all poems here are the copyright of the poet
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A lasting pleasure, a portion of grace, to behold in sleep
the innocent face of a child.
Angel head in peaceful slumber, crystalline pure,
brings sheer wonder and joy.
Calm and still as a silent air, bathes the form
of his fair velvety skin.
Sweet enchantment of feelings so tender, a heart does burn
and the embers glow for days.
by Irene Binch
The human pen
Pages, done
Covers, colourful
Print, in different type
Prints, to match the poem's
Words, to spell the sound as spoken
Numbers, of each verse to match
Listening, pleasure of hearing your own work
Writing, pen or pencil put to use
Verses, short or long that please the ear.
by Arthur Radford
There is hope in the gleam
behind a pensive sky -
in the warmth to the edge
of a new-honed wind -
in the murmur of a restless sea
of voices converging on a picket line.
Such hope reverberates
in a nation's cheer
as the chosen one appears
measuring his stride
to the pace of the rest.
Thoughts tight-lipped from the probing glare
he's focussed on impossible goals
unattainable it seems to us
clinging to our hopelessness.
Yet the sun shines this day
and I listen to words
radiating from the roots of his soul
uplifted by the arms
of HOPE.
by Vilia Bullock
He knew that she had deceived.
His turn to deal,
To shuffle, cut and bid. He did.
Now I must guess the card you save.
'This card is everyman,' she thought,
This card's a knave.'
'I did not mean to hurt you..'
He turned the cards,
Dark suits, fortune's faces - aces
Fading - Crowns, now less than royal red.
He put the last one in the pack.
'That's my heart,' she said.
by Ken Swallow
Taut strings three first short notes' rasping link to
Lower sustained single and stance.
Refined rhythmic mirror in insistent pitch.
One booming blasted Horn volume reached, met the most distant stationed ears.
A sound space opened, sufficient for shrill responsive Flute stabs.
Startled alert progress pattern, repeat sequence blocked
By odd balance,
Sole Brass and four hand crafted wood body sizes,
Seized the message.
Finger tips metered breath flow and following stretched coarse bow hair jabs,
Sensed increased urgency
Then the silence reigned.
Oboe reed wail gave a free yet lost travelling echo.
Rapid squeezed rising Bassoon statement.
Percussion piled the final deafening clarity.
Harmony fought for fideility.
Were events allowed their discordant way?
Could chaotic warnings ever be noted?
by Chris Antcliff
Why do we turn a page?
To reveal life's treaures
Why do birds fly?
To ride the winds of Time
Why do we cry?
To wash away the tid
What is in a voice?
Warmth, comfort, sweet music.
Why do we have light?
To show us the Way
Why do stars twinkle?
To put a sparkle in our eyes
Why are giraffes so tall?
Because we love gentle giants
Why are monkeys mischievous?
Because they are childlike.
by Carol Haynes