| Rhyme and Reason |
When I think of the amount of poetry which is written but is never published I am reminded of the old saying - If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Writing is already a very thankless and lonely task. The fact that so much of a poet's work goes unnoticed by any other person makes the life of a poet even more harsh.
For what is the point of creativity if it is something that we cannot share with others? If a poet pours out his or her deepest feelings onto paper, someone should be there to listen, understand and appreciate what that poet is saying.
That's why we at United Press are delighted to give those poets a platform in the form of Rhyme And Reason. Here you will find the work of a group of poets who all deserve to be heard. And you are the one they want to listen.
IT
It can start with just a glance,
Eyes meet, hearts beat.
It can lead you on a merry dance,
Shivers, quivers, coolness, heat.
It can guide you along a track,
Maybe there’ll be no turning back.
It can take you to a haven,
One little letter can make this Heaven.
It can gently lead you to the brink
Where you need to stand and think.
It can purge you, suddenly urge you,
To take the plunge, just one lunge.
It can remind you, the deal is done.
Victory is sweet, life is complete.
It is love - love conquers all.
D Huff, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire
TO VINCI PARK
Their minds in dire confusion
Struggle with their fond illusion
That it’s quite okay today
Despite the Highway Code’s content
To park and ride on the pavement
But we’re very pleased to see
Your brave boys and girls
With unique ability
Apprise them of reality
Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire
FLOWERS
If we are beautiful
You cut us fresh.
If we have nice smell
You cut us to crush.
If we are small
and not with any fragrance
you call us weed;
and you destroy us
before we produce any seed.
We really don’t know
the way to survive.
If you like us
then you work for us.
Calling us lovely
you grow us
to cut fresh
or to crush.
On the whole...
you kill us.
Kandiah Rajamanoharan, Charvil, Berkshire
Born in Sri Lanka Kandiah Rajamanoharan has interests including
reading, writing, broadcasting and the stage. “I started writing in Tamil
when I was very young and in English from the age of 48,” explained Kandiah. “I
wanted to get my feelings and message across and my work is influenced
by nature and people. I would describe my style as realistic and would
like to be remembered as an honest Tamil man, who helped others without
hesitation or reservation.” Aged 52, he is an engineer. He is married
to Sasikala and they have a son and two daughters. “I have written essays
on human values, science and religion and published three books in Tamil,” he
added.
A PAIR OF ANGELS
Those dark brown eyes and dimpled cheeks
The cheeky grin through lips so sweet
Pink glowing skin, dark tousled hair
Small chubby hands with dimples there.
His stocky frame with legs so straight
His socks asleep that once were white
The cheeks now flushed and short of breath
He puts his head on father’s knee,
To rest a while, then waits and sees.
His rival fast approaching now
He clambers up to get first place
Ten times a day they have this race.
Two pairs of arms, around my neck
Four chubby legs that push and kick
Two tiny mouths that kiss my face
Two bodies pushing to get more space
This pair of angels my lap upon
Are Martin Grant and Jonathan.
R G Ainslie, Grays, Essex
LADIES FIRST
It’s equal opportunity,
Both the same for her, and he.
No more housewife in the home,
Or the master on the throne.
Neither one the best, or worst,v
“Excuse me there, sir,
Ladies first.”
Fred Ablitt, Southend-on-Sea, Essex
Born in Westcliff-on-Sea, Fred Ablitt has interests including
writing, motorcycles and fishing. “I started writing poetry four years
ago,” he pointed out. “I suddenly found I had the ability after feeling
inspired to write. My style is rhythmic, free and easy and I would like
to be remembered for bringing a positive contribution to the world.” Aged
44, he is a plumber. He is married to Julie and they have children Michael,
Simon, Jason, Scott, Anna-Marie and Elizabeth. “I have written over 200
poems and had several published so far,” said Fred. “My biggest fantasy
is to be successful in all areas of writing.”
JUST WE
Let’s close the city,
my love.
Let’s lock up
its turbulence
in the remotest attic
of our senses.
Let’s embrace each other
like ivy and oak.
Maria Maritato, Upminster, Essex
A REWARDING LOVE
To her, he was loyal,
For it was her that he loved.
He treated her as if she were royal,
As it was her that he loved.
To her, he could no wrong,
For it was him that she loved.
Together they had lived for eight years long,
As it was him that she loved.
He watched the clock as on the phone she talked,
Until it was that special time of day,
When they would leave the house, to the park they walked,
His tail wagging all the way.
Daniel Horton, Caterham, Surrey
Dedicated to mother.
Born in Croydon Daniel Horton has interests including writing,
shopping and cinema. “I have always been quite creative and started writing
poetry at a very young age,” he remarked. “My work is influenced by objects
and people around me and my poetry always has a twist at the end. I would
like to be remembered as an original writer who brought people enjoyment.” Daniel
is a student with an ambition to become a published author of many best
selling novels and poems. “I have written short stories, scripts and
novels and several poems,” he said. “I would love to have met Roald Dahl
as his older fiction was truly original.”
MY LOVE HEART
Love is in my heart and it is in my lovely and beautiful smile
We all carry it around with us wherever we go
It can make you cry and it can make you feel so blue
But sometimes it can make you feel so happy and so new
And sometimes it can make you feel very wonderful too
Love can make your eyes sparkle with love that makes your
Eyes glow too with love and passion on this happy day too
it is in your heart and it makes you feel so love
It can bring you pain and some joy too like you have only felt
Before it can be the most wonderful feeling to be in love
With the one you want to be with forever and ever and ever
Till the day you both meet again
Till this day on you will feel so special
Love can make you feel so stupid and make you feel so soppy too
and it can make you hide your true feelings
Like some people really do
When they feel for each other too
So love yourself and someone will love you like you always do
Sandra Goddard, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey
SUNSET IN BARBADOS
The sun begins to darken
And resembles an orange ball
Its shape is very definite
As it slowly starts to fall.
It looks like it’s on fire
As it casts a reflection across the seas
And the tall, graceful palms
Are swaying gently in the breeze.
The sun has almost dropped from sight
And there are silhouettes against the sky
The starts are appearing one by one
As evening time is nigh.
The sea doesn’t look so blue anymore
And the fishing boat lights are aglow
The waves are gently lapping the shore
As the hammock is swaying to and fro.
The sunset is just like a postcard
It’s breathtaking, calming and nice
It’s a view you will always remember
And the true meaning of Paradise.
Maggie Maloney, Crawley, Sussex
LOOK AROUND
Life is full of gifts and pleasures
but the best of these are nature’s treasures.
Birds that sing to welcome dawn,
the hazy mist of summers morn.
A sand-ringed sea of ocean blue
beneath a sky of brilliant hue.
The sun shines down on fields of flowers
where cattle while away the hours,
and woolly-coated lambs and sheep
do nothing else but graze and leap.
While ducks on shady ponds are fed
by children small with bags of bread,
A cricket team is also seen
marching on the village green.
Spectators come to watch it all
“Owzat” is called, there comes “no ball”.
At end of day with pleasures done
there comes again the setting sun.
Patricia Grimble, Crowborough, Sussex
SOMETIMES
Sometimes I wonder why I care
This life we have with no repair
From all the hatred and the pain
We aim at others with nothing to gain
But a simple smile can boost the mind
Inspiring people to reach and find
A goal in life towards their dreams
As nothing in life is what it seems
So if you’re down and feeling low
Follow your heart, reach out and go
Towards your goals, your future dreams
You’re never alone, not by all means
As every single step you take
The angels will be awake
To guide your through all your fears
And be at your side through the pain and tears
Susan Swindells, Bognor Regis, Sussex
Born in Liverpool Susan Swindells has interests including art,
design, poetry, cycling and football. “I began to write poems about five
years ago inspired by happenings in the world,” she explained. “I have
many strong views and beliefs of things so I also like to express them
either through poetry or art. I would like to be remembered as someone
who made a difference.” Susan is a student with an usual fantasy. “I
would like to be an angel because there is too much emphasis on image
in these modern times. This makes people, especially children, feel inadequate.
I have had the same things myself but when I feel low I turn to the angels
because they inspire me so much.”
A POEM
A poem is a way of saying from your heart
How much faith and love you have
From the very start
Short and sweet
Down to earth
So the reader understands
What is being said
At the moment it is read
No axe to grind
Simple days
Loving and kind
Phyllis O’Connell, Bromley, Kent
UPON A BLUE MOON
Clouds a-weeping this winter night,
Rays like piercing stalactites,
Round face staring down,
Once in a blue moon,
Blue moon now.
Up the hill I climb, and stare,
Letting looming shadows tear
Gaping wounds of dark through light,
Projecting down my final fight.
There I stand beneath the stars,
Locked by non-existing bars,
There I stare at moon above,
Bleeding faith, hope and love.
Georgina Bavetta, Enfield, Greater London
MORE QUESTIONS THAN ANSWERS
Why is it so hard to say the things I need to say?
Why do I have these walls that always stand in my way?
How and when did I construct this prison cell?
I am a person who has needs and wants, not just an empty shell.
How do I take them down? Where do I begin?
What on earth do I suppose is so awful within?
My walls are made of bricks that represent all my hurts and pain,
They were once my protection that kept me safe and sane.
But my protection has now become my greatest handicap,
A place of no escape - an isolated, lonely trap.
Jacqueline Barclay, Palmers Green, Greater London
THE TAKING OF CALBEER
Romans light up the streets with flame,
Their torches burning brightly in the dark.
The flames that lick the city dry,
Burning timber crushing to ashes.
Moaning, crying, screaming, dying,
Lying dead and still in gutters.
Rotting houses burning in the night,
Under the defeat of the Romans.
Leaving no mercy for woman or child,
The city must die for the sake of Caesar.
The Romans must sense their victory,
Over the peoples of the city of Calbeer
Beverley Zywina, Feltham, Greater London
DIFFERENT COLOURS
Just think how dull
Life would be
You wouldn’t know the difference
If there was white
But no black
If there was day
But no night
If there was sun
But no rain
If there were tears
But no laughter
Everything has a reason
To exist
A reason to be
If there were no flowers
With different colours you see
Just think how dull life could be
White on its own could give no delight
So all other colours are important as white
Musarat Ahmed, Forest Gate, Greater London
FREEDOM
Freedom is an ideal that mankind has longed for, strived for and died
for
No other ideal has needed so much effort, to preserve
Freedom is an elusive thing, if a country or man possess it
They have the greatest gift of all
But turn your back for a moment and it is lost
Once lost, it will lead to endless trouble, tears and strife to retrieve
Freedom has many friends and many enemies
Its greatest enemy is apathy, its greatest friend is concern
Freedom is a basic human right,
Freedom is the wind outside the prison cage
Freedom is the child freeing from the womb
Be jealous of freedom, it is the most sought-after possession we have
And there are those who crave power, the way some long for freedom
So guard it, gain it, want it, fight for it
But above all, keep it
Bernard Tucker, Rotherhithe, Greater London
WHEN THE TOOTH FAIRY GRADUATED TO RESTORATIVE DENTISTRY
“Where’s my silver coin, and where’s my tooth?
The wobbly tooth came out last night,
I held it for the tooth fairy to take away,
But it’s gone and no coin’s in sight.”
“My tooth was in my hand I’m sure,
Last night it fell out from here” - he pointed to, a tooth
“But the wobbly one’s still there,
The fairy in stealth replaced it - accept the truth.”
Unlike a red dwarf, red Pete explodes with fire,
“It was in my hand, the fairy’s failed,
That’s not my tooth in there,” he said with ire,
And against incompetent fairies he raged and railed.
“Come for breakfast dear, brush your teeth,
Get dressed, few have fairies pass their way,
Trained in the latest crafts of dental surgery,
And, after all its still there to fall out on another day.”
Anthony Leeds, Ruislip, Greater London
IDENTITY
Be your own person, your own individual self
Stop trying to change for everyone else
Be yourself and be proud
Stand out from the crowd
Do whatever you feel’s best
Never settle for anything less
E Bartlett, Beckton, Greater London
Many thanks Mum for your love, help and inspiration - Emily.
CARE
How awful you must feel.
I’m travelling again
to the hospital to see you.
These extreme measures.
Such strong treatments.
Have they killed you to cure you?
Blotted you to quiet until -
Revived by the stem, your stems -
You will stop wobbling and come home.
Mary Briggs, Branscombe, Devon
Dedicated to my lovely son, Mark 1985 - 2003.
Born in London Mary Briggs has interests including art, reading
and rambling. “I started writing poetry in 1998 when my son had his second
bout of cancer,” she pointed out. “My work is influenced by fear, anger
and pathos and I would describe my style as clear. I would like to be
remembered for my poetry about how cancer carers feel.” Aged 52, she
is a nurse with an ambition to improve her art. She has written many
poems and had two published so far. “My biggest fantasy is getting my
poetry published to benefit compassionate friends, she added.”
ECHOES IN THE WIND
Evening time was drawing near
As the sun was going down
Reflected through calm waters
And golden sandy shores.
The splendour of the countryside
And fields of open spaces
With the wildlife and cattle grazing
As carefree as the breeze.
The parks and flower gardens
With blooms of many colours
The coastal paths and scenic views
And birds of many species, “the angels of the skies”.
Across the hills and valleys
Comes the silence of the night...
Broken by the echoes, in the trees across the woodland.
Giving way to the beginning of - another dawn, another day...
For the echoes in the wind!
Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon
THE QUESTIONS
Take twenty virgin soldiers
Nail them to a wishing well
Let the last man turn the lights out
Tell the world it’s gone to hell
Rose of thorns on sticky fingers
Blooded earth forsake its dreams
Let illusions take the stage now
And the ghosts of Christians seem
There is a new life in the bardo
And the rune stones never lie
Human sanity is driven
Beyond the bounds of reasoning why
Deep thought in the astral
Plains beyond the seventh eye
A love that never questions
A wetted lip that’s never dry
So take heed my friend and foe
For change both rankle deep
Where in the feathered kingdoms
Are the devas of the keep
Peter Sattele, Wimborne, Dorset
Born in Poole Peter Sattele has interests including music, art,
composing and carpentry. “I started in music at the age of 13 and was
professional by the time I was 19,” he remarked. “I would describe my
style as riginal and I have had many songs published.” Aged 59, he is
a design consultant with an ambition to retire disgracefully. “My biggest
fantasy is to be well-loved and known worldwide,” Peter said. “My worst
nightmare is to be alone and die in an old people’s home, unwanted and
unloved.”
THE PIGEONS IN THE GARDEN
The pigeons in the garden
Are playing hard to get.
The cats keep on a-chasing them,
But haven’t caught them yet.
They strut and vrooo and squabble,
And make an awful mess,
And the buds on all my flowers,
Are getting less and less.
They’re fat and grey and clumsy,
With a silly little head.
And if I had a shotgun,
They soon would all be dead.
Now don’t think that I hate them,
That’d really be a lie,
There’s nothing I like better,
Than a tasty pigeon pie.
Pauline A Giles, Christchurch, Dorset
DAUGHTER
I’ve just learnt today, that my daughter is gay,
What to say? What to say? What to say?
I’m all in a stew and I haven’t a clue
What to do, what to do, what to do.
She can’t live in fear, knowing that I’ll soon hear,
That she’s queer, she’s queer, she’s queer.
Think I’ll give her a call, and say once and for all,
Still love you, still love you, still love you.
Alexandra McMillan, Bournemouth, Dorset
MONDAY
I don’t like Monday, as it reminds me
Of a busy day, which means work.
I feel meek as it controls me, like a robot,
As it’s a chapter of a new week
Which makes you think of getting ready
To think of what is ahead of you.
It makes you want to run, and not walk
To catch the bus, where its always
Crowded with people, who are in a hurry
To be in time, for Monday
As Monday, means business,
And it gives you a chill of fear,
If you are late or early
To keep up with the work load
That builds up and up
For you to do, and worry
As time controls you, as time
Makes you work harder
To do what you have to do,
As Monday is the day of catching up.
Flora Jackson, Norwich, Norfolk
Flora Jackson said: “I have had a love for poetry for the past,
two years. I realised society has changed, and that has made me write
about life. I come from a big family so I had to grow up very quickly,
as I lost my father when I was two. Being the youngest I had to share
things. I have had about 17 books published. I find it difficult to cope
on Monday as I work for Claims UK. It’s a demanding job. It says it all
in the poetry book. I use language for everyday people.”
PHILOSOPHY
I walk through the twilight of early evening,
The red and gold of the trees’ colourful finery
Offset by the sepia tints of autumn,
The familiar scent of fallen leaves
Evoking memories of childhood,
The joy and laughter of tumbling
In a soft heap of leaves,
Of sweeping them with childish feet.
I turn for home in the velvet darkness,
The path now illuminated
By the light of the rising moon.
And then, as in carefree childhood,
I joyfully sweep the leaves
With ageing feet and ageless delight.
David Houghton, Wymondham, Norfolk
Born in Hertfordshire David Houghton enjoys reading, listening
to music, playing golf and watching other sports. “I only started writing
poetry last year,” he pointed out. “It was a long-held ambition realised
because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it,” he said. “My
work is influenced by family and personal experiences including having
worked abroad in Canada and East Africa. My style is romantic and I would
liked to be remembered as someone who has a sense of humour.” Aged 69,
he is retired from a career in life assurance administration and has
an ambition to write a fictionalised history of his family’s involvement
in the design and manufacture of cameras. He is married to Iris and has
three children and three granddaughters.
FLAMENCO
He flings his arm up high above his head,
As if to bring it down in raining blows.
She turns and runs. Her satin dress, blood red,
Flows over clicking heels while he follows
Relentlessly till flicking, touching skin.
Then like a startled deer she stops stock still.
At once he sends her flailing in a spin.
I gasp out loud and hold my breath, until
I creep up close, then watch wide-eyed as they
Sway sensuously to a Latin beat.
Two figures unaware of their display
To strangers passing down the lonely street.
I walk on by but give a backward glance,
As they continue practising their dance.
Beverley Bowry, Ipswich, Suffolk
SHARING
Let me share my life with you
For as long as I may live,
Let me share my love with you
It’s all I have to give.
Let me share my laughs with you
We’ll smile away the years,
Let me share despair with you
And you will dry my tears.
Let me share my hopes with you
Though distant they may be.
Let me share my fears with you
Then you will comfort me.
Let me share my prayers with you
When every day is done.
Then I will give my heart to you
And we will live as one.
Marie Elliott, Ely, Cambridgeshire
NANNY
My cousins and I used to call her Nanny,
I can picture her now she was our granny.
A cuddly figure with a kindly face,
Her brown hair greying just a trace.
Picnics in the fields when the weather was fine,
Brown bread cucumber sandwiches were divine.
Drinking milk from egg-cups was such fun,
Making daisy chains when eating was done.
With money supplied from Nanny’s purse for change,
Various tins and packets from her pantry we’d arrange
Upon the scrub top table that became a shop -
We played for hours never wanting to stop.
The shopkeepers and customers loved to eat
Penny bars of chocolate Nanny bought as a treat.
She gladly played us many a children’s tune
On the piano which was in her living-room.
Sue J Bell, Nuneaton, Warwickshire
AND THE BOY FROM TUPELO
They flamed, flamed, flamed
All around our lives
Like meteorites through the universe
With allotted times to go -
Jesus, Diana and The Boy from Tupelo.
They blazed, blazed, blazed
Igniting earthbound souls
Like holy fires from heaven
In an incandescent show -
Jesus, Diana and The Boy from Tupelo.
They burned, burned, burned
Deep into our hearts
Like gifts of angels from above
They set us all aglow -
Jesus, Diana and The Boy from Tupelo.
They dazzled, dazzled, dazzled
Around God’s glorious globe
Firing us with happiness
Then plunging us to woe -
Jesus, Diana and The Boy from Tupelo.
Dorothy Thompson, Stratford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
To Mike for his music, Carol for the Elvis 2003 tour and Elvis for
awakening my heart. Vive le Roi.
THE END
Waxy, emotionless and limp, the body hung from the ceiling,
And each drop of blood stung my heart.
In an attempt to free us all from sin,
But freewill was abused so it all fell apart.
Always causing our own suffering,
We spread like a cancer across the land.
Forever fighting for attention,
Each meaningless grain of sand.
The speed of pain is so torturous,
It has lasted for thousands of years.
We think we are innocent and worthy of peace,
But we’re the ones throwing the cheers.
It’s all slipping away and its nearing the end as,
The cogs rust inside of the clock.
For we’ve carried out this self torture for so long,
We’ll be alive to see the heart,
Stop.
Kate Dawson, Wolverhampton, West Midlands
YESTERDAY’S DAUGHTERS
Waiting
In the empty silence
Of half-hanging doorways
Listening
For the echoing step
Of yesterday’s daughters
Looking
In familiar places
For remembered traces
Hearing
Phone, piano, saxophone
Haunting notes on the stairs
Watching
With love, pride and sorrow
For all the tomorrows
Penny Allen, Wolverhampton, West Midlands
Dedicated to Jennifer and Zoe, our dear daughters, and to Zoë and
Hazel.
BURNTWOOD
Burntwood is my little town,
Recently my school burned down.
Now we’re having a brand new school
It’s going to be really cool.
We’ve also got the leisure centre
Where you keep fit, look young and slender.
The skateboard park is such a treat,
For all us kids to use our feet.
So my little town will do for me,
Safe in my house, drinking my tea
Home in time to watch TV
Look, it’s Burntwood I can see!
Sheree G Horsley, Burntwood, Staffordshire
TIME
Still bitter am I , shall I tell you why?
It was Valentine’s Day two thousand and three,
Such a shock. I had my handbag stolen you see.
Phoned nine, nine, nine, they said, “bank cards to stop.”
Two months went by, and to replace my things
It cost me so much, how I hated “Him”,
Now I say, make these evil people pay -
Not jail, hit them where it hurts,
Why should we victims suffer such loss?
Catch them and teach them a lesson or two,
Fine them and give to victim support.
Repay us victims, in any way,
Let them see that crime does not pay.
Zena Foster, Leicester, Leicestershire
Born in Hull Zena Foster enjoys painting, writing and gardening. “In
1975 I started my autobiography,” she pointed out. “It is now complete
and is being printed. My poetry is influenced by my shock at being a
lone parent and I would like to be remembered as a painter and writer.” Zena
is an art tutor with an ambition to have her oil paintings celebrity
auctioned so she can give half the profits to charity. She is married
to Brian and they have three children. “As well as my autobiography I
have written short stories and many poems, several of which have been
published,” she added.
SOLO
I am the one who sat upon
The highest cliff
Reaching out
To the loudest waves,
When a man approached me,
Smiling,
Though his eyes were sad
He needed someone to talk to.
I did not acknowledge him,
Then,
A teardrop crept from his eye,
Crashing beneath him.
He then jumped into the waves.
Silence clung
Like a glove.
All I could feel was pain
Around my heart.
Still
I remain solo
Gillian Cutforth, Hyson Green, Nottinghamshire
Thank you to Tom Sims, my partner, for giving me inspiration with
poetry and my four children - Justin, Melanie, Gemma and Abbe.
FOLDER
Organises all my thoughts and papers,
Following my trail behind my back.
Anti-rubbish, anti-mess.
Keeps me tidy,
Yes,
Yes,
Yes.
Elena Uteva, Beeston, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire
BEDTIME CHATTER
If I should die before you, my dear
hide my set of gold coins,
move my best writing pen,
and when the vultures start to appear
keep out of sight the key to my den.
Put my checked coat on some charity stall,
the rest of my clothes, set them alight,
what’s left of my things
If need get shut of them all,
that is, except my old Raleigh bike.
There’s a few pounds you don’t know about
stashed under the bed, they’ll come in handy
and for a while keep you watered and fed,
as for mementoes, there’s hardly any to find,
apart from my Swiss Army knife
nothing else comes to mind.
There’s nowt else to say.
I’ve made my wishes quite clear
That is, of course,
if I should die before you, my dear.
Melvyn Lloyd, West Bridgford, Nottinghamshire
Born in Nottinghamshire Melvyn Lloyd started writing poetry three
years ago when he changed jobs. “This gave me a lot more free time and
I found writing very enjoyable,” he said. “My work is influenced by the
writing of Bernie Taupin and my style is accessible and uncomplicated. “As
well as short stories I have written many poems and had a lot of them
published. The person I would most like to meet is Bernie Taupin. I see
him as a poet who turns a simple idea into brilliant poetry and songs.”
THE SKY AT NIGHT
The stars are twinkling in the clear blue sky
Thinking deep as I breathe and sigh
I look for the bright one that glitters so bright
I close my eyes and pray things will be alright
I open my eyes with a sigh of relief
The image and splendour is beyond belief
Breathtaking is the only word to describe
As my thoughts and worries they all subside
It gives me a feel of serenity and calm
To look at the stars and their wonderful charm
They shine and they sparkle and glisten and glow
And move with the cloud as I watch from below
I wished I could reach and touch the glittering star
All I can do is look and watch from afar
I sit and dream as daybreak appears
I feel so calm and rid of all my fears
Lynda Williams, Wentworth, South Yorkshire
Dedicated to Peter, Paul, Debbie and unborn baby Williams. Good health
and happiness to you all for the future. I love you all.
LOVE BLOSSOMS
Love is like a red
rose waiting for
the sun to rise
over the horizon
revealing a
sacred perfume
Alan Hattersley, Ecclesfield Village, South Yorkshire
MOUNTAIN IN SAMOS
Mountains, you are so strong,
Portraying your beauty a great finery.
Standing there for so many years
Reflections so vividly seen in the sea.
Like a sentry on duty stands the cypress tree
Providing birds on the island with a sanctuary.
Wild flowers adorn your splendid carpet of greenery
Adding colours to this beautiful scenery.
We can assume way back in history,
The sea and you stood quite silently.
Then man with his inventions invaded your privacy
Still you remain here so contentedly.
Linda Blackburn, Batley, West Yorkshire
SNOW
Feathery snowflakes flutter to the ground,
Stealing softly into drifts without a sound.
Then silently the golden sunbeams gleam,
Melting moulds merge slowly into stream.
Momentum gathers, streams trickle into torrents turn,
Tumbling over rocks, lashing precipices stern,
Rolling, roaring; thundering; the falls hit mists below;
Downstream, floods and havoc caused by melting snow.
Annie Lund, Keighley, West Yorkshire
Annie Lund said: “After leaving school at 14 I worked in a factory,
a mill and offices. I then studied at Hillcroft, Surbiton and Birmingham
colleges, and became a teacher, eventually retiring as a deputy head
teacher. I have been a keen church worker and a local preacher in the
Keighley area for over 50 years. When I experience emotions of delight,
anger or sadness I tend to express them in the form of poetry. I would
like some of my poetry to convey a lasting Christian message.”
LAMENT OF A MOTHER SEAL
They’ve taken my baby; they’ve taken my child,
They’ve left me grieving, alone in the wild.
I hear his cries now, as they bear him away.
I must try to save him, I cannot delay.
But wait, they have dropped him again on the ice;
He’s trying to elude them, but his pelt’s worth a price,
So they’re clubbing him, kicking him, hurting him badly.
I’m totally helpless, as I look on sadly.
My poor baby’s dead now, he suffered much pain.
And next year those brutes will return here again
To slaughter our pups for their skins so nice,
As our tears fall silently onto the ice.
Heather D Pickering, Horsforth, Leeds, West Yorkshire
UNTITLED
There is a harvest in the fields of love,
There are seeds sown in the fields of hope,
There’s a beauty in the fields of compassion,
There are no tears in the fields of joy,
There is no ignorance in the fields of understanding,
There can be no darkness in the fields of light,
There will be no weakness in the fields of strength,
There is a harvest in the fields of wisdom,
There is always refuge in the fields of peace,
There will be no death in the fields of everlasting life,
There is a place for everyone, no one is lost but found
In the fields of Paradise.
P Brooks, Middlesbrough, Cleveland
SNOW
Snow is falling
Soft and light
Lying on the ground
Like a carpet white
Covering all the rooftops
Covering all the trees
Covering all their branches
Stripped of their leaves
Snow clouds sailing way up high
Brushing against the cold winter sky
Susan Stevenson, Billingham, Cleveland
TRAUMAS OF LIFE
Finding the love I lost has been a very curious time
But I suppose the experiences of life
Is a bit like tasting the difference between port and wine
The emotions I feel takes me back
To my first flush of love
If I could have it now I’d hold it tight
As a gift from above
The hot and cold winds that blow
Can be fantastic or fraught
And it’s not hard to distinguish the difference,
Between pain and hurt.
I love you I love you these words have been said
Then suddenly the wind starts blowing cold,
And everything’s dead.
Is this the price, I must pay,
For everything I’ve done
This “hell” on earth,
Just goes on and on.
Harold Scott, Wallsend, Tyne and Wear
This poem was inspired by Janice, my 1960’s first love who turned
into someone called Jan in 1999.
Janice 1962 - 1999 Deceased
Harold Scott said: “I come from Wallsend-on-Tyne and I am 59 years
young, a vocalist, guitarist, entertainer plus working at Asda part time.
A few regrets in my life include not becoming famous, I feel I am a star,
I just haven’t been discovered. Getting my poem published and being on
the website is giving me a touch of fame. I’ve written a dozen poems
plus a couple of songs, all inspired by events in my life; one being
the breakup of my marriage. My long term partner is Denise, she is 12
years younger than me and we’re quite happy.”
LOSS
Could you ever contemplate the gloom;
Of being taken from God’s waiting room;
That pure life force just fades away;
You should cherish every single day;
Your head is plagued with recurring pain;
But an eternal memory will remain;
They’ve been in your life it seems from the start;
You thought you’d never be apart;
The twists and turns which rule our world;
Hour by hour their intentions unfurled;
You’ve a short time here I must insist;
You’re a number on a visitors list;
The playing of some favourite songs;
Makes tears well up the hurt prolongs;
This anguish can never be disguised;
But time will help, you’ll be surprised;
Years pass by, the sadness wanes;
Back on track you’ve seized the reigns;
Still their image is not hard to find;
It’s indelibly printed upon your mind.
Steve Rutter, South Shields, Tyne and Wear
Born in South Shields Steve Rutter has interests including writing,
gardening, cookery and reading. “I started writing poetry two years ago
and my work is influenced by everyday life, people, work and humorous
situations,” he explained. “My style is fast flowing, humorous and thought-provoking.
I would like to be remembered as an ex punk rocker with an overactive
imagination who brought pleasure into people’s hearts.” Aged 42, Steve
is a factory worker with an ambition to be rich enough to be able to
retire from his normal job and become a full-time writer. He is married
to Christine and they have sons Daniel and Oliver.
SOMETIMES I WONDER WHY
Sometimes I wonder why,
Why the sky is blue, why the world is round.
Why we sleep, why we cry.
Why when we get wet we have to dry.
Why are we born just to die.
Why when we have so little we want the most,
Why beans on toast sometimes tastes better than a Sunday roast.
Why do I need to find the answers,
To the questions I ask why.
Why, because without wondering why, there is only.
John Webb, Denton, Greater Manchester
Born in Ashton-under-Lyne, John Webb enjoys poetry, walking, music
and photography. “I started writing poetry when I was ten,” he remarked. “It
has helped me to express myself. My work is influenced by life and the
way people see things and my style is basic and deep but with rawness.
I would like to be remembered as someone who made people smile when they
were down.” Aged 35, he has two children and has an ambition to write
songs, poetry and philosophy which make him a household name. “The person
I would most like to meet is God to ask him why the world is like it
is and what went wrong,” he added.
EVERYBODY’S MANCHESTER
Manchester is the place to be
As there are lots of things for you to see
New places to visit and things to do
Calling out to me and you
However if you want to relax and unwind
Especially if you have a busy mind
Stroll down the streets of this wonderful city
There are so many places that are so pretty
Everyone will love this place so fine
Remember Manchester isn’t just mine
Kelly Morgan, Swinton, Greater Manchester
FUTURE COMMUTER
No dark Mondays.
Pale faces.
Lack of laughter,
Missing trains,
Boats and planes.
No late buses,
Traffic crawl,
Urban stall.
No energy loss,
Waste of time,
Yours or mine.
“Beam me across, Scottie.”
David John Davies, Worsley, Greater Manchester
SUFFERING
Suffering is a passage to a meaningful life
Suffering purifies every pain in life
Desires cause suffering
Disappointments cause suffering
Love causes suffering
Loving-kindness conquers suffering
Sacrifices sanctify suffering
Supremacy is ascribed to suffering
A Rudravajhala, Middleton, Greater Manchester
Dedicated to my beloved husband the late Dr Rao Rudravajhala, a kind
and caring GP of Middleton, who served his community unconditionally.
CHOOSE WELL
A man has two faces, one smiles and one frowns,
He lives at The Hilltop or else on The Downs.
You’re being an actor whatever you do -
You’re sometimes a hero, but villainous too.
If full of aggression, then love cannot be,
But heroes are tender, so love you can see.
You have the potential of playing each part -
You switch on to harden or soften your heart.
Which gives satisfaction and makes you feel whole?
The part of the hero brings peace to your soul.
Winnie Smart, Hale, Cheshire
Dedicated to Mum, Linda and Alison, who are proud of my achievements,
and encourage me by appreciating my efforts.
Winnie Smart said: “I started writing after becoming a Christian
- prayers, poems, little choruses, songs, sparked by the Bible and life
experience. My interests are reading, walking, participating in an over-60s
exercise class, singing/dancing, sharing my faith, and rubber-stamping
cards for charity. My style is traditional (rhyme and metre). When inspiration
comes, I write with the eyes of faith. I have three books in print: Reflections,
Morning Meditations and Little Poem Book (£3, £5, £2 plus postage and
packing £1.50) available from 87 Grove Lane, Hale WA15 8JQ.”
THE INTIMACY OF TWO LOVERS
Stand up for what I believe
In love, I conceive
A soul-mate who needs me
To believe in her, and for me
To reach out and touch her.
I hold her tight and tenderly touch her lonely heart
With complete disarray to the wonderful sweetness of our love
“I want to drown in your hugs”
She whispers softly in my ear, then
Wipes the hurt from our eyes and
We both laugh at the tears.
Tender love, gentleness and kisses by ’phone.
With soft lips eagerly searching
For each other at night.
Soft perfumed pillows make light
Allowing us to sleep at night
Weary of the hurt, but knowing we’ve become much closer.
Such is the intimacy of two lovers,
drawn closer by tears
and fears.
Tom Phillips, Northwich, Cheshire
Dedicated to Tatiana, my inspiration, a beautiful woman and very dear
intimate friend who I love very much. Thank you.
THE EAGLES
He soars, he circles, he rides the thermal wind.
Aloof, feathers rippled he hunts, on golden wing.
Feathers of fantasy to flow, swoop and peel.
Too cruel, the beak savages, comes death, comes the meal.
No need the pack’s scent, as the antlered stag.
One dive, one kill, with one talloned grab.
No set lordly table, wild his hearth, calm the graces.
Rules valley, loch and heather, reigns cold, rugged places.
Glaring eyes scan, search for weasel and stoat.
Sweep, castle and crag, pierce harbour and moat.
Far below, his menu, teeming life, he decides.
The rabbit, the mouse, who lives, who dies.
Centuries long gone now, time’s nest, on the edge
He mates for the future safe, granite’s sheer ledge.
His protection, is there, few hands seek, interlope.
His betrayal, the climber, the ice-axe, the rope.
Gordon Wilson, Salford, Greater Manchester
ENGLAND
Freedom, going for the likes of you and me
Our pride, our choice, our dignity
England, rich green and pleasant land
Wealth earned by our own hands
Our people giving, gentle, loving, kind
A gentle race with feeling heart and mind
Within the British Isles Democracy and peace
Church steeples, green fields, rich heritage
Friendship is yours, all that we give
Proud not change the way we live
A stone walled island, surrounded by sea
Visitors welcome, give generosity
All understand the culture’s within different Lands
Blue skies, green seas, golden sands
We to enjoy and keep in heart and mind
If we all live in peace, then peace we find
Veronica Westby, Poulton-le-Fylde, Lancashire
TIME
Time is before me
I stand here unmoved
I cannot reach or arrest it
It leaves me behind.
Perhaps a way exists to leap
To force it back in line
To hold it for a while
Before it races on.
Jane Rigby, Liverpool, Merseyside
ETERNAL MEMORY
The day went so fast,
Waking up to this awful war,
And then wondering if this day was our last,
As we approached the shore.
The boat shored and all went silent.
“We will make this a day to remember” the others said.
“God speed” was the last thing we heard before we knew true torment.
The whistle blew, the doors dropped and bullets flew overhead.
The hours passed as some of us reached cover,
But not without losing many along the way.
We just wanted this to be over,
Just an ending to this day.
So many lives lost that day.
I hope they know the difference they made.
The cost of lives through a leader’s say,
The ultimate sacrifice for freedom was paid.
We shall carry these memories forever more,
And remember the day that went too far,
D-Day on that shore,
On the now golden sands of Omaha.
Anthony Thomas Davies, Wallasey, Merseyside
Anthony Thomas Davies said: “I am 21 and have only been writing
poetry since summer 2002. I gain my inspiration for writing through my
feelings. I suffer from Friedrich’s Ataxia, and I am in a wheelchair.
I was born and raised in Wirral but hope to travel the globe in search
of experiences and inspiration, also to fulfil my dream of being a director
and turning my several unpublished novels into films for the world to
enjoy. I am currently studying a combined science BSc degree in computer
science, communication systems and philosophy at Lancaster University.”
THE LONELY STRAY DOG
I am just a lonely stray dog,
Looking for a home.
The people they all pass me by,
Remark in all my bones.
If only one could love me,
Just for a little while,
I would make an old man happy,
And make a sad child smile.
But it looks like I’ll go roaming,
No place to call my own,
Just a poor lonely stray dog.
Looking for a home.
Selina Welsh, Duntocher, Scotland
Born in Glasgow, Selina Welsh enjoys fishing and walking. “I started
writing poetry in 1980,” she remarked. “My work is influenced by my observations
of everyday events and my style is natural. I would like to be remembered
as a decent human being who helped other people, especially the less
fortunate.” Aged 66, she is a housewife with an ambition to publish children’s
books. “I have written children’s stories and many poems,” she said. “The
person I would most like to meet is Bob Geldof because I admire him for
the charity work he does.”
WOODLAND
Walking through the forest, are many shades of green
Sage, emerald and olive all intertwine like weave
The trees are so majestic with leaves of every colour
Their bark just intermingles their beauty like the flowers.
The pine trees with their needles, not for stitching clothes
Chestnut trees and conkers, see how the acorns grown,
Slippery Elm, so hard to climb, and now the Silver Birch
What joy there is in woodland, if you seek and search.
Tapping of the woodpecker, the cuckoo makes his call
Now other birds are wary, their fledglings don’t let fall
Thrush and blackbirds singing amidst the foliage green
This forest such a wonderland, I find it quite serene.
The woodland floor is full of life, insects of every kind
A million ants and spiders, black beetles too you find
Nature growing everywhere, in all that does surround
Be careful when you trespass, on this their earthy ground.
Joan Prentice, Elgin, Scotland
PARADISE
Heaven is not a place, it is a state.
Across the widest breadth of time and space,
The end is the beginning.
You are just a speck in all of time,
Never ending, you are sending messages for any who do seek.
Sometimes your voice, often you do not speak.
In the quiet of the night, awake or in a dream.
You are there and I have seen you just as you were on earth,
your death is your re-birth.
You, who were so quiet and calm are now the balm that helps my tired
mind sleep.
In your eternal rest you keep a place for me.
I know my dear that you are glad to be in Paradise, at peace and with
no fear.
Christine Shove, Mintlaw, Scotland
Dedicated to the memory of my beloved grandson, James.
Born in Hyde in Cheshire, Christine Shove has interests including
gardening, reading, writing and pets. “I started writing poetry two years
ago because I was inspired and had a need to write down my thoughts.
My work is influenced by my imagination and my style is thought- provoking
and can be humorous at times. I would like to be remembered as a person
with strong Christian faith.” Aged 62, she is retired, with an ambition
to finish her book. “I have also written short stories and several poems
but have had nothing published before this,” she said. She is married
to Steve and they have three daughters. “The person I would most like
to meet is Terry Wogan because he is so amusing,” she added.
A TURNING OF THE TIDE
At long last; a turning of the tide,
After years in the lap of the gods;
The scales of fate are now on my side,
Tomorrow is mine with favourable odds.
Forget the past and make a new start;
It’s only then you can proceed,
Grasp the chance with a full heart,
And savour the joy as you succeed.
For no matter what life may bring,
I’ll remain anchored to my dream,
And in spite of everything,
I’ll hold tight to the hope in a gleam.
But should the brightness dim,
My trust in you will be my guide;
If I’m forced to sink or swim,
I’ll have no need to fight the tide.
Mark J McAuley, Fife, Scotland
THE DRAGON
It has claws of steel and a head of brass,
A tongue of zinc and hair of mass,
Legs of iron with knees of gold,
It will live forever through young and old,
Yellow teeth and scarlet eyes,
Breath of dog as it sighs,
Whip-slashing its tail of red,
Fiery roar as it lifts up its head,
Bright blue nose as sharp as a spear,
As you draw nearer it will smell your fear.
These thoughts and images will only be in your head,
Because the wonderful beast was long ago dead.
Rebekah Lambert-Ward, Wrexham, Wales
GAMBLER’S WORLD
Win. Win. I shall win
Another coin, in the slot machine
Another lottery ticket, I shall win
Another go, let me try, I shall win
Another contest, another chance, I shall win
Empty pockets, not a penny
Not a number on the lottery
No money for another go
Debt. Debt. Debt.
No money to pay, only bars everywhere
John Elfed Hughes, Llanrwst, Wales
Born in St Asaph, John Elfed Hughes has interests including writing,
computing and the news. “I’ve always been a writer because I enjoy it
so much,” he remarked. “My work is influenced by people and personal
experiences and my style is original and unique. I would like to be remembered
as a kind and caring person.” John has an ambition to be a journalist
and the person he would most like to meet is the singer, Celine Dion. “Her
music touches my heart,” he said. “I would love to be a professional
journalist or singer. I have written website and news reviews and have
published many of my poems on my own website.”
THE TURNING
Between the darkness and the dawn
the dread hour is born
when all is dead and silent
and not a sound is born
The birds don’t cry
the dogs don’t bark
only a dread silence
in the dark
Just the undead are here
to mark the turning of the sphere
and in that witching hour
all our life, night will devour
Before the singing of the bird
before the barking of the dog
before the day is born
and to the world life will return
to live another morn
Kenn Norris, Newtownabbey, Northern Ireland