Writing

The Quarry

by Pat Payne

 

It’s peaceful here,
Cool, dim,
Enclosed.
Silent, until
A wren’s staccato call
Perforates the quiet air.

Once loud voices filled this place.
Men who took what they desired
With violence,
Drilling, sawing,
Splintering explosions.
Unaware
Another force surrounded them.
Waiting for them to leave.

In the silence,
After the last echo died,
The reclamation,
Already begun in secret corners,
Advanced, relentlessly.
Seedlings,
Filled with irresistible life,
Forced their way through
Hard and trampled ground.

Scrambling brambles
Smothered fallen stones.
Smooth-tongued ferns
Found damp shade
Beside sharp-edged sandstone blocks.
Slowly, inexorably,
A wood grew up
To fill this space.
            
Soon we will be gone,
Down a steep path
Inlaid with golden tesserae
Of fallen birch leaves.
Silence stands amongst the trees
Waiting for us to leave.

 

Piece of Heaven

by David Mitchell

 

A little piece of Heaven fell from out the sky one day
And it fell into my garden – down Cheriton Bishop way
So I bought a lot of flowers for I knew they would grow so well
It was quite a lot of work for an old boy like me and later, my poor back ached like Hell.
But the effort was well worth it and now, as I see, there is an explosion and glow
Of colour that will even delight the angels themselves.
They will be pleased with me –  that I know.
Next year I shall try to do it even better (and cheaper) by actually buying seeds to sow.
This year, I formed a square of pots and troughs where the holy plot fell
And there I sit each morning surrounded by flowers with my newspaper and morning tea
Happy to relax in a small part of Heaven that only I can see
But return in half an hour and you’ll find me – paper on lap and snoozing like I do - that's me!
And then I awake from my nap, refreshed, and ready for the chores of the day
I take a last look at my ‘square’ and hope that tomorrow it will be exactly like today!
But perhaps one day I’ll come there and perchance my beautiful plot will be barren
Maybe the angels will have grown a little envious of my beautiful display and have taken it back to Heaven
For the other angels to see
But I’ll keep hoping and hoping that whatever else may be
They will take pity on an old man and return it some day to me.

 

 

Growing Old

by Pat Solomons (June 2011)

 

Growing old, doing it beautifully!
cherishing the journey 
involved in different projects
organising events for people to enjoy

 

playing cricket, football, table tennis with grandchildren
leisurely reading the Sunday Times
willing to change my attitude,
expand thinking laterally

 

flirt with men of all ages
they should be so lucky!
tell jokes without being self-conscious,
if the mood takes me dance on my own

 

acknowledge critiscism, it’s only their opinion
no need to please others,
being assertive, not fobbed off,
wearing what I like, not competing

 

each day brings new excitement
a bonus of living in today’s electronic world
computers, e-mail, internet, cd’s, dvd’s
digital pictures, remote control

preparing for my next decade
looking after my needs
spending happy days doing my thing
exercising, massage, pampering myself

experiencing a great gift ... life!
answering questions with honesty
knowing what I want,
learning, learning, learning

spending my kids inheritence
go on laugh at the old bag
guess what, don’t care
doing it all beautifully!

 

Love's Victory

by Kusum Gokarn

 

Every strand of silver hair proves love's victory over time's snare,
Every wrinkle in the face, sweet memories in the mind does trace;
As the numbness and coldness of death draws near,
The touch of compassionate warmth drives out fear;
As the body sinks earthwards,
The call of the Beloved beckons the spirit heavenwards;
As life wastes away and moments die,
Friendly smiles and cheers alone stand by.

 

 

Oh I Do Hope It's the Nice Nurse Today

by Sheila McGill

 

"During a period lasting only two weeks, my mum fought and lost her battle with lung cancer. I sat beside her bed, mostly on an uncomfortable hospital chair and observed life, death and senselessness in a busy understaffed NHS hospital ward. Grieving as an only daughter, I wrote poems beside my mother's bedside - they opened up a window to my thoughts, feelings and observations during that time, and provided comfort. 

This poem was written after listening to a frail pensioner shouting for the nurse for over half an hour behind closed curtains. I hoped that when I left my mum for the night that it was indeed the nice nurse about to come on duty."

 

As I lie here in my bed
I worry about the commode,
It'll soon be time for the nurse... 
Oh, I do hope it’s the nice nurse today.

They have a job to do I know, but they're not all the same
Some will stay until I'm done, but others leave
And they ignore me when I shout,
'I’m finished.'

The nice nurse doesn’t leave me alone;
Even two minutes behind closed curtains.
As I lie here in my bed, I stare up at the stark white ceiling
Then hold back a tear. Oh, I do hope it's the nice nurse today.

 

 

Tranquility

by Hazel Smith
The day is born, an autumn morn,
whilst all around, the only sound
are song birds singing, echoes ringing.
The sun is high up in the sky,
reflections on the lake I spy.
A rowing boat left afloat, and
a golden tree that conveys to me,
a sight of pure tranquillity.

If life could always be like this,
a picture that conveys pure bliss,
we know it is not always so,
as through life's trials
one has to go.

So take this thought along your way,
remember what you've seen today,
think of it when life gets tough,
draw strength if you have had enough,
close your eyes and you will see
a picture of tranquillity.

 

 

The Tear

by Tom O'Mara ("This poem came about after my sister passed on. Her daughters told me as she lay there a single tear just nestled on her cheek.")

 

The last tear from my eye
Has not dropped from the sky
It has come from my heart
It is my last message as we part
Save it as you collect it up and put it in a special cup
When you hold it next to your heart
Please remember we shall never part
Although I have passed and gone away
I shall be with you every day
All my love I leave to you
For you are all my loves ever so true
Please don’t grieve too long for me
Close your eyes and you shall see the smile upon my face
I am happy in this place
My god has welcomed me this day
He has kept his word as I did pray
To keep me in Heaven forever and a day

 

 

A Poet's Frustration

I sit at my desk the poem to type
Wondering what the hell to write
Looking back at me the page so white
This poetry lark has so much hype

An idea flashes across my brain
Abandon it, it looks so lame
The next and next are just the same
My enthusiasm goes down the drain

Click on BookBite Poetry Page
Against such talent I really fade
To "Writing Tips" I turn for aid
Inspiration won't come, is it my age?

Go for a walk, its sunny now
To think of a rhyme of which I'm proud
One to make me rise from the crowd
So you BookBite judges will all say Wow!

For hours I've sat here and I've tried
And every ten minutes I've given a sigh
No I give up! I'll say goodbye

Before my efforts you all deride.

 

 

What

by Jill
So how does one regroup
And move forward at 64
When your partner in life
Has walked out the door

To a new love a new life
A younger woman too
She can offer so much more
Than your ageing skin can do

He won't entirely cast me off
He says
After 36 years - who would
Well him it seems
He has
Mollifying will do no good.

I should be so angry
Smash the house and cut his clothes
I cant because I'm so very sad
My trust was so misposed

I made a mistake
I did not understand
That a man will misuse a woman
To get the upperhand
To have that empowerment, that joy
Of leaving behind his past
For a future of mixed alloy

By leaving behind and cheating age in his new jaunt
He forgets the years which mean so much and really ought to haunt
These years are precious to me
I still love him, and cannot see where to go
What to do,how to live

But I must regroup and move forward
When life seems to have nothing to give

They say when one door closes
Another one opens for you
I haven't attempted that ingress yet
But it seems it is what I must do.

 

 

Have You Tried?

by Jean Clark
For thirty years
I have been afflicted
with arthritis.
Its bite increases
as age creeps on.

So, being an intelligent woman,
I have tried my way
through massage and exercise,
food supplements and medication,
acupuncture and
various kinds of diet….

I have danced and walked.
There have been
hospital appointments,
scans and blood tests, and
I know there is no cure …

I try to live gracefully
with who I have become.

So please I beg you
do not ask me
"Have you tried? This or this?
I know you wish to help,
but can you understand
that your recent discovery
which helps the
early twinges
in your joints,
is part of the history
of my thirty year journey
seeking to live a full
and satisfying life,
despite pain.

Please could you try not to help?
I know you mean well,
But I am weary of saying
"Yes …
I
have
tried
that! 

 

 

Chelsea Child

by Marcia Howard

My Chelsea 1950's youth I find

exists through memories in my mind,

Mews cottages set down cobbled lanes,

Georgian elegance, and London Planes.

 

Of Draycotts, Sloanes and Road of Kings,

Town Hall of white, and Peter Jones',

Kensington, Peter Pan, Hyde Park & the Row,

Dukes of York, Westminster too.

 

Chelsea Cloisters, Mansions grand,

and others which made up this land;

Friends to play and neighbours kind,

A favour done, they wouldn't mind.

 

Famous names, our paths did cross

with film stars, royalty, dukes and lords;

Looking back, an era lost,

and difficult to describe in words.

 

Chelsea Baths where I learned to swim,

though others came for their weekly clean,

not all had bathrooms such as we

privileged, tho' not recognised by me.

 

The Sunday morning walks with Dad,

what treasured times it seemed we had

exploring back streets, mews and lanes,

scuffling through leaves from those London Planes.

 

Walked for miles on tiny legs

with shoes 'enforced by shiny segs

A courtyard pub for 'pop' and crisps

on father's rambles with us kids.

 

Pea shooters aimed from balcony high

down below on unsuspecting fry;

what mischief next could we siblings find

to make us laugh, and run, and hide.

 

Hopscotch, tag, and other games

played with friends, what were their names

Nina, Susan, and Diane too.

precious friends, loyal and true.

 

South Kens' museums to explore here and there,

visited when rain stopped play elsewhere,

Battersea Park when out the sun

to see wondrous exhibits of '51.

(from the Festival of Britain)

 

The splendid guards at Buckingham Palace

we read, like us, of their visit by Alice,

bright uniforms of black and red

matched by cab and bus, it's said.

 

Sometimes fog thick, like soup pea green

Our hands outstretched cannot be seen;

but then the sun returns, to say

"Come out young Chelsea Child to play".

 

I returned in later years to see

the flowers at Chelsea, oh what glee,

and Chelsea Pensioners in red so bright

brought joy at such a wondrous sight.

 

Precious times on looking back,

of fun and love, there was no lack.

A wealth of precious memories filed

go help make up this Chelsea Child.

 

Foundrymen
by Richard Todd-Brookes
The shriek of the whistle disturbs the dark dawn
as half woken bodies rise cursing from bed.
Away to the foundry down still frosted streets
young Jimmy needs shoes and the larder is bare.
The crash of the hammer the hiss of the steam

Queues at the clock that governs their lives
last nights' Guinness still headaches their day.
Three hundred new patterns to strike before snap
as straining their muscles they gasp for each breath
The crash of the hammer the hiss of the steam

Soot on the hanky pains in the chest
blood when they cough in the night.
Owned by the foundry that gives them their pay
A mountain of debt they can never repay
The crash of the hammer the hiss of the steam

Bill's machine is silent he hasn't turned in
black scowls from the foreman before we begin
Dave says he thought he heard bells in the night
Another young widow was made yesterday
The ring of the shovel the thud of the clay

 

 

The Rose
by Carol Rogers
Velvet petals uncurl, unfold
reveal their secret heart

Wine-dark, white, pale pink and gold
their fragrance lingers
in the dusky gloom

Luminous in the fading light
as darkling shadows slowly creep,
deepest blue,
& the first bright star appears to herald night.

 

 

Writing on Hold
by Arthur Carr
It is difficult to write about nowt
Especially when one hasn't been out and about
It is raining and cold
And the writer is old
But there must be a way for a thinking man

Many will listen to tales of woe
So their listener can offer their woes in a row
There is much to bemoan
When you live alone
I cannot remember when it all began

We then find that life is such a bore
Nothing to do and nothing in store
And then out of the Blue
Appears something new
There is the beginning of a recovery plan

Sad to say that a neighbour called
And the news they gave was not good at all
As this sadness arose
I returned to my prose
And I am glad to be back as a keen writing man.

* Nowt = Cumbrian expression for nothing!

 

 

Awake In The Night
by Shirley Stanford
Awake in the night, unable to sleep
Into my parent's room I'd creep.
No good going to Mum's side of the bed,
Where she lay sleeping the sleep of the dead.
To my Dad's side I'd make my way,
Reaching out in the dark to where he lay.
I'd whisper and gently touch his arm,
And already feel safe and away from harm.
I would kneel at the side of the bed,
He would reach out and stroke my head.
This gentle touch was all I required,
To send me back to my room once again tired.
Tucked up once more all cosy and warm,
I would sleep soundly until the morn.

 

 

Irritable Wind

by Pat Payne