Blog Posts

Hero Worship, by Ian Fletcher

6/4/2019

Their heroes were that rebel
without a cause blue-eyed
James Dean or Marilyn Monroe
peroxide blonde on the screen
and Elvis Presley the ‘King’
heralding Hendrix, Janis Joplin
and the poetic lush Jim Morrison
a change of taste bringing in
those icons of my generation
from Sid Vicious to Kurt Cobain
meeting untimely or tragic ends
in decade after dismal decade.
Who are your heroes my friend
are they living or are they dead?
Spare me as it matters not a jot
for all the ragged glamorous lot
are consigned like you and me
to the foul dustbin of history.

Across the Land, by Philip Galfano

5/4/2019

Children’s voices familiar sounds playful happy across the land

Children’s cries stricken with terror hiding unsure sound of guns
Dead bodies tears broken hearts
Living in fear life is unfair
Death is approaching a young man holding a gun
Screaming pacing slowly step by step pointing at children
Scared faces trembling praying
Sound of gun clicking shooting blood pouring

Across the land children playing
Running chasing each other laughing holding hands
Across the land
Life is unfair

The Tourist, by Ian Fletcher

3/4/2019

Her latest selfie
grins out at us
from the very top
of the Acropolis
with the Parthenon
in its immensity
towering behind
in profound silence
a timeless symbol
of the sublime.

So thus she came
saw and conquered
the ancient world
in a mere snapshot
who yet cannot tell
an Ionic column
from a Doric one
or see the temple’s
masonic geometry
as a grand mirror
of Plato’s abstract
realm of Forms.

Oh how Socrates
would have laughed
himself to scorn
at this presumption
as if travel could
broaden such minds
with ambits narrower
than the spaces
between these lines.

Tribute to a Poet, by Guy Fletcher

1/4/2019

Well, his words finally made it
to the front of the magazine.
Perhaps he views his poem with sadness and pleasure
from that unknown land awaiting us all.
He invites us into his world of love and travel
writing for this small magazine for years,
a welcome escape from problems and fears.

I felt he relished penning his verses
and his demise has shaken me,
a reminder of my own brittle mortality.
Although I never met the man
his words ensure I stare into his soul,
it's a fitting tribute to discover
one of his fine poems on the cover.

Quantum Echo, by O. L. Percivall

1/4/2019

What am I? Where am I? When am I?

Which answer is more important to you?

What if I said I am none of these but all of them at once?
Like a spinning coin that is neither heads nor tails but both and none.

Would you believe me?

Should I care if you didn't?

For I am here, Patiently waiting for you to catch up.

Algeria 1958, by Adrian McRobb

29/3/2019

A grenade tumbles
outside the bar
only soldiers there
at this late hour

Who stare and gape
in drunk amazement
at the missile bouncing
across the pavement

Soon to explode
and from its mesh
sear red-hot shrapnel
in to human flesh...

Penguins, by Adrian McRobb

29/3/2019

Bow-tied
Ice floe
Waiters

Beautiful Boy, by Guy Fletcher

25/3/2019

"Living in a world of make-believe." - Daydreamer

In the 70s he fell into success
blessed or cursed with beauty,
girls fainting at his concerts:
David Cassidy once the greatest pop-star.
Yet it was all an image he couldn't escape
and as his looks faded so did his fame
easily replaced by another name.

A world-weary man records in a studio
face painted with alcohol,
in pain, a pale shadow of the beautiful boy
drinking to cover up the sadness.
He yearned to be a "serious" musician
but never became a rock n' roll star,
a tragic figure...as many of us are.

Divorce, by Adrian McRobb

23/3/2019

Guilty gin
fizzes in
bitter lemon

Bella Kotak, by Adrian McRobb

23/3/2019

sunlight lancing feathers
golden eagle
slicing through air
spirit of the plains
Bella Kotak
soaring and diving
almost, out of sight
her spirit
possesses the sky
as she spirals
framed at the limit
of the world
that freeze-frame emotion
at the edge of reality

The Silver Birch, by Guy Fletcher

18/3/2019

The silver birch collapsed in the night:
it must have creaked and groaned
with its mighty death rattle
toppled by a howling winter gale
as I was lost in the land of dreams.
In the morn the wind was no longer wild
but the silver birch I climbed as a child

lay slumped on the rain-soaked grass.
It narrowly avoided the greenhouse
and will have to stay, I cannot lift it away.
The ghost of a young boy sheds a tear
but the weather does not care.
Yes, the old silver birch fell in the night,
a giant carcass...a most forlorn sight.

Marshmallows, by Adrian McRobb

15/3/2019

Sugared
Pillows
Of delight...

Intrusions, by Adrian McRobb

15/3/2019

They first came to stay
uninvited
but quite ok

Yesterday
they made me cry
forced me to lie

Tonight
they are shouting
squeezing, in my brain

They even have a plan
they've got knives too

The voices, in my head...

Trash Party, by Adrian McRobb

13/3/2019

Near a quiet house
teenagers gather
Blondie breaks the glass
their in...

'Get the party started'
booms out
a chair gets smashed
porridge on kitchen floor

Blondie sprays her tag
on walls

"BlondiE (heart)"

Jumping on beds
muddy boots and weed
foiled roaches

Short break
weekend away
Mr & Mrs Bayer (and baby)
won't be pleased!

A Balmy February Day in Bute Park, by Guy Fletcher

11/3/2019

I stroll past the Animal Wall
and through the West Gate of Bute Park
relieved to escape half-term crowds.
The Gorsedd Stones are in shade
but although it's only late February
there are petals of pink and white
on the alluring cherry blossom trees,
daffodils dance a waltz in the soft breeze.

It's the warmest February day in history
with the blue Taff reflecting the sky,
joggers, dog-walkers are out in force
and families enjoying picnics but later
the gothic castle will stare through the trees
at a magical carpet of frost
to confuse nature in the ghostly night
and melt to shine as if stars in the light.

The Skater, by Adrian McRobb

8/3/2019

Faltering steps on ice
clumsy, timid, testing
but
confidence growing
cutting through
permafrost
steel blades
tight laced
making curlicues
patterns cut glass

Mouse fur hat
bobs as she glides
spinning in arabesque
completing a
Swan Lake sequence
no witnesses
a private pond
in a Scottish winter
faster and faster
timing the snow flakes

Woollen leggings
against the chill
velvet collared coat
red pearl-back mittens
pleated tartan skirt
pirouettes on the turn
circling into herself
decreasing, yet increasing
a gyroscopic toy
in a frozen wood

Inspiration, by Guy Fletcher

5/3/2019

When my mood is at low-tide
my thoughts turn to the young woman
in a wheelchair who knew
that everyday might well be her last.
Yet her spirit soared
like a white eagle in a northern sky,
her body has gone but she did not die

and on this fine day at the edge of spring
I feel her spirit in the daffodils
and in the roses of the church path.
She is my inspiration,
her soul shines like the morning dew
reminding us how transient we are,
each one shining...like a miniature star.

A Misty Walk – 28th February 2019, Adrian McRobb

1/3/2019

The mist drifts
in wraiths of moisture
caressing cold stone
pausing as if
gossip was its mission

The spire disappearing
into the ethereal ether
delivers liquid messages
to the almighty

Drifting across the road
wetting leaf and shrub
phantoms appear
dissolving once more
on missions unknown

Walking in this other world
is a non-existence
is this what
death feels like
seeking relative comfort
in the world of life

Shadows of cars
pass in a grey wash
muffled engines
adding to the mix
exhaust fumes and mist
turning the streets
into dream-like memories...

Winter Robin, by Guy Fletcher

25/2/2019

It is only mid-February
but already the soil awakes:
fully formed daffodils wave,
sun burning gold into the woods.
The almond tree blossom has bloomed,
white petals dancing to the ground below
when winter grass should don a coat of snow

yet it is the robin I admire the most,
its head moving swiftly to and fro
displaying a rotund rusty breast.
People relax outside a country pub
with the grim storms quite forgotten.
I watch the robin as it flickers away
in a balmy breeze...that belongs to May.

That Sinking Feeling, by Adrian McRobb

22/2/2019

I'm thinking I'm sinking
while thinking of you
I'm sinking and thinking
admiring the view
I'm sinking and thinking
of less bodily mieu
I'm thinking of sinking
while sinking from view
If I was less sinking
I'd think more of you...

Cinders, by Adrian McRobb

22/2/2019

They found it
at the bottom
of the fire-escape

Still smoking

While in the room
with the wind blown drapes

The Prince is dead

Detectives twitch their noses
cleaning whiskers
the coachman hides feathers
in his pocket

An airport taxi disgorges
its hurried departure
two brass shell cases
on the seat...

In Silent Mode, by Julie Achilles

19/2/2019

We were in silent mode and like a cancer it spread,
An abyss appeared and consumed us with our silence,
Once the young, carefree us disappeared,
A time when words were not needed.

Then, words were all we had left and we could not find them,
We were lost and there was no way back,
Now, I am old and lonely and sad with, just memories,
I have words now, but you cannot hear them.

I wonder how your life fared, happiness? contentment?
Photo's old and battered, smiles, laughter, just memories,
Always in my head, always in my heart.
Silence.

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