Blog Archives

Autumn Rainbow, by Guy Fletcher

26/11/2018

The morning sun illuminates the Graig
enhancing the hues of golden trees
where a rainbow seems to originate:
a colourful bridge in the blue ether,
mountain clouds framing the horizon.
This alluring view from the autumn hill
relaxes my soul more than any pill,

breath disappearing ghost-like in the air
as raindrops drip as if a tap,
glistening jewels in the sunshine.
Then the rainbow weakens, vanishing
as dark clouds menace the sky once more.
The show's over but I'll remember
this beautiful sight...deep in November.

Stars on a Summer Night, by Guy Fletcher

19/11/2018

Stars on a summer night
when I held your hand
on the moon-kissed sand
and all problems took flight.

Now I watch an angry tide
roaring on the same coast
longing for your ghost
to drift by my side.

Stars on a summer night
but Paradise is lost
yes I long for your ghost
to come into sight

but alas it seems
you'll forever...haunt my dreams.

Atacama, by Rona Fitzgerald

18/11/2018

In Autumn shadows surround
Dolores González

her husband’s outstretched hand
father on his knees, pleading.

Her boy drawn out to manhood
by glooms.

Whispers seep into her heart
Mama, I'm here, I'm cold.

She sips water
eating seems wrong
in this sepulchre of the disappeared.

Sifting grainy soil she searches
for fragments of loved ones.

Overhead, observatories chart
boundaries of our world
track the death and rebirth of stars.

On Dawlish Sands, by Guy Fletcher

12/11/2018

The restless sea violently explodes
over the re-constructed sea wall,
a watery November sun
painting a silver corridor
as a lone swimmer emerges,
just in bathers, from the cold swaying sea
quite invigorated, his soul set free.

The unseen moon pulls back the tide,
breakers as white as frost
as we are pushed by the autumn gale
towards dramatic, red Langstone Rock
with holes in the limestone.
Tourists have gone yet I like it this way
but wish that the quaint Elephant Cafe

was open so I could cradle a hot drink.
The ocean retreats leaving seaweed strewn
on menacing rocks as seagulls
are forced back by the wind
as the sea roars on this melancholy day.
I pause for a while admiring the view
for wild stormy days...have their beauty too.

On the Centenary of Armistice Day, by Gordon Lawrie

11/11/2018

Let not your thoughts betray you while you bow your head
How can we remember when none of us was there?
At best we stand in silence and contemplate the dead;
At some point though, our minds drift like as not elsewhere –
These days a minute, perhaps two, can seem like hours
Not to check mobile phones for news we might have missed,
A text from a friend, or the latest football scores.
School kids might know that Dulce et decorum est
Is not ice cream, but gas – GAS?? Is that your biggest threat?
Aren't nuclear missiles or cluster bombs now the story,
Or napalm, or even a hijacked passenger jet
Crashed into a tower block pro deo mori?
We're no further forward, let's not try to pretend –
The war to start all wars is yet to reach an end.

Mist over Flanders Field, by Guy Fletcher

6/11/2018

"Their name liveth for evermore." – Artillery Wood Cemetery

The mist drifts over Flanders Fields
as if the ghosts of those who lie
in this foreign land across the sea.
A century has passed since the shelling ceased
yet conflicts still cast dark shadows.
I read the poem Rhyfel, Welsh for war
by Hedd Wyn whose grave I'm standing before.

There are no screams of the doomed today
only the gentle sound of cows and birds
as people plant flowers by the tombs
of young lads with dreams unfulfilled.
It is so peaceful now but I picture
terrified soldiers with dying breath
and the laughter...of the Angel of Death.

Red Leaves on the Maple Tree, by Guy Fletcher

1/11/2018

She peers out of the window
of the care home on the hill:
she can see the spire of a church
and beyond the sea where she swam
many decades ago but now only
in her dreams when she is young again.
She knows that in this place she will remain

but on this glorious Dali-blue
October day her eyes gaze
at red leaves on the maple tree
illuminated by the afternoon sun
and birch trees painted gold.
She views a robin on the maple's bough,
it satisfies her soul...it is enough