Blog Archives

Magical Murmuration, by Guy Fletcher

24/11/2023

Under a blood-red sunset sky
I watch starlings as my breath drifts
into the vast, indifferent ether.
The scenery is transformed
by their magical presence,
just like a dark fisherman's net they sway,
strength in numbers and now not east prey.

It's a sight which makes me gasp
for this is nature at its best
a reminder this can still
be a most wondrous world.
But then the scarlet clouds turn grey,
the show is over, starlings disappear
into the chilly autumn atmosphere.

Later Than You Think, by Alex Blaine

24/11/2023

You simply do not
lose time
but time will
lose you

Lemonade in a Champagne Glass, by Alex Blaine

17/11/2023

If today
was your last
and tomorrow
was too late
what would you do . . .

You can't have a
champagne lifestyle
if you have a
lemonade mindset

On a Wire, by Sterling Warner

17/11/2023

A kingfisher perched on an electrical line
searched between rocks & examined
slimy shadows gliding like river u boats
wiggling back and forth, revealing
oxygen red gills while riding currents
like scaly surfers submerged in icy water;
ever on the wire, sitting upon the same spot
we saluted evolution’s therapod watchman
we christened Joe Cocker; cyan/blue feathers
radiated brilliant tie-dye plumage
like the Woodstock revolutionary, as it
wailed & glared at swimmers, kayakers
& duck hunters who blocked its view--
people perplexed yet indifferent to its strident
rattle, ruffled head crest, accusing beak.

The Sudden Death of a Seagull, by Guy Fletcher

17/11/2023

I was rudely awakened from my daydreams
early on a Saturday morning
hearing a loud thud on the lounge window
and peering outside I spotted a still form.
I donned a pair of gloves and reluctantly
picked up the doomed seagull, a forlorn sight
which had crashed to its death with all its might.

There was no blood as far as I could ascertain
but I only half-stared at the poor thing
as I threw it over the garden fence.
It was a reminder of my own mortality
and how uncertain the future is.
I imagined it at its best soaring high,
beautiful view...but it fell from the sky.

Veteran, by Paul Gravanel

10/11/2023

He went to fight the Kaiser’s War,
returned alive from Flanders mud,
but not the same man as before,
his life too stained by death and blood

He lived another fifty years
back in this world of life and light
and locked away the days of fear,
the stink of gas, the flare-lit nights.

But for two minutes, on one day,
the pause before the great bell’s chime,
his mind would travel far away:
A distant land, another time.

To see the faces of his friends,
a line of men now lost and gone,
and feel a guilt which had no end
that they all died while he lived on.

Suburban Tree, by Guy Fletcher

10/11/2023

Suburban tree on the edge of the golf course,
its branches blowing softly in the breeze
and under a deep blue autumnal sky
its leaves are illuminated with gold.
The other seasons I have passed by
never gracing it with a second glance
but now I pause and just stare
as golden leaves flutter to the path below
and a squirrel ascending far up high.
The beauty of nature can be found everywhere
yet some people are too preoccupied to notice
the wonders on their very doorstep.
After a while I continue my stroll
knowing nature is a boost...for the soul.

Cold Comfort, by Robert P. Bishop

10/11/2023

Mother Earth’s embrace
shields me from machinegun fire,
bombs exploding over cities,
people screaming, dying,
cities burning, oceans boiling,
rivers running red with blood,

Above my grave eagles soar
on outstretched wings, gliding like
angels over a wasteland created
by men who can read, write,
pry secrets from distant stars,
probe the beginnings of life,
and compose music so beautiful
they weep when they hear it,
but do not put down their swords.

No Amigo, by Alex Blaine

10/11/2023

Somewhere in the
Spanish mountains
Humanity
has hung
its teddy

Wait, by Ivan Ristic

10/11/2023

Waiting for the voices
from the voids of love
or fullness of hate.
Anything except silence
and stillness.

Bonfires, by Ivan Ristic

3/11/2023

Remember when we built bonfires like this
playing outdoor games
and other oddities
believing in miracles
trusting humans

forget about our past
hear the thunder in the distance
and see the fire raging in the sky

Galley Slave, by Robert P. Bishop

3/11/2023

Wind rowing the sun
across indifferent sky
into night’s harbor

Seasonal Gravity, by Elizabeth Elder

3/11/2023

The fall of leaves
and people
is no secret.
Bare branches
and barren, broken
biographies are
the blatant tell-alls.
Death follows--
fallow, fameless,
and faulty as hell.
But first we saw
the soft crash.
We heard the
sacred, soundless
splendor.

Unwanted, by Alex Blaine

3/11/2023

Anger
is the gift
I do not
accept

Van Gogh Self-portrait (with Bandaged Ear and Pipe) 1889, by Rona Fitzgerald

3/11/2023

I thought a portrait would help
to ground me to fix myself in time.

I like the pipe it takes the gaze
from my wounds.

Blue follows me, my eyes shaded
round and round the room.

My palette’s muted now, time steals red
renders yellow brown.

Shadow softens shapes.

I love that green coat, fern
reminds me of spaces in Arles

evening ease, a sliver of a moon
trees silent sentinels

before my ear and the world
felt wrong.

Poetry

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