| The View From Me |
As a poetry editor I never cease to be amazed by the wide divergence of styles and subjects employed by poets. What is sense and sensibility to one poet is alien and absurd to another.
Even when we ask poets to write on one particular subject, the way that subject is interpreted is so very different from one writer to another, which clearly illustates the width and depth of imagination that poets possess.
In this volume we allowed a group of poets to let their imaginations run riot, because we chose as the subject The View From Me.
This gave them virtually free rein to wax poetic on whatever they felt passionate and poetic about. I am sure you will agree that the results have been quite surprising.
I don’t think you could ever see a volume of poetry as wide-ranging as this and I hope you enjoy reading this confection as much as I have enjoyed compiling it.
BEYOND THE DISTANT SUNSET
Alone I sit in silence
Gazing from my window
Watching life go slowly by
With memories of times long past
I see across the valleys
Beyond the distant sunset
Rising at the early morn
And resting with the night
Children playing in the parks
Cries of joy and laughter
Brides and grooms exchanging vows
With the joys of wedding bells
The oceans with their sealife
And vessels all shapes and sizes
With all colours of the rainbow
Giving way to sun-packed beaches
I see the falling of the rain
And all nature’s loving creations
As each day passes slowly by
With the view from my window of love
Jim Carlin, Barnstaple, Devon
ANYONE, ANYWHERE
See what’s challenging me?
A lot on my mind, won’t let me be.
I could live anonymously,
And that’s how it should be.
But anyone, anywhere,
They can see I’m running scared.
Anyone, anywhere,
They can see that I don’t care,
But I’ll do what I’ll do,
And say what I’ll say anyway.
See that’s troubling me?
Pushed into a corner and I can’t go free.
The world and his wife, they hostage me,
How long must I wait to be free?
Anyone anywhere, anyone anywhere,
Anyone anywhere, anyone anywhere,
They can see I’m running scared,
And I don’t care.
Wendy Day, Bristol, Avon
A TINY CANDLE
I saw a tiny candle, flickering in the night
It cast a silver shadow with its glowing light
Light up the night, light up the night for us
‘ Twas just a single candle, with its tiny glow
Lighting up the darkness, showing where to go
light up the night, light up the night for us.
There is so much darkness
Some don’t see the light of day
In their ever-darkened world
They can only hope and pray.
If we should burn a candle, someone will see its light
Others will light the darkness, for some we’ll light
up the night
Light up the night, light up the night for us
Eileen Richardson, Winterborne Kingston, Blandford Forum, Dorset
YESTERDAY
Yesterday was undoubtedly dreadful
I felt worried, anxious, sad
But the difference one day can make
It momentous
Remember this when things look bad
One day can move obstacles, mountains
Halve problems and put the prospectus right
So whatever the trouble
Just say a prayer
And comfort will cradle the heart.
Joan Kernick, Newton Abbot, Devon
JUST A GLANCE
How fine the groove mid memory and intuition?
the subtleties of the sixth sense, or of a non sense;
Surprising recall of some singular occurrence,
The patent image of a bygone time.
Her beauty in the snowflakes’ flutter,
Her face, her neck or lobe or ear.
Ships at sea or sheep just sheared.
Waves that break high, then roar and roll,
Long shadows from the setting sun,
Light daybreak when awakening dawns.
Four eyes that registered desire, and merged
To intimacy, laughter, joy and passion.
Intuition? The thoughts of heart and head
At variance, or not at all; did memory damn or bless liaison?
Did instant insight well foretell it all?
No need the recall, if she loves you still.
Henry Sager, Bristol, Avon
THE GARDEN
Life breathed into that garden,
Pervading its deadly hush,
Among day dreaming daffodils,
Each petal, blade and bush.
Ablaze, a maze of silence,
Alone with memories unrushed,
The flow and glow of nostalgia’
Which nothing could ever crush.
Mingled past with present,
Jingling high flyers nest,
A haven, a home, that garden,
All creatures find refuge, find rest.
Here I lay down my burdens,
Here I long to remain,
Here rooted in that garden,
Here in my Easter domain.
I shall always remember that garden,
Though blade and flower are flown,
Inspiring new beginnings,
As new life each Easter is shown.
Rhian Morris, Hereford, Herefordshire
ROCK CONCERT
An excited crowd eagerly watch the stage
Exploding entrance to entice and amaze
See the rockstar clad in tight leather
Writhing in glory a dazzling entertainer
Scintillating showman seducing you all.
Feel the raucous music piercing the air
Thundering drums shrill lightening guitars
Electrifying energy strumming inside
Pulsating rhythm cascading, coming alive.
Majestic rockstar enthusing, living his guitar
Playing his tunes with the heart of his soul
Living the songs to entertain, amuse you all.
Prowling parading passionate performer
Adoring delighting invigorating his flock
Chanting, gyrating hair flying frenzy.
Rapturous applauding, lost in his world
Maestro of rock playing us with his guitar
Executed with precision fulfiling deep desire
Leaving us breathless, encore for more.
Martine Gafney, London
CROSSROADS
When your life has reached a crossroads
After many twists and turns;
It’s easy to condemn mistakes you’ve made,
Yet it’s often how one learns.
No signposts to follow, just your heart,
There is no map to guide.
But whichever path you choose to take,
Believe in yourself as you stride.
Mark McAuley, Dunfermline, Scotland
BACK TO THE ENGINE
Some passengers never sit with their back to the engine.
They travel face to face
With fast-bowled images
Slamming into vision,
Oncoming scenes pitched from ahead,
Bolting towards a blindspot.
No time to look away before the train leaps forward,
Details dashed away,
Focus lost.
Whereas myself,
I prefer to see the view with hindsight.
The wake view,
Events sliding into the periphery.
I linger on the perspective
And I arrive at the same destination,
At the same time,
Following the same track.
I always travel with my back to the engine.
Lyn Punt, Blackpool, Lancashire
BIG BROTHER
The recorder is playing; I try not to stutter.
But the words pour out in a mindless mutter.
An image is taken through the camera shutter.
My identity captured with the “eyeris” flutter.
Satellite tracking, ID cards, and CCTV,
Means no place to hide, and nowhere to flee.
Breath tests and blood tests, the law can see
Another statistic, I cease to be me.
My phone’s being tapped, landline or other;
The rhetoric fading in a signal smother.
Is the ever consuming monstrous Big Brother
Now destined to take the place of our mother?
Ruth Hayes, Southport, Merseyside
SUNDAY MAN
An alarming surplus of right.
A collar turned around back to front,
He strides along a well worn path
In self righteous indignation,
Willing himself to undertake
His duties, few seem satisfied
With this familiar figure.
Even less with
The mix of do’s and don’ts
In his familiar world.
A nondescript figure in black,
Like a raven picking on his leftover
Offerings.
Trying to come to terms
With an unharmonious relationship
Between self and his calling.
Eidda Jeffs, Peebles, Scotland
THE COUNTRYSIDE
The fields of corn wave in the wind
The rustle of the trees
The grasses and the flowers
They wave into the breeze
The sunlight shines upon the corn
And in my heart such joy is born
For how I love the countryside
With trees and fields and spaces wide
I feel so free and so at peace
The drone of bees and birdsong ne’er does cease
Not for me the city, I love the countryside
I would be filled with pity to leave this vista wide
To walk along a leafy lane to see the beauty there
Makes one feel so humble, I often stand and stare
I look to the horizon, the sky so bright and blue
The clouds they flurry past
This beauty rare, if it could last.
Mary Baker, Hull, East Yorkshire
WIND BREAKTHROUGH
A wind moved over the surface of the surging sea,
Making it rage,
Setting the myriad in motion.
Great blades slicing the air,
Silvery technology,
Toys, so grown-ups in their thinking think.
Huge power-plants and marching pylons
Holding cabled hands in great Meccano kits
Are rational, mature.
That line of poplars sways as restless leaves
Bustle in rustle; banks of ripe bright haws
Like control panel lights beneath.
Imagine the bill for billowing these boughs
With electric fans to their present crackle-dance.
Plant a line of tree-turbines, each leaf feeding
Power, swaying branch trunking down
Hydraulic pumps to cabled roots; the eye pleasing
Emulation harnessing aesthetic energy.
Richard Kettlewood, Goole, East Yorkshire
VIEW FOR PEACE
If I could I’d change the world, I’d
make it a better place,
I’d take away the evil and pain, and leave us without
a trace.
I’d stop the wars and all the strife, the hunger and
the pain,
I’d make it safe for everyone to walk the streets again.
The world would have to worry no more, the sick would be
healthy and well,
And every child would grow in strength, and with knowledge
would excel.
Just think how good the world would be if everyone would
smile
And spread a little happiness around them for a while.
So years may come, and years may go, no matter what we do,
But for peace I’d change the world - but then, that’s
just my view.
Jan Imeson, Allington, Lincolnshire
DEAR WORLD
Dear world, you really have messed it
All up, not once, but again and again
The faults you have made, like a giant cascade
Have fallen upon us like rain
The weather went haywire, long long ago
The finance, dear world, has gone mad
There are now more criminals outside jail
Than in, and that’s really sad
Where are the good old days we once had
How did you get it so wrong?
With poor people suffering more and more
And rich people banging the gong
Sweet family life has gone down the drain
With love and respect shown no more
They all want more money, and wealth but no
Work is not like it was before
Blank out the sunshine, switch off the moon
Thank goodness, you cannot do that
Us wise ones, have pulled up the drawbridge
The idiot, is under your hat.
J R Burr, Tonbridge, Kent
DO THEY KNOW SUFFERING?
There they sit, writing and doing as they are told,
Commenting in the way they are expected,
But do they truly feel?
Do they believe that the girls were wrong?
Do they think it’s a sin?
Was it?
When the teens took up their pills,
Did they damn themselves in the process?
Can it be, that God
Is as corrupt as the world that drove her to it?
Was it He that forced them to begin with?
Was she forsaken from the day she was born?
Perhaps but either way,
Their suffering was caused by ones like those around me.
The teacher has asked for us, the pupils,
To write how we feel about their story.
This is what I write,
They say what is normal.
I speak from the heart.
I have suffered, I have suffered.
Neville Teacy, Macosquin, Northern Ireland
FUN AT THE DOG AND GUN
We often go there to have our lunch,
Quiet often we cannot wait so we turn up for brunch.
The scrumptious food is a real treat
We’ve always pleased we decided to meet.
The ingle-nook fire gives a incredible heat,
Warms us right through from out head to our feet.
The local grown wine is chilled to perfection,
So we raise our glasses in the landlord’s direction.
Now here’s to you, and here’s to me,
And here’s to Mike, the landlord, makes three.
Our friends all laugh now who has won?
Who has a date with Mike from The Dog and Gun?
But who can tell, we are both really keen,
Guess we both be better to sit back and dream.
Anne Churchward, Groombridge, Kent
NIGHT TRUCKER
I’m alone again tonight my
love
Another night of pain
Wondering whether you will come back
Or if I will see you again
You never can tell what will happen
When you’re driving long distance at night
So I pray to the Lord with all of my heart
To make everything be alright
I love you so much, more than life itself
More than anything in the world
If you would only believe me
Would make me the happiest girl
So please come back to me my love
I need you very much
I want to try and understand
Why your life is one mad rush.
Marina England, Walsall, West Midlands
THE CUDDLE
You are the cuddle that
Cuddles me day and night
You are the cuddle that cuddles me all night
With a love who is cuddling tonight
That makes me want to cuddle up real tight
As I am lying their in your arms tonight
And I am looking happy
Lying there as you are holding me so tight
And then we kiss and cuddle and then
We both cuddle up and fall asleep tonight.
Sandra Goddard, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey
LIFE’S MYSTERIES
As I sit and muse and dream
I think of life that might have been
Of days past would my life have different been
If I had followed all my dreams
Must we on our path we stay
Of can we choose to go astray
To go back in time to change our ways
Would we be better off today
When we are born life’s journey starts
So face it with a good stout heart
No matter if you go astray
You will be guided to the one true way.
John McKay, Edinburgh, Scotland
TEXTURE
If only we could get away, alone.
Where there are no ears, eyes or morals to condemn or oppress
us.
Instead it's open and very public.
We are gossiped about, discussed, analysed and targeted.
A yarn already carefully woven and threaded, as brightly
as a patchwork quilt.
The quilts rich colours and textures luring and disorientating
me as I slowly fall into its trap.
But what would you say if I asked?
Recoil in embarrassment, or eagerly accept?
The crowd has already shouted its verdict and waited for
my reaction.
I'm in on the secret, but wish I could participate.
My visage poker straight, my demeanour false, part of the
perfect crime that's
happened in everyone else's head and is slowly intoxicating
mine.
You give nothing away.
Louise Knight, Croydon, Surrey
THIS MUSIC
These oh so few precious moments in life
When we get to make this music
And it’s just the two of us
Through the tiredness, the exhaustion, the unwellness
The totally gone on the nightness
The gorgeous music is coming through
When I get to listen back
And see the beauty that was there
More than I can ever know
Was there all the time
This music, where does it stop?
Your sound, my sound, our sound
Washing together all the way through
Shaking these pillars of heaven
This improvisation, this movement, this dance
These oh so few precious moments in life.
Eliot Baron, Pembroke, Wales
NIGHT VISION
Forlornly cries out in the night
I’ve set upon my travels to afar, a distant place
Over desert sands, chaotic sea of dreams
Tangled hopes and fears
I see things differently
Less real? More real? Who can say?
Moss mildew dappled metaphor
Many fabled troubadours
And all that may have entered into myth
I see them in this special place
They all can live and die here
Tremble, laugh and sigh here
Whatever hearts desire to come true
M J Charles, Welshpool, Wales
THE THESIS
As cognisance penetrates my mind,
With critical eye I search and find,
A valid fact, which underlined
My point of view,
My thesis now must be defined
To prove it true.
I had laboured long to get it right,
With detailed study through the night,
When suddenly with dawns first light
Came inspiration,
Instil in men the will to fight
All depredations.
Judge ye well the view from me,
For my thesis holds the valid key,
A true blueprint for democracy
Throughout our nations;
Where men can be at peace and free
Within their stations.
William McQuade, Dumfries, Scotland
CENOTAPH
They sleep beneath the sod
The reasons why
Known only unto God
We will lament
Their passing to another room
The rhetoric expired
With all the slain
We stand silent
Before this empty tomb
Because they died
And we remain
Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire