone.

That new demister took it
Stole my words and clever rhyme
It won’t come back now quite the same
My chance for fame has gone.

Winter Wears On, by Michael Leach

29/7/2022

The longest winter week ends
with continued cold weather.
Clad in a turtle
-neck & blanket, she reflects
the setting sun’s rays.

Feeling like Tithonus, by Guy Fletcher

29/7/2022

The old man in a wheelchair
suddenly recalls the story of Tithonus
whose lover Eos asked Zeus
to grant him eternal life.
But a crucial request she omitted
was for him not to age like Dorian Gray
and so grew older each cursed passing day.

The old man in a wheelchair
remembers youth as if it were yesterday
yet forgets what was said five minutes ago
such is his harrowing condition
and now he feels like Tithonus
as he wipes away a lonely stray tear
and carries on existence....year after year.

Great Ball of Fire, by Ivan Ristic

29/7/2022

Our meltdown souls
Inside burnout bodies
Hiding from the Great Ball of Fire.

The sweat runs down the spine
Like ants crawling on the skin...

We don't need hell
When we have a place
In the sun.
All we need is pray
For rain.

First Flush, by Marjan Sierhuis

29/7/2022

First flush of morning
The water glistens like jewels
atop rippling waves

WaterAid by, Liz O’Shea

29/7/2022

Swollen belly, sticky eyes
And flies, flies, flies
And his eyes
Hold no surprise
That we watch him suffer before he dies.

Is this a child of my God
My HMV, McDonald’s, Ikea
Have I got room for both my cars God
My I’m alright Jack, get on your bike God
My let’s not drink tap water it’s not pure enough God.

How can you, how can we, how can I
Watch him die.......
But we do.

Prayer For Uncertain Times, by Rashna Walton

29/7/2022

Because you're centred in Love
Love can find you and encircle you
Because you speak gently
Softness pads your heart
Because your heart has filters fine as silver thread
Only pure light can enter
Because the commerce of your heart is kindness
The universe will open its storehouse to you
Love and trust
Trust in Love

The Kitchen Gardens of Cardigan Castle, by Guy Fletcher

22/7/2022

To be honest not much remains
of Cardigan Castle by the Teifi
transformed from wood to stone by Lord Rhys.
I pass by his wooden statue
and giant seat where an eagle perches,
centuries ago you could hear the sounds
of music and poetry performed in these grounds

which seem to drift in the sultry summer air.
I saunter to the Kitchen Gardens
now restored to their former glory
producing apples, soft fruit and vegetables
with common white butterflies flickering.
It is these gardens which thrill me the most,
in my mind I picture many a ghost.

Gothic Poem, by Mary Wallace

22/7/2022

Whisper, my love whisper, come close as the mist creeps in,
With only the night to hear us,
And moonlight to dance on your skin.

Whisper, my love whisper, through lips turning cold and blue,
Scatter your lies in the wind love,
As my blade draws the life from you.

Gently, my love gently, there is time before we go.
Lay ebony hair on my shoulder,
Sleep soft in the reddening snow.

Louder my love, louder, deceive with your dying breath
Your words held no truth in life love,
Still I long to hear lies in death.

Whisper, dark woods whisper, cold mist impede the moon's glow
Keep our resting place a secret,
Beneath the crisp white falling snow.

A Mother's Tears, by Rosie Wee

22/7/2022

Silent, intruding, pulsating, you came.
Took him on the cusp of youth like a thief.
Sent voices and lies to make him comply.
Rob him of memories, leaving fragments.

There was a time he won prizes for me.
There was a time when lilting symphony
Pervaded the night, Fiddler on the Roof.
Passers-by laugh and mock, “Where is your God?”

A montage of life’s vignettes filter by.
Despondent, bewildered, I make my way.
Frigid concrete, silent, cold, looms ahead,
Fragile dewdrops trickle on nature’s palm.

If I fall on bended knees, implore you,
Schizophrenia, would you return my son?

Mother Earth, by Dorian J. Sinnott

22/7/2022

And when I gave myself to the Earth
I felt nothing but peace;
surrounded in perfect harmony with her balance.
And no more did I bear
the chains of mankind;
heavy and hateful with greed.
For she gives and she takes
what she needs and desires;
fruitful for her children upon her.
For there never had been
a closer place to the divine;
than when I felt the warm breath of the wind beside me.

Turn Left Or Get Shot, by Alex Blaine

22/7/2022

Armed militia
behind enemy lines
Just a small
cardboard cut-out sign
Cops killing kids
over the music they play
And the media
blindly points the finger

Waves, by Marjan Sierhuis

22/7/2022

Waves pounding the shore
Clouds drifting across a blue sky
Inner peace is mine

The Falcon and the Cathedral, by Guy Fletcher

15/7/2022

The mellifluous tones of a choir
emanates from the old cathedral
unappreciated by the falcon and chicks
which have made their home
in a crevice on the ancient walls.
The magnificent falcon flies away,
swoops on a pigeon, unfortunate prey.

Its wing span is impressive,
face fierce with hooked nose,
talons yellow and ruthless
so there's no escape for the pigeon,
a terrible beauty in motion
bringing the feast back to the holy nest
as another hymn is sung with zest.

Dance Pandemic, by Michael Leach

15/7/2022

[After the Florence + the Machine song ‘Choreomania’ (written by Florence Welch, Jack Antonoff, and Thomas Bartlett) as well as Autumn de Wilde’s accompanying photo of Florence Welch]

We spin as noon sun
strikes the green heart of Stonehenge
on summer’s solstice…
The world just spins on + on
while seasons bleed together.

Stellar Marie, by Sterling Warner

15/7/2022

Removing eyeliner enhanced distant stars
lurking inside pupils, framed by violet
irises that changed color like flushing fish
gill tissue exposed to oxygen, drowning in air.

Marie envisioned floaters moving, teasing
her apprehension of real and hallucinatory
images as annoying as darting fruit flies
gnats and mosquitos daring her lens to focus.

Glaring at dawn lights, squinting at sunsets
Marie’s cataracts flashed and fell like a personal
galaxy gravitating towards collapsing black holes
of fleeting imagination, discernable sights.

Tribute, by David Dumouriez

15/7/2022

I will arise and go now, and go up to the john,
For last night’s curry did me, and I’ve been holding it too long.

Shipwreck, by Mimi Grouse

8/7/2022

Sunken, rain-slick rust and steel
cadaver of the ocean;
Foundered on the main by riders
of the seas of their own glory.
And waves and fish and whales
splash a fillip to the fools
abandoned to themselves and brine,
counting nothing here.
No-one cares what tongues they speak
or how many, or how well;
The only voice that matters
is Humility.

Backwards, by David Dumouriez

8/7/2022

Would it not be bettered
If we lived life in reverse
Our folly could be fettered
We could consequence traverse

We could consequence traverse
Our folly could be fettered
If we lived life in reverse
Would it not be bettered

He Who Walks Behind the Trees, by Dorian J. Sinnott

8/7/2022

He speaks in wonder to the earth,
through luscious fields of green;
bathing in the light of Midsummer sun,
through lands one could only dream.

Down by the bubbling brook,
across the moss covered hills;
he waits in forests overgrown,
for eyes who do believe.

He is the watcher of all life,
the guardian of sacred things;
he is the Green Man of the woods,
who walks behind the trees.

And in his cycle of life and death,
he turns with him the Earth;
each morning and night, each beautiful season,
rejoicing with the song of rebirth.

The Cabin, by J. Iner Souster

8/7/2022

A decrepit cabin stands. Aged and descending
extreme decrepitude runs its course.
Ten by ten feet of forgotten space. One table and one chair.
Weathered with thoughts and dreams of white,
metallic and collapsable. A table still standing
as a chair lay folded upon the littered ground. Never the study to sit.
A cluster of pastel particle boards. A haphazard collection
of wilted yellows, pale blues, muted oranges, and cloudy, olive green
placed over missing boards and gaping holes
vomited up from reclaimed lumbers. Three exposed windows.
metal framing and an idea where the glass had once called home
all of its fractured pieces long since vanished,
returning to sand or lost to spells salvaged fragments
Reflections of things meant to be. With just enough for the light to get in
Barely enough for my light to peer out.
To stand the stillness of hours, lost in thoughts from another time.

Listen, by Marjan Sierhuis

8/7/2022

By the babbling brook
with shut eyes, please listen closely
for happy chatter

Reconfiguration, by Michael Leach

8/7/2022

Configuration
Cartooning
Inorganic
Fruition
Fiction
Tragic
Actor
Fact
Art
Oi
O
i

Summertime, by Marjan Sierhuis

1/7/2022

Birds are heard singing
Fragrant blooms perfume the air
Isn't summer grand?

Lady on Whitmore Bay, by Guy Fletcher

1/7/2022

Early on a summer's morning
I view a middle-aged woman who halts
as she wanders over the golden sands
of magical Whitmore Bay.
She makes the sign of the cross
softly talking to herself
and then she's on her way again
to the sound of a seagull's lament.
I saunter to the water's edge
observing placid June waves sizzle
and stars which seem to sparkle in the sea
then venture to Marco's Cafe
where the same lady sits as if a ghost,
maudlin eyes fixed on the South Wales coast.

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