FREED SPIRIT

Is this me, can I be buried within the mighty breast of earth?
Deep rooted in the quiet places where no light comes anonymity
This is me, let me see, one glance I crave.
Feeling some sacred fire ignites me within my grave.

Then in the darkest hidden space
I quietly lie within that cold embrace
This tiny spark will never be extinguished
I rise above, and I am not diminished
Uplifted by a radiant memory
I burst my earthly bonds, and know that I am free.

Veronica Emmott, Firswood, Greater Manchester

FALLING IN LOVE, WALKING IN THE RAIN

Walking in the rain
Tearing the leaves the tempest chicane
Wild winds, free spirit, walking together hand in hand
Falling in love, holding hands in the rain
It wouldn’t be the same, if it weren’t wild but tame
Walking the walk, talking the talk
A day in the rain, not completely insane
Her beautiful blue eyes, such as yesterday’s skies
She’s dressed with a hat, raincoat and all that. But the rain runs off her hat
Down over her face, all she can do is smile at that
Free to be wild
The autumn colours orange child
Arched bridges shelter provide, we come together not to divide
I look deep into her eyes and we smile
This is the fourth bridge in the last mile
We kiss, our lips caress, under each bridge we stop and kiss
Here’s another one, a kiss we mustn’t miss
Laughter and sheer joy of walking in the wet
Falling in love, lovers met.

Tom Phillips, Northwich, Cheshire

MOODS

Good morning how are you today, has your blue mood gone away.
Birth of a new day, all it brings, pretend that you have wings.
Go on life’s too short, why abort the very things we love in life.
Don’t waste yourself on trouble and strife.

Listen to me, and morning call look over to your garden wall.
I cheer you every day, please chase your black mood away.
I try to cheer all mankind don’t wait for me to fly away.
I promise I’ll be here all day.

Others rely on us you know, lifting all as they go
We too have other things to do, than look at moods and you.
I sing in loud key today. Not for you if blue moods stay.
That’s better a smile I see I also heard thanks to me.

Veronica Westby, Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire

I WOULD WALK MANY A MILE

If I could see you once more
Come through the door,
With your ready smile,
I would walk many a mile.
To touch your hand, a silken glove,
Hug you and feel the love
That spanned many long years,
Leaving now only tears
Shed quietly for a mum,
Who shone brightly like the sun.
I would walk many a mile,
To enjoy sharing a joke, or two
Link arms, go shopping with you,
Our bargains, bringing much pleasure,
These memories are mine to treasure.
I would walk many a mile,
To see you, with your ready smile,
Tell you how much I love you
Mum, even though you always knew,
With your ready smile
I would walk many a mile.

Sheila J Drewery, Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria

OH, YOUNG HAPPY CHILD

Oh, young happy child
Did you see the smile upon his face
Of the old man across the street
Then think of him in years to come

You play and sing and shout
In games with toys and chat
He sounded far into the night
Upon his metal steed

The paper on that you scribble
The rhymes of childhood thoughts
The paper that on he wrote
Were maps of darkened night

Your heart beats fast
The excitement fills your face
The place to where he went
Was peenemünde by sea

Of knights and damsels
In distress the football on your knee
It’s just the goalposts that have moved
Just a little wee

William Smyth, Lytham St Annes, Lancashire

WHAT I KNOW

That I go to work every week
That sometimes I can’t speak
That life is hard
That life is good
That people die before they should

David Bennett, Stretford, Greater Manchester

FIRE

burning desire
for the carnal
and for the divine
but one eternal
glowing fire
enthralling us all

oft begetting great elation
oft wrecking devastation
oft dwindling thin and fine
to a flicker at a shine
birth place of contemplation

Tanya Sorell, Sale, Greater Manchester

Born in Hamburg Tanya Sorell has interests including nature study. “My mother recited a lot of German poetry to me and my favourite kind of poetry is short poetry which rhymes,” she pointed out. Aged 84, Tanya is a retired teacher with two children and five grandchildren. “This is my first published poem and the person I would most like to meet is the writer Margaret Drabble to ask her what trends in literature and poetry she has observed. The person I would most like to be for a day is Socrates.”

LOVE SONNET

We cannot choose with whom we fall in love
Preconceived or programmed in our genes
To have that softness, breast of grey pink dove
Yet using all its skill to gain its means.

No one can warn us simply not to risk
Or dare persistent arrows through the air
Jeopardy our all for that first kiss
As when he whispers “give to me, I care.”

He flies like an abandoned child sent
Why then can joy be really bound and lead
To ecstasy as well as punishment;
So is euphoria the price we pay for greed?

No, it is more tender than all this
We give up freedom for an ounce of bliss.

Eve Coxeter, Liverpool, Merseyside

THE WEIGHT GOES ON

I promised myself I would diet; I must lose a pound or two.
None of my clothes now fit me, and my midriff seemed to grow.

I decided to stop smoking, something I’ve always done.
Then my appetite increased, and weight piled on and on.

People told me it was normal, to gain a pound or two,
So I only eat healthy things, but my hunger grew and grew.

No sweets or chocks or bags or crisps, just salads rice and fish,
But some things are just too tempting, like a plate of fish and chips.

And so today I’ll sit and eat the things I really like.
And tomorrow I’ll try really extra hard and go for a ride on my bike.

Gretta Elkins, Wigan, Greater Manchester

WHY GOD?

As a little girl of eight,
I often wonder at what God can create.
I know he created the sun, sea and sky,
But I get confused when he lets a living being die.

Especially when it’s someone you love,
And he gently lifts them high above
To sit and live with him forever more,
Watching over us from Heaven’s door.

My Grandad was one of the people God chose:
Why? Because he needed him I suppose.
He was a kind, loving and gentle man,
The type of person I hope I am!

Frances Alexandra Duddle, Leigh, Greater Manchester

Born in Leigh, Frances Alexandra Duddle has interests including animals, singing, dancing and writing. “I started writing poetry three years ago, inspired by my mother,” explained Frances. “My work is influenced by my family and the world around me and I write from the heart about how I feel. I would like to be remembered as a kind, happy, loving, gentle person who made other people think. The person I would most like to meet is J K Rowling because she is an extremely good writer and I would like to ask her advice about my writing career.”

NIGHT: 3 AM
Fears and frustrations hover out of sight
As tiny as skylarks during summer daylight.
But at vulnerable moments, such as night: 3 am,
They gather together, a flock of mayhem.
Circling overhead, spiralling lower,
As minute by minute and hour by hour,
Comfort and rest have been carried away
To that furthermost ledge, pulled apart and displayed.
Unwise and unwanted, dawn still will creep,
Anaemic smear in the sky
Post-mortem of sleep.

Lyn Punt, Blackpool, Lancashire

OUR GOLDEN YEAR

Love, like the rose, grows
More sweeter and beautiful with time, and care
As our golden celebration we share.
It doesn’t seem like fifty years
Since a young bride
Walked up the aisle with pride
Beside her husband to be,
To give their vows for all the world to see
Their love and happiness on this sunny April day.
Through their married years, they made their way
To a more contented life;
No more the young bride, now a more wise and mature wife. Sons four.
The family is growing more, and more,
Ten grandchildren too,
Now with children of their own;
Five great-grandchildren,
More little seeds have been sown.
And now in our twilight years,
We have had happy times,
But many tears.
With life we carry on
And sit and wonder,
Where all the years have gone.

Iris Tennent, Earby, Lancashire

Dedicated to my husband Jim who died a few months after our anniversary.

TIME BEING RELATIVE

Beneath the cold blue skies
Beneath the too far off sun
The frosty hoar of morning
With icy brightness shone

He stretched his aching limbs
Looked on yet another day
Feeling hunger’s empty pangs
He rose up from where he lay

Painfully on ageing legs
He stumbled to his morning feed
Provided by his kindly employer
Who looked after his every need

Although no longer the force he was
And aching and aged and grey
There was plenty of life yet in the old dog
Though he was twenty one today

Andrew Shanley, Manchester

INSIDE

Inside each laugh
There is a life
That longs to be set free.
Inside each man
There is a wife
The mum of midwifery.

Inside each mum
There is a child
That longs to dance and sing.
Inside each dad
When meek and mild
Few wedding bells still ring.

Inside each day
There is a night
That longs for sunshine’s dawn.
Inside each doubt
There is delight
Daylight is soon reborn.

Christopher Gilmore, Crewe, Cheshire

THE MOMENT YOU DIED

You came in the rain
I felt you on my window pane,
But I didn’t stir
You knocked so hard
I was in your sleep
Hidden in peace
You rapped so hard
But I didn’t stir
You’re brave and silent
Flight hidden in the rain
You knocked so hard
I didn’t stir
Hidden in your peaceful flight
I was there

Thomas Morley, Liverpool, Merseyside

Born in Liverpool, Thomas Morley has interests including songwriting, singing and reading. “I started writing poetry in my youth when I was compelled to write a love poem as a lament about summer love,” he explained. “My work is influenced by Shakespeare and life and my style is open, honest and thoughtful. I would like to be remembered as a great poet and a good friend, lover and father. Thomas is a catering tutor with children Tam and Mark. “I have written my autobiography and many poems, a few of which have been published so far.”

CONTINUITY

There’s a little place called Abersoch, along the North Wales coast.
The road to it meanders round a bay,
In spring and summer, world arrives,
Abersoch plays host, to many thousand visitors every day.
White cottages fleck green hills, shells deck sunkissed sands,
Music drifts from hired beach huts, played by city bands.

In autumn as the leaves turn gold, world has gone back home,
Six hundred villagers leave their cots bare feet tread wild sea foam.
They walk the still warm beaches, breathe in the salt tinged air,
World has freed the sea from boats, coves lie still and bare.

In winter when the days are short, few cars drive to the bay,
Snowdon’s mountain range is white, with more snow on the way.
Hearths burn bright with Welsh black coal, male voice choirs sing clear,
When daffodils pierce frozen earth, world will be back here.

Josephine Wilde, Wilmslow, Cheshire

DREAM OF PEACE

If I could fix the world today
And take all kinds of trouble away,
So love and joy could overwhelm this life
And wash away all sin and strife,
This gift I’d give to you.

If I could be the catalyst
To unfold every shaking fist,
And calm anger in the world
Deflect each missile ever hurled,
This gift I’d offer you.

If all the love I have inside
Could form a cape that’s long and wide,
I’d cover all the world today
To melt all anger quite away,
This love I’d give to you.

If every breath I ever take
Could build a bridge then I would make
A bridge to join us all in one
Before this life of mine is gone,
This life I’d give to you.

Diane Ireland, Sutton Coldfield, West Midlands

THE LOVE OF A MOTHER

The colours of a rainbow appeared first, when I awoke,
My eyes were opened wide, when the day’s dawn broke;
The first sight I saw, was my mother with a hand on my heart.
“My darling” she cried “I thought we had been torn apart.
You have been very ill, and I needed to wait,
To pray to the Lord, not yet, to open His heavenly gate;
For you are my one, and only, beautiful child,
You brought happiness, and joy, each time you smiled.”
She held my cheeks, and kissed me, her eyes wet with tears,
Now, she had no doubts, no sorrow, no fears.
I was with her again, to love, and to hold dear,
I smiled, and I watched the worry on her face, disappear.

James Leake, Walsall, West Midlands

James Leake said: “I am a Yorkshireman living in the Midlands, where I settled 15 years ago. The urge to write returned when I retired. Now at 72 I write on past experiences, be they serious or comical. Mostly I want to create laughter. I have been in plays and the odd pantomime. Laughter is a great panacea.”

SUCH IS LIFE

Waves of depression crashing through the mind
Round room relief you cannot find
Pop those pills forever
They suppress and maim
Never to be better never quite the same
Collecting the memories
Holding on fast
Gripping forever in case they do not last
Waves of depression
How much more
Staring through the window
Clinging to the floor
The wheel of life keeps turning
So common is the cure
Pop those pills forever
Just to make sure

Sharon Davies, Tunstall, Staffordshire

BOYS

A boy in baggy jeans and baggy shirt
Stands on the clock tower’s top step and rolls
A roll-up laced with dope. His friends, alert
For passing policemen and parents, pace,
Or hold skateboards beneath their trainer soles;
All wait with slack limbs and a pensive face.

But then the sound of bass reverberates
Through the town centre. All eyes turn to see
The car, and a passer-by sibilates
Disgust at the boys behind the blacked-out
Windows of the turbo; even a V
Comes from a skateboarder on his lookout.

The fervid desire for difference is what
So often binds, but this must be defined,
And with a negative; what we are not,
Or hope not; so, lads passing those kindred
On corners who smoke pot and talk peace, find,
Not welcome waves, but hands raised in hatred.

Simon Gunter, Rugby, Warwickshire

TEN YEARS PAST

Shall I wax why you are my lady?
In the morning the east and
At evening west, my sunshine.
May pale blue landscapes enfold you,
Cascades of logic stream as a pulse
Engulfing love’s arms.
Say how a smile is my daily cup
Of happy comfort to my soul.

Desire is a hard tyrant
Without innocence sublime
Yet I would take all futures.
A fool, not I, and fall freely
Into a goldy age with
You, the south girl sustaining me.

Martin Faulkner, Fort William, Scotland

ONE WOMAN’S POISON

A catty lady literati
Thought my poetry rather tatty
With grim resolve
I became involved
Poetic roles reversed
I wrote blank verse
Producing work that had no bite.
Most tedious to read, worse to write.
Give me poems of the crackly kind,
With matching themes, and rhymes
That linger on in your mind.
I have taken on board her gripe,
And found it to be artistic hype.
Having now reverted to type
I shall continue, writing tripe.

John Cosgrove, Airdrie, Scotland

IT WILL BE TOO LATE

When a new year is about to appear,
And an old one due to end,
There’ll never be a better time,
To right a wrong with a friend.
Yesterday has been and gone,
Today is all that matters,
Cast pride aside, it’s not too late,
Unlike the glass that shatters.
Invite good grace into replace,
Your acquaintance with a grudge,
Take on board, allow to be stored,
And use to give you a nudge.
For on the hour regrets will devour,
The words you left unsaid,
If you hesitate, it will be too late,
When one of you is dead.

Mark J McAuley, Dunfermline, Scotland

UNKNOWN TIME

Periods of timeless passing
Born in quiet communion
As emotional thoughts are left unspoken
Unknown planets pass our dominion
We are unique in our own perception
Of where we began and end
And makers of our own destruction
Evolving from unseeing darkness
Into a journey of broken time
In emotional joy and sadness we atone
And drink our communal wine
We say a prayer to ease our conscience
And thank God for another day
With this crumb of comfort within us
We quietly go on our way.

Jean Murray, Fort William, Scotland

LONGING FOR HAPPINESS

There are ways to search for happiness:
Buy the loved one a new gift,
Invite relatives and friends for dinner
Or meet up in pubs for a pint or two.

There are ways to search for happiness:
Work 25 hours a day for more illusion,
A cosier home, a fancier car or a big holiday.
If not, abandon the career to save the togetherness.

There are ways to search for happiness:
Fill the lungs and the head with drugs.
If not, get into a new habit: Stop smoking,
Take the bike or go jogging.

There are ways to search for happiness:
Escape from them all; the family, the friends,
The ambitions and the dreams
To languish and decay on a far remote island.

Have you not reached contentment,
But instead are still asking why this emptiness?
There is a place you carry around;
It is the heart calling you to come home.

Messan Foley, Aviemore, Scotland

PENNY FOR A BLIND MAN?

Click click, click click.
Caked into a Woolworth’s doorway,
He cowers; March-cold, shunned.
A mat of hair, massing grey,
Sails a granite prune.
Emotion quashed,
His heart a beating vacuum.
A once black overcoat, perished pale,
Tethered tight and collar turned.
Trousers, stain tattooed,
Sundered at the knees in perfect symmetry.
While chafed-white brogues, cohesion starved,
Douse his odd-socked feet.
And tides of bustling shoppers
Fail to catch the calling
Of a capsized soft cloth cap,
A copper huddle kissed into it’s lining.
Or care to hear the padded, passioned plea,
Penny for a blind man?
Penny for a blind man?

Peter Caulfield, Airdrie, Scotland

FUNNY HIGH VOICE

She sweeps as she dreams
Her hair from her face
She swept as she dreamt
And leant
On her hands and wept to repent
Funny high voice
Like trembling violins

Roger Crush, Lowestoft, Suffolk

DOWN UNDER BIRDS

The white-faced heron stands alone,
He knows with stillness comes his prey.
I sit with friends, my body still;
My nourishment is unity.

The white-backed magpie’s panpipe song
Belies his swiftness to destroy.
I sit with friends, my body still
Creating threads of unity.

The spur-winged plover’s rasping cry
Sounds on the wing as he flaps by.
I sit with friends, my body still;
With inward song of unity.

The fantail moves in perky dance
Entrapping insects for his young.
I sit with friends, my body still
And taste the bliss of unity.

Gabriele Reifenberg, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire

Dedicated to the late Leslie Betts, dearly loved partner, who taught me about watching birds and much else besides.

Gabriele Reifenberg said: “I was born in Germany but came to England as a young child when my family had to leave. My working life was spent in university/college administration, after which I turned traveller/teacher of English. I started writing as a teenager but did not receive much acclaim and it is only recently that I seem to have regained inspiration. This comes mainly from scenery or the various cultures I find myself in on my teaching stints, mostly in India.”

THE FIG LEAF AND THE LAUREL

Incandescent brilliance, angel-white, piercing
Conflict’s callous complexities,
Arising from ashes; blackened, charred rubble;
An air of innocence, possessed of such imagination
That no searing flame of deepest crimson
Could ever brand a being of such grace.
A wind of stirring unsettled souls
Carries silver wings in streamlined flight
And the single fig leaf of truest hope,
Flowering to an olive branch of compassion,
Understanding, trust and peace.
Borne upon her befeathered back,
A concept so close to outstretched hands,
Yet ever distant from close-fisted complacency,
When to rest upon an Emperor’s laurels
Is to forget the all-embracing love,
To forget our own fine-crafted morals
To clip the wings of a rising dove.

Salman Shaheen, Beccles, Suffolk

LIFE-SCAN

See the I,
Ask the if,
Shout a fie
Hide the lie
File the facts
Love the lief
Live your life

Judith Roberts, Llandysul, Wales

A FOND FAREWELL

You left me as I knew you would
There was no other choice,
There comes a time when they that love
Must obey another voice.

The gap you leave cannot be filled
Nor would I want it to,
My pride and love in our shared life
I know will see me through.

Now I know you’re free again
With those who went before,
To cover long forgotten ground
That all of you can share.

Whenever I think of the places we’ve been
And the things we would like to have done,
I think of an intrepid explorer
You undoubtedly were one.

I’ll live my life to make you proud
To see me getting on,
And think of you when I’m at rest
And what we might have done.

God bless.

Mary Cole, Penarth, Wales

Born in London, Mary Cole has interests including theatre, reading and writing. “I started writing poetry in 1998 when I felt the urge to try writing about my retirement and my husband’s illness,” she explained. “My work is influenced by people and events and I would like to be remembered as a person who loved people.” Aged 65, she is a retired nurse with an ambition to grow old gracefully. She is a widow and has a son and two daughters. “I’m working on a children’s book and have written many poems, about half of which have been published,” she added.

SWEPT AWAY

The departing autumn leaves a trail
of rustic beauty.
Fallen leaves sweep us away
from the boundary of the late autumn
to meet the winter.

The changing seasons meet us sombre,
for the searching sky fastens for the sun
Our evening’s play
has been spoilt by the docking chill of the night breeze.
The calling robin takes shelter and bread
to stay until Christmas,
through our confinement,
cheering us with its bobbing red breast.

Sunlight is dawning, the mellow spring arrives
with freshness to gently caress the morning dew.
Our belief comes to pass with the lengthening day.
Faithfully, the glorious hot sun
returns from the far heavens,
casing the descending summer
for us to bask from dawn to dusk on the sandy shore.

Anna Trevena, Exmouth, Devon

TERMINUS

How many times have I touched your hem?
Breathed in your moods, washed in your despair?
And where
Did that road take me?

How many times have I brought back your day?
Walked in your sleep, drowned in your prayer.
And where
Did that road take me?

How many times have I to ride your waves?
Float on your tide, drink in your air?
And where
Will that road take me?

My spring has run dry,
Drained into your fallow fields.
The pain is painted.
And where are you now?
Hiding behind the curtains of your eyes.
Holding my hand to share in your lie.
And where
Am I?

Janine Vallor, Bridport, Dorset

THE DAWNING OF ANOTHER DAY

The dawning of another day
The beginnings of tomorrow
For the joys of life
For each to share
On our precious planet earth

The flowing of the ebb tide
So silent from the sea
With sea life of the oceans wide
And treasures of the deep

The wild life of the wilderness
With varieties of many
Clear blue skies with birds in flight
And blossoms on the trees

The sunrise and falling rain
The seasons of the year
People from all walks of life
And lands of faraway places

Tomorrow dawns another day
Another life and a new beginning
On our precious planet earth

Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon

THANK YOU GOD

Thank you God
For food clothes and shelter
Clean running water
And eyes that can see
All the beauty in this world
That you have given me
Thank you God
For the many gifts you have bestowed
Upon millions just like me
May we bless you with our love
Knowing you will give strength
To millions less fortunate than we

Joan Kernick, Newton Abbot, Devon

THE STAIRWAY

The stairway to heaven is not very far
Just stop on the ladder and reach for the stars
There’s nothing to fear your welcome is grand
There’s plenty of others to hold your hand.

Leaving your loved ones has been very hard
Saying goodbye has made them sad
Tell them to look upwards and see all the stars
As you will become one to light up their path

Your earthly work is over your duty all done
Now is the time for reflecting and looking on
Heaven’s gate is open so enter when you can
The Lord will lead you to the promised land

Joan House, Wareham, Dorset

THE MEMORY OF YOU

Like the sun’s breaking light in the morning
Banishing the stars with superior splendour
You came to be an intruder in my life,
Cupids arrow had struck me,
And I capitulated to your charms.
The fire of wanting burning within me,
Had lit love’s beacon eternal.
But the ecstasy we shared lasted only moments
In time
And when you left,
Like perfume whose fragrance silently disappears
Into nothingness,
You took with you my heart and my illusions,
Leaving behind sadness and pain.
And as love’s song fades,
Nights of tormenting dreams will bring back
The memory of you.

Peter Petrauske, Falmouth, Cornwall

JOURNEY OF LIFE

In this life, a star of hope arises,
Shimmering gold above earth’s dark horizon;
Baby fingers clutch, wide pure eyes brighten -
The star moves on.

In this life, a galaxy appearing
Beckons with stars of laughter, loss and wonder;
Youthful hands stretch out - the shining glory
Fades with the dawn.

In this life, the sun glows ever stronger;
Piercing through mist, fierce heat consumes ambition;
Mature hands grasp, to fill with dust and cinders -
While clouds obscure.

In this life, the sunset lingers redly,
Staining the evening sky with blood and tears;
Aged hands let sadly fall their garnered treasure
Into the night.

A life beyond? “Yes!”, cries the human spirit,
Eagerly reaching for its primal home;
In Christ its consolation through life’s journey,
In Him the promise of eternal joy.

Vera Urwin-Mann, Tavistock, Devon

Vera Urwin-Mann said: “This poem reflects in some measure, the undulating experiences of my own life, and perhaps of others too. The day beginning with innocent hope, moves on through phases of alternating anticipation and disappointment, ending in pathos and nothingness. As the lines came to me, I was intrigued by the symbolism of hands, trying so hard to hold, but finally having to let go. As I have now reached a point more or less midway between mature and aged, I find myself looking forward with gratitude and longing to the last verse, hopefully in plenty of company.”

SUMMERDAY

Tall summer grass all around me,
Sounds of the river abound;
A buzzard on high is circling the sky
For a morsel of mouse on the ground.
The scenes of summer delight me
As I sit watching nature’s display;
Bees dropping in on each flowerhead,
And their drone has me nodding away.
Swans with their young come gliding
And I tell them how proud they must be;
Their look of disdain seems to say
We’re so vain, but we’ll still share
Your lunch just the same
What a wonderful way to spend any day
At peace with yourself and the rest;
Give thanks to the magic of summer -
With its presence we truly are blessed.

Jimima Shaw, Poole, Dorset

A DAY LIKE THIS

A golden daybreak clear and bright,
dispels the darkness of the night.
Fragrant flowers in soft stirred air,
gentle Angels to take you there.

Sunshine sparkles off dragonflies,
grasses dance before your eyes.
The trees fragment the sunlight
casting jewels on the ground;
nature’s noises fill the air,
a symphony of sound.

For all you are, for all you’ve been,
a day like you have never seen.
A magic breeze will brush your hair,
you’ll fill with joy; just being there.
Against your skin you’ll feel God’s kiss,
for you deserve a day like this.

Cyril Dick, Hull, East Yorkshire

THE TRICKSTER

“A double whisky, barman, please,”
Requested the man in the blue dungarees.
“Certainly, Sir,” came the reply;
And the man watched with interest, a glint in his eye
As the barman produced from the back of the shelf
The finest malt whisky he kept for himself.
As soon as the drink was set down on the bar
The man snatched it up, much too quickly by far,
And, just before knocking it back in one go,
He turned to the barman and said, “Do you know,
I shouldn’t be doing this with what I’ve got.”
“What’s that?” asked the barman; (he wondered why not),
And by now was concerned for this man and his fate.
“Nought in my wallet, that’s what - oops, too late!”

Heather Pickering, Leeds, West Yorkshire

A DEATH AND A BIRTH

As you lay there still,
This princess like a butterfly slowly unfurled,
Wings striped multi-hued,
Like some strange, exotic being.
The veins on her wrist like the Nile delta,
Deliver sustenance to an ocean wide
And her breath rises and falls deep and long
Whilst you struggled for breath
Not struggled, not even tried,
Failed.
Machines kept you alive,
Provided you with the air,
Your lungs refused to deliver,
And you lay still, as the slab you rested on.
But still you blew one small kiss
That lay upon the air
Weightless like a petal
Fell deep within me and lay like a seed
And mighty brought forth
This Amazonian princess.

Beatrice Fields, Middlesbrough, Cleveland

COME DANCE WITH ME (NOT)

I wake up and I dance around the bedroom and the hall,
I dance around the bathroom down the stairs - I have a ball.
I haven’t got the music, so I sing, the noise is vile.
I even take some time to stretch, (but only for a while).

Downstairs, I’m in the kitchen, cooking breakfast while I stroll
The toast is burned, the eggs are hard - who cares? I’m on a roll
I eat my breakfast while I rock, I twinkle and I skate
A grapevine - then a sailor’s step - Oh shucks. I’ve dropped my plate.

By 6 pm. I’m shattered, I’ve danced around all day
The neighbours think I’m loopy, I’ve heard the things they say!
At last, the Walkley Line Dance, with Glenys and the Team,
Now I can dance like Ginger - (Well, it don’t cost much to dream).

So here’s a word of warning,
If you’re tempted just say no
Don’t do ballroom, tap, or sequence,
Dance with liners - in a row.

Mags C Doherty, Sheffield, South Yorkshire

DARK BLACK BOOTS

Dark black boots kills virgin snow
Purity looks easily soiled.
She squeaks when compressed
But dark black boots doesn’t care
Pityless crushing ice underfoot,
Dark black boots crossing over
Destination found.

Sally Ann Travis, Sheffield, South Yorkshire

TED’S FINAL WORDS

Ted lay in hospital, desperately close to death
The vicar stood beside him, as he fought for breath
Frantically, he motioned for writing tools, in haste
The vicar complied, not a minute did he waste
Ted wrote his final words, then he promptly died
The vicar pocketed the note, pushing it inside
In the sadness of the moment, it quite slipped his mind
Until at the funeral service, with many mourners lined
He delved into his pocket, where Ted’s final words he found
Forgotten since that fateful day, recovered safe and sound
As he addressed the congregation, the vicar said of Ted
“He passed to me a note, which I admit I haven’t read
I’m sure Ted’s final words, in this life, I can share today
As a source of inspiration, I will read them, if I may.”
Unfolding the note, he quoted the final words of Ted
“You’re standing on my oxygen tube!” horrified, he read!

Mary Wood, Otringham, East Yorkshire

Mary Wood said: “If you enjoyed Ted’s Final Words, you may be interested to know that I have published two books, Twisted Humour and Twisted Humour Unleashed. Find out more by logging on to www.twistedhumour.co.uk to see further examples of my work, news, reviews, and on-line order details. Be prepared. These books carry a humour warning.”

SEASONS OF LOVE

When springtime springs and songbirds sing,
Romantic lovers’ hearts take wing.
With thoughts of love and passions sweet,
Their dreams come true each time they meet.

Then summertime in fiery bloom,
Enriched with colour and perfume.
So warm their love and sweet caress,
With visions of real happiness.

Misty eyes and fireflies,
Mellowed kisses fade and die.
Cooling love like dying embers,
Golden days they shall remember.

Winter’s arms grow cold and chill,
Envelop hearts and mind and will.
While bitter sweet the memories stay,
But springtime is not far away.

Mary P Linney, Doncaster, South Yorkshire

MEMORIES OF YOU

You’ve always been a part of my life
Though we’ve gone our separate ways,
But I’ve always thought we’d meet again on some special day.
I still remember how you looked the last time that we met,
And when we sadly parted it was with so much regret.
Time waits for no man, a simple fact that’s true,
But whatever happens in the world, I will wait for you.
For you mean everything to me, and though we’re far apart,
Your memory will linger forever in my heart.

Jan Imeson, Allington, Lincolnshire

TAKE IN TODAY

You can’t predict the weather
Same as you can’t predict tomorrow
All you can really hope for
Is more happiness than sorrow.

Breathe in this moment
Take in the scent of this room
Fill your lungs with today
Its joy not its gloom.

You’ve got to appreciate the sun
On a cold winters day
You’ve got to thank the rain
For what it’s giving the plants today.

Take back your angry words
They aren’t needed here tonight
Instead look up to the sky
And grab hold of the moonlight.

It won’t be here tomorrow
Because tomorrow will be today
It wasn’t here yesterday
And it’s certainly not here to stay

Laura Bullock, Stanton-under-Bardon, Leicestershire

CYRA LYNN

Oh Cyra Lynn how you filled our lives,
Though for only five short years,
You brought us joy, you made us smile,
But now there’s only tears.

As to another place in a different realm,
On your journey now you’ll go,
Where you’ll run free, where you’ll catch the stars.
Where we will meet again I know.

Sweet precious child you are in my heart,
And in my thoughts you will remain,
‘Till a future time when you will take my hand,
And we will touch the flowers again.

Janet Morton, Winterton, Lincolnshire

MATHS

Maths, it’s just not my subject,
I have no talent or skill,
Addition, subtraction, division,
Teaching against my will.

Capacity, volume and area,
Sixteen to the power of three,
Circumference, radius, pi,
Oh, why does it have to be me?

Protractors measuring angles,
Acute, reflex, obtuse,
Torturing pupils and students,
No meaning in life, no use!

Elena Uteva, Beeston, Nottinghamshire

WHERE WERE CUSTOMER SERVICES WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT?

The fire-fighters have stopped fighting fires
and the postal workers have walked out on a wildcat strike
but don’t expect your junk mail to suddenly set alight

You have a right to feel cheated
when the dear old NHS
remember to put you on their Christmas waiting list

And even though we’re told the trains don’t run anymore
the British rail network still insist on printing those glossy brochures that tell you the next one’s due in at a quarter to four

But don’t feel guilty to just say no to charity muggers
they get paid either way
just like all the others

Life is full of questions so leave your details after the tone
log on + txt: download your favourite housemate to your mobile phone

Take a ticket to wait, a number for a number
get on the track
but a reminder to customers
please mind the gap

Martin Todd, Belper, Derbyshire

HEROES

Blood red poppies in November
takes your mind back in time
of young men’s suffering
death too soon
Boys plucked from their homes
and family
Proudly they went
sad mothers passing on their grief
told tales of heartbreak
Showing medals, photos, their
friends sad letters
lest we forget
Later their grandsons and
daughters and their
fathers went to a different war
On land, water and in the air
and bombing at home
But we must never forget

Connie Moseley, Dowington-on-Bain, Lincolnshire

SILVER LININGS

Sometimes I walk where the air is fresh,
The sun warm on my face,
Water is clear and sparkling,
I step with jaunty pace.

Sometimes I look up and catch the star
That shoots across the sky;
I am the first to see the rainbow
And spot the butterfly.

Sometimes the sun shines just for me,
And I cannot help but sing;
I laugh for the sheer thrill of laughing
And see joy in everything.

Just before the clouds come back
And the fog resumes its hold,
Sometimes there is freedom,
Before the return of the cold.

I think I see more of the sunlight
Because it is so rare,
More than those who miss its warmth
Because it’s always there.

Joanne Wilkins, West Bridgford, Nottinghamshire

EVERLASTING TREASURES

The birds will sing on
After I am gone.
Above my grave
They will serenade.
The squirrels will crack nuts upon the stones
I won’t ever be alone.
Loved in life,
They will not leave me in death.

Patricia M Farbrother, Denham Green, Buckinghamshire

NADIA AND GUY

Nadia is aware
of beauty
duty and compassion.
Nadia’s aware
of ought and will
and still
she is aware
of humour
and of tragedy,
wit and thoughtlessness,
what will be, what was,
wistfulness, rejoicing
predictions and decline,
truth and dauntlessness
of hope beyond hope.
She is aware.

Guy is not.

Diane Burrow, Witney, Oxfordshire

MY PARTNER

In this life we live today
I would just like to say
How much I value your love for me
It seems as if it was always meant to be
Perhaps we met, another time another place
For now as I look into your smiling face
I see the love that’s in your eyes
Then I too, can reach the skies
Last night the music you played set my soul on fire
For you are everything that I desire
How empty life would surely be
Without the love you give to me
Through all our times of sadness and tears
Our ups and downs over the years
Has made my love now stronger for you
In spite of everything you do
You will always hold first place in my heart
Remember these words, I love you my sweetheart

Enid Skelton, Luton, Bedfordshire

IN THIS LIFE
What a lovely sight to see the earth
Through the windows of the moon capsule.
Such pretty greens and blues and purples.
Such beauty out of this world.
But wait a moment and come down to earth,
What do you find a host of people.

Greedy for money and power,
Letting nothing put them off,
Killing and looting are the order of the day.
Has this pretty beautiful planet gone mad?
Perhaps we are being invaded by aliens,
God help if that is the case.
Most people only wish for a decent healthy life,
But in this life it seems too much to hope for.

Valerie Willan, Andover, Hampshire

THE LEAF

The leaf twisted and twirled
Then gently landed on the ground.
Beautiful, with glowing colours,
Amber, red and gold,
Lying there amongst thousands.
It had a short life on the beech tree
Aware of the sun’s warm rays,
The cool of the night,
The twinkling stars and passing Mars.
Birds resting on the branches,
Magpies with their early conference,
Squirrels chasing each other,
Scampering from tree to tree,
Aeroplanes droning overhead.
Sometimes a passing deer, or a vixen
With her cubs playing on the lawn.
It knew its life was coming to a close,
Changing colour like the other leaves
Falling to make a glorious
Carpet on the ground.

Gillian Whittome, Gerrards Cross, Buckinghamshire

TAKING TWO BITES AT THE CHERRY

The life insurance gave the ratio
One in ten,
So then - not that he felt guilty
Nine gave their lives that he may live -
Statistically.

Faith can move mountains, so they say.
He had no lofty aspiration;
He believed in aggravation - or rather
He couldn’t die, until he’d had his ration;
He knew he hadn’t by intuition.

The celestial trumpet sounded retreat
From life’s curious compelling fight;
But despite its aggravation,
He still found this life sweet.
From its storm and stress he would not fall back;
Whether prognosis was good or black,
He fought on for a second bite.

Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire

MOTHER LOVE

Take not the child
I love so well
I nursed within my womb
I nurtured through the years
Take not the teenager who danced
Laughed with joy at being young
He’s gone to fight to save us from our foes
Take not my love or dignity
Bring back the man
So not to fall on foreign field
To live his life a fullness of years

Mary Taylor, Southampton, Hampshire

MY FRAGILE HEART

If I were a fragile cornflake,
I’d break my heart in two,
Battling my way through life
For the brutal likes of you.

I’d crush all other cornflakes
And risk my very self,
Than be left in the packet
High up on the shelf.

To be on top of all the others,
That is my special wish,
And be the first flake to fall
Into your breakfast dish.

How fragile are our tender hearts,
So easily they break;
A cruel life it is to bear,
And all for love’s sweet sake.

Justine Ann Booth, Woodstock, Oxfordshire

WHO AM I?

Who am I? I always ask myself.
This is my body; my total symbol.
I love my body so much; but the puzzle is
I never say or even accept that it is ME.
I always say that it is mine.
My head, my chest, my stomach and so on.
It is always my body! so, who am I?

Who am I? Is it my life? Yes, it is my life!
Oh no! Again I said my life
So, who am I? Is it my soul?
No, again I said my soul, so who am I?

I really do not know who am I.
But I know one thing; I am living
I should do many things.
All my wishes should become true, in this life.

Doing good things in this life
Not only satisfies myself
But also makes others fulfil their own wishes
This will make my life expand
Yes, my life will extend through others.

Kandiah Rajamanoharan, Charvil, Berkshire

Kandiah Rajamanoharan said: “I was born In Sri Lanka, Kandiah and I’m an engineer. I’m married to Sasikala and we have three children. In addition to my love for reading, broadcasting and the stage, I have been writing in Tamil from a very young age and recently began writing in English. My work is inspired by people and nature, and it is a way if expressing my feelings and views. I have written essays on human values, science and religion as well as having published three poetry books in Tamil. I would like to be remembered as an honest man who helped others without hesitation or reservation.”

YOUNG LOVE

Our love was born in springtime
when the leaves were small and bright
and the sun-glance through the chestnuts
gave a magic, dappled light.

When the air was clear and waiting
for the sound of cuckoo song
and our hands and lips and bodies
told us nothing could go wrong.

When the leaves grew deep in colour
we would meet beneath their shade,
love and laugh in equal measure
’til the warm woodlight would fade.

But the leaves of autumn amber
with their fragile, spiral dance
traced a story of betrayal
in a faltering romance.

Now I stand here in the silence
of this bleak November day
under falling gold confetti,
and there’s nothing left to say.

Diana Wells, Liss, Hampshire

OPEN HOUSE

Free ‘n’ easy like a mouse,
My home is always open house.
A drifter of the present day,
That’s the term they like to say.
Collecting people’s low regards,
A loser in life’s pack of cards.
Truly living day to day,
Hope becomes the only way,
Searching for my every need
With birds that gather round to feed.
Any shelter for a bed,
Just a place to lay my head.
Its Christmas Day, a cup of tea,
The Holy Book to comfort me.
A little gesture means so much,
Heaven sent a little touch.
I’m free ‘n’ easy like a mouse,
Come on in, it’s open house.

Fred Ablitt, Southend-on-Sea, Essex

Dedicated to our less fortunate brothers and sisters in this country and in all parts of the world.

Born in Westcliff-on-Sea Fred Ablitt has interests including motorcycles, fishing and writing. “I started writing poetry in the late 1990’s,” he explained. “I found I was able to express my inner feelings by putting pen to paper. I would describe my style as rhythmic and free and easy and I would like to be remembered as a writer.” Aged 45, Fred works as a plumber and has an ambition to bring enjoyment to others with his writing. He is married to Julie and they have children Michael, Simon, Jason, Scott, Anna-Marie and Elizabeth. “I have written well over 200 poems and had several published,” added Fred.

LAST WILL

Because
I have travelled my own intentions
without denying their truth,
with my eyes open to the offering
and my hands stretched out to give,
I can allow the sombre sketch of death
to look at me in the face,
without fears or the illusory despair;
just the two of us,
in transference.

Maria Maritato, Upminster, Essex

Maria Maritato said: “I have recently published a book of poems called Variations Of The Mind which can be purchased through the publishers or by calling 07930 107686. Nothing gives me the excitement that writing does. I consider myself a poet by birth and a writer by work. Influenced by human nature, passion embraces intellect to create. The main aim of my creation is to give my best to the others. If I could earn my living with my writing I would be able to write without interruption and give more and better.”

I’M HOME

He crouched by the heating outlet
The old collie alone
His coat thin with age
His mournful eyes
Glanced up and down the street
Grateful for the heat

Pitter-patter came steps
Joyful light steps
Oh dad the dog’s alone
As he stroked my coat
Come he may have fleas
Oh dad, it’s Christmas
Dad shocked to the occasion
Drew a piece of string
From his pocket
Come on old chap
I followed hopefully
To a stable I could tell
The smell of horses
A really warm smell
Later a dish of thick soup
A meaty bone
Thank you Lord for that
Small boy
I believe I’m home

Charles Smissen, Faversham, Kent

WHAT IS LOVE?

Love affects us all in life
It’s a very special feeling
It can knock you off your feet
And even send you reeling

Love’s so very powerful
That you take on another role
It fills your mind with thoughts
And takes over your body and soul

Love cannot be touched
It’s an emotion from the heart
It comes from deep within us
And plays such a major part

You get butterflies in your tummy
And your heart keeps missing a beat
You just cannot concentrate
And you lose the will to eat

Being in love is wonderful
When you feel like a child once more
You never know when it will come
Or what it will have in store

Maggie Maloney, Crawley, Sussex

CAT

He waited until sharp grasses
turned into a purple forest,
spreading their addictive map
of night ecology
beyond the zoo-like railings
around the steep cliff path.

Now, he widens yellow eyes,
licks paws stained twilight grey,
concentrates, neck arched,
against the hot hum
of insects circling scented stocks.

He springs.

Misses.

A great white moth lifts.

He stands, staring upwards
for a few seconds, one foot raised,
then slinks
in the undergrowth of night.

The stars, a regiment
of watchmen, blink, amazed.

Mary Charman-Smith, Shoreham-by-Sea, Sussex

PRAYER FOR A BETTER LIFE

Keep our green and pleasant land
from builders and their endless pile.
Save us from the relentless tide
of strangers to our emerald isle.

Give us peace from crowded skies
that takes away our right to sleep.
Leave our villages untouched
tranquillity our right to keep.

Bless those who still defend our land
from those who scorn our heritage.
Who wish to rob the land we own
and take away our privilege.

Bless those who gave their lives for us
so we could keep our children free.
Forgive us for their sacrifice
their England we no longer see.

Molly Phasey, West Wickham, Kent

WORDS

Words, words, words,
Making sense, nonsense.
Rousing feelings better buried.

Words, words, groups of words,
Referring to a past
Unshared by the present.

Words, words, hurtful words,
Spawning scalding tears,
A sense of isolation.

Words, words, lustful words,
Recreating feverish passion
Between two hungry bodies.

Words, words, caring words,
Lovingly enfolding,
Whispering of a future.

Words, words, lines of words,
Made of simple letters,
Making worlds.

Elizabeth Verlander, Beckenham, Kent

I LIGHT UP THE SKY

I light up the sky
With sparkle in my eyes
I light up the sky with
My dazzling eyes
With beauty and love
That glows in my eyes
And I look at the sky
With a smile that glows
In my eyes that makes me
See stars in my eyes

Sandra Goddard, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey

CELESTIAL TOMBS

There's something beautiful with death
That phases out that final breath;
Natural death, that is.

Systems break holy ground, stifle truth,
Hound to the grave the brave
In stress and strife;
Adorned in cloaks that psych
The subtle bedrock of this life.

Christianity will cleanse,
Bring peace to homosapiens
And natural death.
God’s kingdom will survive,
Abundant species thrive
Where green grass grows;
And death, just changing rooms
Selects celestial tombs.

Thelma Vandridge, Chatham, Kent

DON’T LOSE YOUR MARBLES

When I was very young, one day
I saw a madman pass my way
And heard my mother gently say,
Poor man, he’s lost his marbles.

I hurried to my treasure box,
The wooden one with metal locks.
There by my building blocks
Were my glass marbles.

Then as in time I older grew
And the true meaning then I knew,
I kept for safety just a few
Of my glass marbles.

And now that I am old and grey
And youthfulness has slipped away,
I still have kept my treasure box,
The wooden one with metal locks.
I haven’t lost my marbles.

Helen West, Canterbury, Kent

TAPESTRY

At the front is the picture
It tells a story or shows a scene
In colours

Often many hands have toiled
For hours and days uncounted
To keep a record.

This fabric picture is fashioned
For we folk who follow on
To help us learn.

Now turn the tapestry over.
See all the thread ends hanging
In confusion.

Our lives are like a tapestry
With many threads which hide,
A beautiful and complete vista
If we look on the other side.

Phillip Walter, Billericay, Essex

THE WORKMEN

Suddenly all eyes turned toward the sunlight
Old eyes tired eyes
Eyes that had seen both beauty and the horrors of time
Eyes that gleamed with memories of youth
The wicked gleam of desire
Old men suddenly young joking
Expressing lewd thoughts and Jack the lad dreams

She stood in the sunlight,unaware of her charms
Her beautiful body glowing through her now, transparent dress
The bus came much too soon and took her away
Men sighed for lost youth, then turned back to the job
With thoughts of yesterday

Bernard Tucker, London

IN THIS LIFE

Morning sets the tone as the sparrow sings, the world wakes up.
In this life
Life is born so to set us free.
In this life
I feel the warmth of the sun and the cold in the cold night air.
In this life
I can love and feel loved.
In this life
I smile and at times cry
In this life
I see and feel fear all around.
In this life I feel pain.
In this life I bleed.
In this life
I can create life, also kill life.
In this life I can learn from the mistakes
I’ve made.
In this life I grow old year by year
In this life my body will be no more.

Sonia O’Neal, West Norwood, Greater London

A BEGINNING WITHOUT AN END

First there was nothing
Darkness was making its way through the night
Wind and frost were becoming best friends
While an owl was getting her own echo back.

Then you came along
I tasted the fountain water for the first time
Plants started to grow all over the place
Where once only my feet were touching the ground

Now I see love is a virtue
After the night there is always a light
A beginning without an end
An eternal flame that is forever lost.

Elizabeta Radakovic, London

Elizabeta Radakovic said: “I hold BA (Hons) in English Literature and Language, University of Westminster, Regent Street, London (2003). I attended the graduation ceremony at the Barbican in London (24th November 2003). I joined Radio Moorfields as a radio presenter in 2001 (Moorfields Eye Hospital, Islington). I’m known as the Queen of Frasercards amongst staff of House of Fraser (top opener for London region and UK). I will be awarded Qualified Teacher’s Status in English Language in 2004. e-mail: betelizab@yahoo.com”