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Mont Blanc:1950, by Adrian McRobb

30/10/2020

Hail drummed on windows
as you wiped spilt coffee
smiling through your fear
to console theirs
gangway like the 'Cresta'
as turbulence bucks
at what point I wonder
did you realise the danger...

Was it the darkness
dropping suddenly
or the engines rising tone
worried voices from cockpit
white faced passengers
"is something wrong?"
Frequently asked
your own heart racing

Twenty two years old
a bit young for stone
two high flying years
in your dream job
the world opened up
like orchid petals
cruelly snatched away
on that dark November morning...

5 Comments

When the Music's Over, by Guy Fletcher

30/10/2020

2 Comments

"When the music's over, turn out the lights" - Jim Morrison

It is not the songs I miss the most,
though certain ones moved me to tears:
"Danny Boy" or "So Long, Marianne" by Leonard Cohen
to name but two. Now I feel like a ghost
remembering conversations I had,
football talk with the lads in the break
and the blonde I may never see anymore,
it's night-time, I'm feeling sad

recalling how the choir relaxed my mind
singing from the heart only months ago
yet it seems like a century
that all those voices were left behind
and the church weeps in the rain
watching the urban streets with sombre eyes
as I wait and yearn to return
to sing Leonard Cohen...once again.

2 Comments

Armed Occupation, by Alex Andy Phuong

30/10/2020

1 Comment

Bearing arms
Raising Voices
Being careful
With personal choices
Occupational
Versus Sensational
Utilizing personal will
To empower until
Armed occupation
Offers control and possession
Of personal identity
Through professional maturity

1 Comment

Between Cotton Sheets, by Sterling Warner

30/10/2020

2 Comments

As eye open & shut, dharma resides in my pillowslip,
drool leaves distinctive silhouettes of rolling hills,
love doves in flight, pentagrams on knightly shields.

Disparate voices regale in my bedchamber closet
filter up the heating vents, muffled by magic carpets,
float freely from the downstairs living room far below.

Witches live beneath my bed, their pale, boney
arms, cling to dust balls, stretch out skeletal
fingers, grasp my legs, attempt to pull me under.

Spirits inhabit cream-colored, vintage venetian blinds,
possessed breezes squeeze between slim shutters,
refreshing & cooling my face, chilling my spine.

Wild Things crawl through my open window at midnight,
invite me to demonstrate defiance, dance a moonbeam jig,
jump on my box spring & mattress till wooden slats break,
wait silently, alone, for mom’s well-earned reprimand.

2 Comments

Doing a Dom..., by Adrian McRobb

23/10/2020

Dom; just does what he feels like
drives anywhere during a virus spike
building houses without paying tax
his local council, was 'very' lax
Albert Dryden didn't get special treatment
no let-off for him, or tax appeasement
he built his mother a nice wee home
they imprisoned him, and he died alone
so...this is what the country voted in
scared of Jeremy and his Commie-kin
a government that demands 'we' toe the line
breaks its 'own' laws, most of the time
one rule for them, and its tiers for us
while throwing the vulnerable, "under-the-bus!"

Blue Water, by Guy Fletcher

23/10/2020

I stand and admire the blue water
of Roath Park Lake, an oasis
close to the heart of the city.
No need to fret about social distancing
on this fine October week-day:
a woman reads, a couple amble by
as seagulls glide under a postcard sky.

Swans, the hue of the Scott Memorial,
create ripples, cumulus clouds
drift slowly across the horizon
as I allow thoughts to stray
recalling rowing on the lake
with an old girlfriend sadly lost in time
as I stare at a vista...so sublime.

Seasons, by Al Watt

23/10/2020

Where do the seasons begin?
In Spring with melting snow,
Life creeping out all over,
Slowly growing into Summer.

When the sun waits long and high.
Nurturing and feeding the food chain
That binds this World together
Before wearying to Autumn cider.

Bonfires cackle, with dancing Sparks.
And all the leaves are gone.
And all the trees grow stark,
And bitter Winter arrives.

To whitewash all the land,
As nature sleeps so deep.
And all is still and all is quiet.
Coming back to life in Spring.

African Violet, by Lois Perch Villemaire

16/10/2020

Clusters of deep purple flowers
Nestled inside tangled
Leaves of green velvet,
Some misshapen but
Most are oval and fuzzy,
Ridges and veins.
Stems, supple and fibrous,
Buried in potting soil,
Roots established, easily thriving
On the kitchen window sill,
Stretching toward
Sunshine’s nourishment.
Keeping the dirt moist,
Knowing it loves to be bathed and fed.
After time, delicate blossoms fade
To a lighter hue,
Wither, prepare to die off
With a promise that replacements
Will appear to fascinate

The Tragedy of Jack Leslie, by Guy Fletcher

16/10/2020

He should have appeared for his country
but this was the 1920s
and so the captain of Plymouth Argyle
was left out due only to his colour.
For many seasons he played the game he loved
somehow managing to keep self-control
receiving abuse which would chill the soul.

Now decades after those inter-war years
of grainy film and long baggy shorts
many black players are in the team
but Jack was destined not to be the first.
They are planning a statue for a man
denied a cap to our eternal shame,
it's important... we remember his name.

(Music: The Ballad of Jack Leslie by Matt Tiller.)

Ocean of Kindness, by Padmini Krishnan

16/10/2020

I tasted a tiny drop
from your ocean
when you beckoned me to
your bench, moving a little
to make way for me.

I tasted another drop
when you stayed for me
after classes even though
your work was done.

I gulped a few drops
in guilt when you
abandoned your project
to finish mine.

I have imbibed many a drop
from your ocean,
now it is time
to make an ocean
of my own.

Jewel in the Morning, by Susan DeFelice

16/10/2020

On his propane stove
He fried an egg and slid it down his throat
Expertly, like it was a raw oyster
And he a discerning chef

He chased the egg with pale tang and dry wheaties,
The stuff of astronauts and athletes

And he felt like an athlete
As he jumped over the brambles concealing his belongings
Then slowed and casually strode to the sidewalk
Where patrol cars pass
Looking for jewels like him

He may be late for work now
On second thought he felt more like an actor than an athlete

Mask-erade, by Adrian McRobb

16/10/2020

The masks stand
equidistant, still
now and then
they sway
staring at the rails
as if in that metal
life's problems answered
a slight shimmer
almost, unnoticable
as the hissing squealing
Trans-Pennine arrives
doors shutter open
masks entrain obediently
a whale gobbling plankton
each to their own
respective destinations
spreading...

Walking with Francis, by Adrian McRobb

10/10/2020

Her umbrella blows
like a disobedient tent
it has been inside out
twice already
home bargains,
never all they promise
now the raindrops
obscure her glasses
wiped fleetingly
as the dog lunges
the boots leave
welted footprints
which bubbling disappear
wind whipped puddles
empty into the road
where traffic passes
in an abstract dream...

Stone Dragon, by Al Watt

9/10/2020

She lay in infinite repose.
Nestling in sprawling ivy.
Protecting her boulder eggs.

Crafted by skilled hand.
A manifestation of beauty,
created to be admired by all.

A creature of myth and legend.
This wondrous stone dragon,
touched my mystic soul.

I like to think,
Elves had fetched her here,
in simpler times.

Every week I’d see her there,
The seasons never changed her
And somehow that pleased me.

Then I saw her broken back
my heart grew heavy
my anger knew no bounds.

That such a thing could happen.
What ever beauty humanity creates,
some ignorant bastard can destroy.

Thumbs Up! by Sandra James

2/10/2020

I just saw this cute kitten
on Facebook
I tell he-who-sits-in-the-brown-velvet-armchair
press a key
and the image travels through
cyberspace
to that chair three metres across the room
a thumbs-up meanders back
through the network

A sad reflection of the modern way?

Well…at least we’re Covid-safe!

R101, by Guy Fletcher

2/10/2020

Over a French village at 2am
a strange object appeared in the sky
on a wild and windswept night
which was to end in mayhem.
R101, shaped like a giant cigar,
cruised the darkness as if a UFO
narrowly avoiding spires of religion
heading for India...but never reaching that far.

Above the world like gods were the crew
until the wind blew the canopy apart
most burning to death in a foreign field,
the wreckage a sickening view.
Yes, just a few escaped away,
the airship a forlorn skeleton
but those who staggered from the scene
would be haunted until their dying day.

Cafe de Distance Sociale, by Adrian McRobb

2/10/2020

The Cafe was full
six people trying not
to breathe too deeply
squeezing past
tartan trolleys, finally
a space for one, apart

balancing my baguette
trying
not to spill
my mocha-latte...etc
peering
at my spaced neighbours
not
making eye contact

I chanced a quick sip
then a tiny bite
stuffed under
quickly
replacing my mask
munching undercover
another glance
no one had noticed

concentrating
on false nonchalance
tearing off a bit
another hasty sip
mask back on
"nothing to see here"

staring out the window
trying to spot
those masked offenders
as Boris wrings hands
while Big Brother
watches on CCTV...

To Add to the Woes Now and the Distancing, by N.Jayasekera

2/10/2020

The automobile kept wheezing
And the telephone went hunting
Was that a reason for neglecting
A tug in my heart says something

Do all these say one thing
Do you deserve this fling
A terrible bee sting?
Would a bird lend me its wing

Old Salt, by Al Watt

2/10/2020

Face baked by foreign sun,
each line a testament of time.
Old eyes sharp with experience,
swirling somewhere in the past,
in a wake of frothing memories,
of exotic aromas, erotic women.

Black cap moulded to crown.
Wiry body flexible and strong,
adorned by wondrous tattoos.
Faded clothes patched but clean,
A sharks tooth tied round his neck,
and earrings to ward off drowning.

Telling bold adventurous yarns,
heady cocktails of truth and fiction.
The sea a heartless, fickle mistress,
so serenely beautiful at times,
at others, stormy in dark rage.
A proud life, a happy life, a full life.

Poetry

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