Blog Posts

Mother Love, by Rona Fitzgerald

21/2/2020

In Dublin’s Avoca café, I’m almost at home.
Kitchen bustle, clink of cup and glass
fresh coffee, scones, berry jam.

At the next table, the younger woman
places mother, fusses over the menu.
Have the soup mammy, it’s very good.

Mother, slim, veins like tributaries,
jaunty scarf - says she’d love a scone and hot chocolate
gets a scold about cholesterol.

I think of my mother. Our illicit late-night suppers.
Tablecloth, good china, pancakes, toasties.
And the ritual cigarette that later took her precious breath.

I dare not look up. Head down, back to my book.

The Poet, by Adrian McRobb

21/2/2020

The poet bends to his thankless task
scribbling his muse across acres of paper
words tumbling forth, hastening as years speed by
to leave a desperate mark, before his span is done

Not, for monetary gain or fame
although some do
but, rather for art or hobbies sake
one day perhaps?

To see a line or two
of his thoughts, hopes, desires, dark imaginings
appear in fine print
to show his friends
or leave to children's children
and by so doing prove
he also lived, and life was not a dream...

The Reply, by Mary Wallace

21/2/2020

After Mary's poem on the 14th February, another contributor suggested a reply might be appropriate...

Don’t be so ridiculous
It’s not your choice but mine
You have no right to dictate
How I should spend my time

You suck at keeping secrets
As if I didn’t know
The pain that’s etched in your brow
The fear you wouldn’t show

Don’t give up hope yet darling
We don’t know what’s to come
Miracles are possible
As if I mean to run

You promised we would marry
The time for us is now
So let’s stop all this fighting
I’ll hold you to that vow

We’ll face this thing together
‘Cause even if we lose
I’ll spend this time beside you
And it’s my right to choose

Transient Lake, by Guy Fletcher

21/2/2020

(Image: Geoff Gobody/Facebook. There's a football pitch under there, I think – ed.)

The river Taff burst its banks
submerging the Water Bus platform,
branches sped under Cardiff Bridge
instead of tourist boats.
Bute Park transmuted into a transient lake
the shape of the future perhaps.
For days Storm Dennis had ruled the air
causing flood devastation and despair.

The storm tortured gothic trees in the park,
rain swept across and the gale raged
as if a tormented beast.
The Gorsedd Stones were almost devoured
now appearing like a shipwreck
then the sun broke briefly through
and ghost diamonds shone but they did not stay
rain clouds returned...to wipe them all away.

The Kiss, by Adrian McRobb

14/2/2020

The kiss
which burns
that inner skin...

My Valentine's Day, by Sandra James

14/2/2020

No one gave me a big box of chocolates
And I’m glad coz it’s helping me slim
The lack of red roses is equally nice
For my hayfever is under control.

The postman has been to deliver
And for me there isn’t a card
But over the course of a lifetime
I’ve saved one more rainforest tree.

I don’t have a date for a dinner
So it’s beans on some toast just for me
They’re good for my heart
And if I should…
Then there’s no one at home here but me!

Please Go Away, by Mary Wallace

14/2/2020

I watched you walk away from me
I knew that it was right
It seemed like just a simple thing
Another silly fight

But I meant for this to happen
You weren’t supposed to know
The results came by mail today
You were supposed to go

I wanted you to go away
Before this thing gets worse
You agreed to be a husband
I didn't want a nurse

My eyes are filled with tears again
But still it's best this way
If I told you what is coming
I know you’d want to stay

There's so much time ahead for you
You need to live your life
There’s people in the world to meet
Perhaps even a wife

Pain, by Ana Marie Dollano

14/2/2020

Pain,
Agony
Inflicted by
Noxious influences. Nagging.

Valentine's Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

14/2/2020

It is Valentine's evening and by chance
he finds himself outside the restaurant
he and his ex-wife had dined
on another Valentine's night long ago.
A young couple now lock eyes
feasting at the same table as they had.
The two lovers then disappear,
he strokes his ex-wife's rich blonde locks
in days when all seemed possible.
The haunting image fades away,
there's a sad ghost reflection in the window.
They spot his presence discussing him
and the words they say will be unkind,
he walks... leaving the restaurant behind.

The Left Phalange, by Kirsty Niven

8/2/2020

I promised I wouldn't fall for you,
a cynical certainty I supposed.
A relationship in SMS –
'The Shop Around The Corner' for the modern age.
The James Stewart of my dreams,
stealing my heart with fictional adventures
and words I cannot live up to.
Psychologically mixed up
by every romantic comedy trope
slapping me around the face –
the boarding of the plane,
the long distance love.

I mourn the possibility you held,
the future forecast and fucked.

Memories, by Adrian McRobb

7/2/2020

Memories; like walking through the rooms
of a once loved house
lace curtains blow idly
across the shattered remains
of a rain streaked window

paper peels from damp moulded walls
paint, cracked a crazed
falls gently like coloured snow
as dust motes dance in fetid air

faint echoes of childish laughter
hang upon the broken stairs
an Aga in the kitchen
spews its guts over pock-marked tiles

a shadow moves with passing time
and all are still...memories

Remembering Sentosa, by Guy Fletcher

7/2/2020

Yes, I remember Sentosa:
we rode the cable car from Singapore
feeling on top of the world,
you laughed, no sign of the pain to come.
We travelled on the old monorail,
(a high speed train has since taken its place)
you strolled in the heat with joy on your face.

I remember a myriad of colours
in the exotic butterfly park
and a Hindu festival we stumbled across
so surreal in the soporific evening air.
I recall a giant stone lion
and the golden sand of Palawan Beach,
those were fine days...but now you're out of reach.

In the Autumn of His Life, by Sandra James

1/2/2020

After the heady summer ended
and autumn slowly descended into
eternal winter…I found Edward Bear
forgotten…fallen from a
shelf in the opportunity shop
shed like the golden leaves
beneath the trees
after the glory of his youth
one ear torn, a stain or two
peeping hopefully from his
lone brown eye

Pocket shrapnel…a clever stitch
and a shiny brown button
restored his faith…and mine

To the Lifeboat! by Gordon Lawrie

31/1/2020

"TO THE LIFEBOAT!" the shrill voices cried
"What on earth is the problem?" bemused, I replied.
"This ship isn't sinking,
What are you thinking?
I feel nice and warm on the boat, and beside,
I reckon I'm safer while I'm tucked up inside"

"But the cruise ship's a monster, don't you realise?
And it's not good for you be on something that size
We're under the yoke
Of some foreign folk
Who don't speak like us and with shifty eyes
Try to make us eat dodgy merchandise."

"Hang on a minute!" I said, "That's rather rude –
I happen to like their interesting food.
It's not all for me,
But you have to agree
That some of our own diet's not that good:
Deep Fried Mars Bar's a wee bit crude.

"And stuck on a lifeboat as we all start to freeze,
Who's going to rescue us? Answer me this!"
"But why do you assume
It's all doom and gloom?
While we're adrift on tempestuous seas
We're free to be rescued by whoever we please!"

That was all the dissent they chose to allow
I was dragged to the lifeboat anyhow
So if you hear my cry
And a rescue you try
It's easy to find us – this is how:
Our lifeboat has a Union Jack on the bow.

Eden, by Ana Marie Dollano

31/1/2020

Where beds of purple wreaths and
yellow bells flourish in disarray
and trails of flaming red peacock bloom
on a patch of land along a moss-covered stone wall
where tiny blossoms emerge
between the cracks,
down by a murmuring stream.
This perfect tangle of tropical charm
warms my heart on unfriendly days
and fragrance sweet and subtle rests
my soul on weary nights,
a peaceful little garden
inspires my dampened spirit,
then I wake and carry on anew.

In the crevices of my memory exists
a little hideaway.

Frost in January, by Guy Fletcher

31/1/2020

On the Wenallt the grass is white,
a low mist hovers like a ghost
and it seems gems sparkle as the sun rises
making it a most glorious sight.
It is early on a Saturday morn,
crescent moon in an azure sky,
intricate ice patterns on cars
on a day I feel blessed to have been born.

The ice-scrapers are out in force,
surprised as are daffodil shoots
as seagulls gather
on the frozen pond of the golf course.
My breath is like an old locomotive's steam
as an orchestra of birds greets my ears,
I am contented as I drift
as if inside...a beautiful dream.

Voices, by Adrian McRobb

31/1/2020

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've even got a plan
they've got knives too

The voices, in my head...

Why I Write, by Mary Wallace

24/1/2020

I have lived a thousand lives and still I crave for more
I have searched on library shelves, from Romances to War
I have travelled back in time, explored the Universe
Found desire, discovered love, felt pain, known plague and worse
I have lived a thousand lives, sojourned with thieves and kings
With my sword, slayed dragons fierce on quests for magic rings
I have lived some regal lives, journeyed to foreign shores
As Princess and as pauper I’ve walked through many doors
I have lived a thousand lives, from Astronaut to Spy
Still I think my ideal life, has sadly passed me by
Each of those one thousand lives have made my heart take flight
But none were written just for me, and that is why I write.

Frozen Tundra, by Bruce Levine

24/1/2020

Pasted in the frozen tundra of infamy
Held over the abyss
As time derivatives delivers cascades of sorrow
And fame lingers on the precipice of hope

Train (a poem for Holocaust Memorial Day), by Guy Fletcher

24/1/2020

What fear and despair the man must have felt
as the horrific rhythm of the train
rattled along the Polish countryside.
Through a gap in the cattle track
he viewed a boy in a field
put finger to his throat meaning doom
and this was becoming a rolling tomb

as yet another person expired
in the horrific heat of the crammed "carriage"
where the reek of human waste was inbearable.
He was not fearful for himself
but holding his terrified wife and child
he looked at them with hopeless, tearful eyes
as he heard weeping and inhuman cries.

The train came to a sickening, screeching halt,
harsh German voices told them to get off.
He noticed the station was Auschwitz,
a place which had never entered his mind.
None of the family saw their home again
and now only old photographs remain,
a time before...the world became insane.

Mowtaz, by Adrian McRobb

24/1/2020

Quintessential quixotic leather seated Roller
shimmering on the Coast Road in the summer haze
with a hamper full of Harrods bags, caviar and Vin-du-Pays

Slimline executive stylish Rover
hurrying from the airport in the autumn gloom
with a boot full of briefcases, data-tags and Dior perfume

Scruffy little taxi with broken 'for-hire' light
slithering supermarket ways in a winter gale
hoping for a tipping fare with bread buns, chocolate and own brand ale...

Mr McGregor's Garden, by Adrian McRobb

17/1/2020

Neat rows
of military precision
calico bags gathered
move in moaning wind
shallow troughs like graves
potting shed shackles
manacled tools
manicured nails protrude
oiled and polished
peat bags brood
in sinister greenhouse
filling soiled bags
compost steams
in a rotting dream
leek-trench an altar
strange vegetable religion
Mr McGregor lives
in his blooming garden
always digging
always weeding
a grave place...

Free Will, by Bruce Levine

17/1/2020

The day languished before them,
as if suspended in time,
choosing a course
and yet not choosing,
but rather letting the course choose them
without care
because freedom
and abandonment to choose
presented itself
in its own inexplicable way
and their free will
became incapable
of deciding.

War Memorial Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

16/1/2020

The trees are bare, leaves fallen,
scattered as if bodies on a battlefield.
The grey soldier leans wearily
on his rifle by Whitchurch Library,
a solemn expression on his face.
The names of the dead are listed
from two brutal wars, civilians
as well as the doomed soldiers.

After the autumn deluges
when rain dripped off the soldier like tears
the sun shines illuminating the statue
and the poignant plethora of poppies.
Oh, but the First World War was not the last
and humans have learned nothing from the past.

Postcard from Penarth Beach, by Guy Fletcher

10/1/2020

"We are having a lovely time,"
was written below the photograph of Penarth Beach
where hundreds gathered on a sun-kissed day
back in 1902 when the world was so different.
There were no bikinis or shorts,
hats were donned to avoid burning.
I stare deeply and imagine the noise
of seagulls, the laughter of girls and boys

but this time in the sun has passed
just like the writer of the postcard,
I wonder if she lived to a ripe old age.
Today the beach is all but desertrd
yet I picture the ghosts from long ago
waiting for the ferry on a summer afternoon.
Oh, we are all like waves heading for the shore
brief moments of power ...and then no more.

<<Previous

Forward>>

Mother Love, by Rona Fitzgerald

The Poet, by Adrian McRobb

The Reply, by Mary Wallace

Transient Lake, by Guy Fletcher

The Kiss, by Adrian McRobb

My Valentine's Day, by Sandra James

Please Go Away, by Mary Wallace

Pain, by Ana Marie Dollano

Valentine's Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

The Left Phalange, by Kirsty Niven

Memories, by Adrian McRobb

Remembering Sentosa, by Guy Fletcher

In the Autumn of His Life, by Sandra James

To the Lifeboat! by Gordon Lawrie

Eden, by Ana Marie Dollano

Frost in January, by Guy Fletcher

Voices, by Adrian McRobb

Why I Write, by Mary Wallace

Frozen Tundra, by Bruce Levine

Train (a poem for Holocaust Memorial Day), by Guy Fletcher

Mowtaz, by Adrian McRobb

Mr McGregor's Garden, by Adrian McRobb

Free Will, by Bruce Levine

War Memorial Sonnet, by Guy Fletcher

Postcard from Penarth Beach, by Guy Fletcher

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