| Take My Hand |
The poems in the 2005 compilation Take My Hand represent an amazing kaleidoscope of different viewpoints and approaches to the poetic form.
Some of the verses in this book are romantic, deeply emotional, and passionate. They range from the tragic to the comic, from the disturbing to the uplifting. But they all have one thing in common - the writer’s urge to express himself or herself in a way which will reach out to his or her audience.
Here you will find a selection of work from the book and some contributors have allowed us to add a short pen portrait of themselves.
THESE
THINGS ARE SENT TO TRY US
When
we awake each morning feeling fit and fine
The world and all around us could change by half past nine,
There could have been an earthquake,
Or a disaster in a mine
And maybe all the clothes fell
With a broken washing line.
We try to keep cheery and not make a fuss
And it's hard not to think
These things are sent to try us.
You
bought new shoes for the kids yesterday
And didn't mind when you spent all your pay
Scrimping and saving to get them new gear
Hoping they'll last for the rest of the year.
But your fine feeling at making them happy
Is soon to change to make you snappy
One has come in with a great big tear
The other with a torn-off sole off his shoe
Which you promptly try to fix with glue.
Yes I am sure you will agree
These things are sent to try thee.
Dorothy Paterson, Aberdeen, Scotland
Born
in Aberdeen, Dorothy Paterson has interests
including walking, writing and reading. "I started writing
seriously ten years ago. The fact that one of my early
poems was published gave me the confidence to carry on," she
remarked. "My work is influenced by people and my
experiences and I would describe my style as pure and
simple. I would like to be able to give people of all
walks of life something lasting and comforting. The person
I would most like to meet is Mother Theresa because she
dedicated all of her life to caring for mankind and she
asked for nothing in return."
FEELINGS
The depth of your wisdom,
The depth of my knowledge
I now understand,
The mind’s delusion, is my
heart’s greatest infusion,
For I knew nothing that I
could gain
Life is for pain.
Rubina Shaban, Blackburn, Lancashire;
Dedicated to my two children Orungzaib and Nazish Salim, who are
separated from me. You’re the beating of my heart.
Born in Accrington Rubina Shaban has interests including
reading, writing, cooking and being creative. “My writing began around five years ago.
Reality and life inspired me with deep emotions,” she remarked. “My work
is influenced by my family, friends, religion and emotional situations
and I would describe my style as from the heart, deep and sometimes spiritual.
I would like to be remembered as a peace-loving, gentle human being who
tried to put love and humanity into her work.” Aged 35, Rubina has an
ambition to publish her own book of poetry. She is married to Shaban
and they have four children. “My biggest fantasy is to write a book that
will inspire the hearts of millions,” she added.
FOR THE LOVE OF ADA
No sadness at the passing of such a tortured soul
She has gone back to the garden
Her mother is there, waiting patiently for her arrival
Her daughter is there, smiling, welcoming
She passed through the door, leaving us behind, to a place
Where we cannot follow, until it is our time
The pain has gone from her face, she looks young again
The sorrows of the world have left her
The things that bind us to this world are not needed
Anymore
No more worries, only love
Julie Anne Hanna, Credenhill, Herefordshire
FRIENDSHIP
Please take my hand and ever be
A loving caring friend to me.
Days may seem dark
Some may be light
But as long as you’re near
Things will be right.
Some days may seem short
Or they may seem long
But if I know you are near
I will always feel strong.
So please take my hand
I will place mine in yours
I feel that our friendship
May open closed doors.
It’s your company I need
Take my hand, sow the seed
Then our future, together we will lead.
Violetta Ferguson, Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset
THE SHEPHERD’S HAND
A little lamb went straying,
Out on a winter’s night,
Among the hills went playing,
No danger was in sight.
But as the night grew darker,
He wandered far from home,
And sought to find his master,
But stumbled on a stone.
Lost in wonder without hope,
To face immortal sleep,
Deep in thought lay there to mope,
Longed for the other sheep.
As all hope of life had gone,
He heard the shepherd call,
Take my hand was the joyful song,
Taken from his fall.
M Burtenshaw-Haines, Tavernspite Whitland, Wales
Born in Surrey, Margaret Burtenshaw-Haines has interests
including art, bowls, darts and poetry. “I started writing poetry at the age of 24 and
my work is influenced by life, people and things around me,” she explained. “I
write what I feel about life and I would like to be remembered by my
art and poetry. I am a 70-year-old artist and author. I have written
a song and many poems, several of which have been published.” Margaret
is married to William and they have four sons.
REMEMBER YOU ARE AN ANGEL
Being in line in darkness, nothing else to do,
No time, no place just waiting, in silence wonder who,
Who will I be born to, what will I become,
Questions will have answers, once my journey has begun.
Left the line of darkness, with patience entered time,
Through a gate protected, a guardian now is mine,
Like a dream awakens, things to do and see,
Beautiful conversations, between guardian and me.
Remember you are an angel, blessed with gifts and goal
Praise the God of glory, it is he who makes you whole,
If you forget or stumble, seek his marvellous light,
Love the God of glory, in who all angels, take delight.
Pauline Y Whitworth, Leigh, Greater Manchester
ORPHANS
Home us and console us in our hour of need
Never tagging orphan offspring the “demon seed”
Persecution is the ornament of those who impede
The gift of plenitude
If school inkwells were wishing-wells would freedom be our prize?
Rock the global conflagration, end this bondage, save our lives
On pity’s undulating galleon lead us straight to paradise
In its copious beatitude
Setting us in limbo as the plague engulfs us faster
Desolation is a tyrant and a cruel taskmaster
Lend us waterfalls, not death-palls, sun-seared soil like alabaster
In AIDS-emaciated servitude
Grant us parentage and hope from where time stands still
Lest that orphanage up in heaven will overspill
Till man calculates the cost - Africa’s overkill
In its heinous magnitude
John Matthew, Dundee, Scotland
THE REALISM OF HATE AND DEATH
Biting brittle boned and blood stoned gushing shined then
Sinned signed and snow wined beneath the rustic termites
Blazing and gashed in root cages of rudiment remains stormed
Over the abode of raised radiators afixed and strobed
Impending alone then tubed upon the raging rooms
Of diamonds grinding within the grim and the grime and
The time of the winged waders and crack gritters slashed
Squeezed then judged jumped pumping ferociously to
Withstand the parallel time shoots the exposition and the
Pummel pointed propulsion paced against the universal
Climax and the obituaries of father time as hung dung
Strings of criminology blurred blown then serialised and
Disparaged against surrealism that strats against the
Train sleepers offset and entombed to crash against the
Final objection of pain and the lust for blood
Meleeze Zenda, St Helens, Merseyside
THE SABBATH
Sundays always used to be
A day of rest for you and me
To spend some time at church in prayer
And to meet old friends who worshipped there
This was the Sabbath a day of rest
a day of peace and goodwill
A day to extend the hand of friendship
A day that I love still
A day to spend in quiet contentment
With the family by your side
A day to look forward to every week
A day that filled you with pride
Alas the Sundays that we once knew
Are gone for ever more
Everything today is commercialised
And the buses now run past your door
They’ll take you into town to go shopping
The shops are open till ten so they say
It matters not that this is the Sabbath
It’s just another day
Norman Dixon, Heddon-on-the-Wall, Tyne and Wear
SAD AND BLUE
When you are feeling sad and blue,
Slow down, reflect and think about you.
Who are you? What are you? What is wrong?
Don’t let this sadness continue for long.
Sort yourself out, find out who you are,
tell yourself you’re worthy, give yourself a star.
Once you’ve sorted yourself out finally,
Life will look brighter, just you wait and see.
Barbara Back, Torquay, Devon
GRANDPARENTS IN WAITING
There’s a spring in our step
Joy in our hearts
The news that we have heard
Brought tears to our eyes
Grandparents is what you’re going to be
With all our love
From the parents to be
A miracle that we thought
Was just a dream
Is slowly growing in the mother to be
And as the father looks on
With love and pride
We thank God for this special child
Sheila Deakin, Coventry, West Midlands
EMBRACE SOMETHING GOOD
Let go of pain
so you can make room for joy
Let go of doubt
then you’ll start to see hope
Grab hold of oppurtunities
don’t always play it safe
Let go of your fears
and have a little faith
Let go of your worries
snatch peace every moment you can
Let go of pride
sometimes you’ll need a helping hand
Let go of that lie
that was told to break you
Let go of past hurts
and start anew
Sharoné M Benjamin, Tottenham, Greater London
JOSEY
Ginger and white Josey
Small and dainty, neat and svelte
Swift of paw, deadly.
Eyes of amber, clear and cool.
Romeo of garden walls.
Margaret Duguid, Skewen, Wales
I WISH I COULD REACH YOU
You fathered me from child birth
Then by your side I grew
You taught me all life’s twists and turns
And everything you knew,
Your arms were there to steer me
And to guide me as I grew
Inside my heart said “One day, dad”
“I’ll do the same for you.’”
But time will wait for no man
And too soon your life was through
All that joy, those happy times
Now, warm memories of you,
I long to hear your voice again
Relive those times we knew
I dreamed one day I’d pay you back
My two arms still want too.
Adrian J Vincent, Sherbourne, Dorset
THE MASTER AT WORK
Mr Beckham is a wizard with -
A leather sphere -
Lines up a 25 yard free kick.
The defensive format silent;
Static, waiting patiently.
A certain degree of confidence.
David runs one way, then another,
Deviating, fainting to distract.
Someone moves, David’s boot -
Addresses the projectile.
It swerves and curls into top left
Awaiting mesh bulges.
An eruption of cheers but...
Defensive shield becomes...
A “wailing wall”, a sort of armageddon.
No surely not, it’s only a game.
Strategic, yes, but only a game.
Steven Bown, Brimington, Derbyshire
Dedicated to David Beckham and eight year old Kirsty Howard who he befriended
when she was a mascot recently.
Steven Bown said: “I attained a BA (honours) degree in Fine Art print-making
at Sheffield College of Art and Design in 1981 and am involved in anything
concerning art and culture. I enjoy delving into anything creative which
I find aesthetically pleasing to the eye. I am particularly partial to
art subjects which may me interpreted in both drawing (perhaps as a cartoon)
and literary terms. I find poetry to be a fascinating method of expressing
my thoughts, especially as I can create images in my mind’s eye but portray
them in written format.”
REALITY TV
Reality TV
Are we really that bored?
Have we run out of ideas
To entertain the horde?
Outrageous people
With souls that are lost
They want to be famous
At any cost
They fail to relate
Succeed or connect
Do they have any pride
Or self respect?
Who wants to watch them
To be the fly
On the wall of their house
Watching wet paint dry?
Marilyn Washington, Combe St Nicholas, Somerset
THE TWISTED MUSCLE
Taste is created by it
Exquisite feasts are tasted by it
Languages are spoken by it
Lacerations are caused by it
Empty concerns are expressed by it
Soothing songs are sung by it
Lack of love is shown by it
Sign of arrogance is displayed by it
Offerings are transformed by it
Sufferings are translated by it
The game of love is led by it
The delights of the body are felt by it
Tongue of the tongue
What is your tongue?
Lend me your hand
Teach me your tongue
Anantha Rudravajhala, Middleton, Greater Manchester