Blog Archives

Bipolarity, by Adrian McRobb

25/9/2020

Walking through paintings
admiring the abstracts
she tries to decode
wishing to emulate

the room distorts
muted whispers
become louder
the room sways
and tilts
white dots swim
in her vision
like polystyrene beads
on water
feeling unbearably light

later in the cloakroom
sitting on the lid
cradling her head
mutterings louder now
thoughts racing

the paintings return
strangely twisted
bent frames, paint
running out the corners
of her mind...

September Sunrise, by Guy Fletcher

25/9/2020

Clouds are breaking apart
as if sea ice in the sky.
The light has just risen
and the unseen sun paints the clouds
a most fantastic vivid pink,
there's a myriad covering the blue
Turner would have stood in awe at the view.

Blackbirds fly in formation
as if planes from Bomber Command
but this is a moving picture:
clouds transmute from pink to gold
and then the magic is over,
all is lost under a shroud of deep grey
for rain clouds have wiped the beauty away.

Leadership, by John Hancock

25/9/2020

“Invasion on my command”
The leader raised his hand.

“Sir, the latest report,
Please give it some thought

The blue planet, third in line
Uses customs about this time

Their Santa dressed in red
Delivers if you’re asleep in bed

His face is covered with long white hair
He sits all day in a big comfy chair

Orders are placed sitting on his knee
If you’re good he delivers for free

It’s all very secret, peeking’s not fair
On December 25 your order is there.”

“Invasion is cancelled, I’ll be in bed.
Have my pizza delivered instead.”

For Kith and Country, by Al Watt

18/9/2020

Silhouettes flutter on the skyline,
banners snap an’ flap boldly.
Stand firm hearty lads, stand firm.

The enemy carpet sweeps onward,
covering more and more land.
Hold fast bold men, hold fast.

Battle horns blare and trumpet.
Arrow clouds darken the sky.
Fight well heroes, fight well.

Valiant battle hymns sung,
to pounding shields of rhythm.
For kith and country, for kith and country.

Swords shriek from scabbards,
metal clangs, blood spills.
It’s done, the Devil’s work is done.

Words Count, by Adrian McRobb

18/9/2020

I should have said things to you, like..."hey mines a sandwich" but, that's not cool (even with Beetroot)

I should have said, "yours is the least expensive wine" but, it wasn't

I wanted to say, "hey-yay-and today" but, just mumbled "ok"

I wanted to say, your hair was nice and you smelt fine, my mouth wouldn't say it

I thought I could say...lots of nice things (if I was able) but, I couldn't

The Ancient Yew Tree, by Guy Fletcher

18/9/2020

In soft summer rain with dearest friends
I enter St. Andrew’s Churchyard, Kenn,
situated in the fine county of Devon.
Some epitaphs are erased from view
next to the red brick of the church.
Oh, so many ghosts over the years
have stepped inside here with both smiles and tears

but the yew tree commands centre stage,
maybe born at the time of the Saviour:
massive and ancient. I pose for a photograph
clambering up between its great branches
to touch history with awe.
Every quarter of an hour Sunday bells chime
yet the tree reaches further back in time.

The Mouse and the Snake, by Adrian McRobb

11/9/2020

A little mouse hopped out of his burrow one day
and decided to explore the hill and highway
while scurrying around in the grass, by the lake
he happened to meet up with a large long green snake
the snake thought ha! He would have a nice meal
thinking of how mouse fur in his tummy would feel
the mouse though, was of the other persuasion
racking his brain for a plan of 'not being eaten' evasion
just as the snake was getting ready to strike!
The mouse roared away, on a red motorbike...

Success, by Ian Fletcher

11/9/2020

Yes, you did it did
all you were meant
to do and more:
did well in school
got your degrees
your qualifications
the job the career
the promotions
the wife the kids
the pension plan
the nest egg for
your golden years.
Oh yes, you did it
did it all, did it all
to perfection.
What now?

Your Lie in April, by Alaric Erami

4/9/2020

They say there is beauty in music,

I can’t see what they mean

I play the notes, but I can't hear the sounds.

Like I'm at the bottom of the ocean,

My world had no color.

Until I met you.

I can hear the music you play.

My world took on color.

You took my heart and changed my world.

I had fun for the first time with you.

Until the day that you fell.

You tried to convince me you were fine.

But in the end.

It was Your Lie that fateful April.

That kept me sane.

Scafell Pike, by Adrian McRobb

4/9/2020

The Winter sunrise raises shadows
which as the light increases
race each other across the land
like fell runners they cross
lichen covered rocks and heather
with the speed of early morning sun
dropping down impossible drops
just as quickly climbing crags
accelerating with the mist burning light
black fingers caress the peaks
as if sculpting the land anew
but, inexorably the sunlight rises
shadows shrivel hiding in burrows
retreating from the stronger light
secreting themselves in rock fissures
dark hands resting for future labour
waiting for tomorrow when waking
they race across the fell again
each trying to win...

Imprisoned, by Paloma Lenz

4/9/2020

The sound:
imperious, piercing
It seeps in,
foul-smelling,
with no understanding
of time or interval
seizing all who hear it

Poetry

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