| Sweet Remembrances
By Agata Sciolino
Life is a storm of love, filled with emotions: A rain of desires, soft clouds of sweetness and sensuality, A wind of perfumes, A peaceful seaside, A hot, shining sun, a luminous moon, Myriad stars of diamond. The sky smiles, While nature laughs, with its colours and perfumes. I love remembering when this fantastic storm knocked on the door of my heart. A new love arrived; A fresh passion bloomed, like a red rose,Wild emotions danced in the water of the seaside- I forgot all my sorrows, And played with perfumes, with colourful pomanders And with all life’s beauties, in body and spirit. Spring Thoughts By Grace Clement April, hoping time, When earth and air are filled with buds and singing, Earth casting off its deadness with the spring, Alive with warmth and ripeness once again. I would, like any plant or tree, Awakening with April, Moult deadened skins of fear and pain, Cocoons of outworn fantasy, to be A butterfly. Speaking of Dinosaurs By Louis Sawyer They always take my brother everywhere, To theatres, parks, those places families go. It must be fun for him, I wouldn’t know. One Sunday, before leaving, Papa said, “You’re happy staying here, indoors, Drawing your etchings, entertaining Grandma. Besides, she needs your company; Since Grandpa died, she’s been alone.” “That was six years ago.” “Still, she’s a widow.” Grandma brings me plates of sweets, Setting them down beside my drawing pad, Then sits and watches, as I mix my colors. I eat, although I barely taste those pastries, But just keep gorging, so she’ll bring me more. Later, one evening, Papa said, "Your pictures look so dark and sad. If you could draw one piece in cheering shades, I’d hang it in my study; can’t you try?” I did try; still, my work stayed bleak and dreary. Then, thinking I had done so to defy him, Shrugging, he sneered,” Fine, draw your dismal stuff.” “Wait, Papa, I-““don’t tell me why, I offered you a chance and you ignored me.” "You’re growing fatter every day,” My mama said, watching me dress, one morning. "You could be pleasant-looking, but instead You’re eating yourself ugly. Your behaviour Is even worse. Last June, when Fritz was here, Our oldest friend from home, talking with Andre About fossils, you interrupted him To whine, “I’m Reinhold”, for no earthly reason, As I had introduced you when Fritz came. Then, when Fritz and Andre had resumed, In High German-you have neglected yours, Among so many things, you said once more, This time, in an even louder tone, “I’m Reinhold”, as if none of us knew.” “You didn’t.” “What?” “I mean, you never seem to.” “More of your foolishness-not even sorry To have embarrassed us in such a way. Your Grandma cries when she retells that story, As if it held some meaning all its own. Why aren’t you graceful, like your brother Andre. Only last Saturday afternoon, a lady, Walked up to us in the park to say, “You’re little boy just bowed to me, Told me his name, then asked what time it was. I wish I could adopt that darling angel.” He keeps his Flemish accent rich and pleasing, Studying fossils, archaeology, So he can say, when we have visitors, “Speaking of dinosaurs”, which, as no-one had been, Makes it delightful, bright, oh yes, entrancing. There lurks a dragon in the night;, I know My hero-brother is afraid of water. He claims he simply does not like to swim, But I know better, hearing him, past midnight, As he relives our crossing to this country. Deep in his dream, he knows our ship is lost, That he is flailing, drowning in the sea. I do not wake him, no, just leave him tossing. Then, edging closed our bedroom door, I press a pillow on his face, To keep his cries beyond our parents hearing. I always know when to remove that pillow. No, I’ll not kill him yet, not now, but one day, When I’m deemed old enough to take a boat Out by myself upon the river, somehow, I will persuade him to risk rowing with me. (Despite my weight, I’m one terrific swimmer.) Somewhere that day, when faraway from land, Our boat will over-turn; Andre will scream, Not in his dream, but real, awake and drowning, While I, the fat boy, swim away towards shore. They always take my brother everywhere; That day, I’ll stop them. On Personal Ads By Wendy Glover “Greying, fat, honest and lonely Age thirty-eight, with no friends and a history Of fruitless dating-here I am, just me.” If I were delving for a mate, This man’s would be the only ad To which I would give more than half a glance, Due to its authenticity, amidst the roster Of those which swagger, in their aggregate: “Well-built, athletic, lean, slim, striking, handsome, Caring, warm, gentle, sensitive, romantic, Enjoying travel, quiet talks, slow dancing; Financially and emotionally secure, Equally glad to dine in elegance In elite restaurants, on caviar, Oysters, pates, soufflés, the finest wines, Or on the floor, at home, with beer and pizza, So long as I can be wherever YOU are, Allowing me to love, support and nurture.” To ME, Such cornucopias of joys, Teasing, as a display of toys, Sound calculating, hollow. I don’t think I would care to know Adonis or Apollo. I would respond to one who said, in sum: Well-groomed, attractive, kind, mature, With human eccentricities and flaws, Seeking somebody prepared to share Pleasures and struggles, victories and losses, Centred in one another and our union.” I now have such a mate, whom I discovered, Through such an ad, outlining the above- Oh yes, we’re happy. A Nurse’s Dilemma By Louis Sawyer “I know the secret of our universe.” “Roll up your sleeve, sir, take your medication.” “I don’t need drugs, just somebody to hear me. ”Sir, I’m a nurse; please talk to your doctor.” “Each time I try, he prescribes yet more sedation. Don’t drug me; I have crucial information Signalled to me this morning from my source, About earth’s future, nurse, including yours.” ” If you’d be kind enough to glance behind you, You’ll see a queue of fourteen people waiting, Distraught because their meds are overdue.” “Let me awaken you to destiny.” ”Look, do I need to call security?” “You’ve no cause for coercion; here’s a vein, Inside my elbow-just two remain To be deflated. Yes, nurse, make me numb, Force all my insights to evaporate. Once you have doped me with your opiate, You can continue with your humdrum day, With little need to think beyond your paycheque.” I could have listened to him, some time later, During my break; still, my back was aching. It seems, each day, my hot flashes grow worse, Or maybe just more frequent anyway. I started here at twenty-three, naïve, Bursting with zest, filled with ideals, believing, I could battle, conquer, overcome, Entrenched indifference, sloth, bureaucracy, But then I married, and we needed money To buy a home, care for our coming baby. Failing to finish my degree In therapeutic work, I nursed instead, Taking whatever jobs I could, which led To work at night, helping the elderly Stay in their homes, keep some autonomy, While drudging in this hellhole, hoping later To find some way to gain more education, Decades passed. Then, gutted by divorce, Smothered by debt, seeing no recourse, I’ve stayed with both jobs, though I’ve come to see The futile struggle of this public clinic, Becoming cynical against my will, Aware that an injection or a pill Are all I can provide to palliate Life’s overwhelming sadness. So, Today, I heard my voice far-off, as from some stranger Gaining compliance through intimidation. So, when my shift is through, I’m thinking maybe, I ought to find that man, urge him to tell me The warning based upon his revelation. Still, bitten by self-loathing, shame, remorse, Come five o-clock, my working- day completed, I’ll hope he is becalmed but faraway, Safe in his ward, enjoying recreation, Allowing me my sparse degree Of peace, of freedom. An Upstanding Man By Louis Sawyer I am one righteous, moral, upstanding man Relaxing this Saturday, in mid-May, Prepared, from my porch, With pistol and torch To Blow chipmunks, raccoons and possums to blazes. I despise slime and slush; All that do-gooding mush Makes me sore enough to resort to profanity, Which I won’t do, Because, as I’ve told you, I’m an upright, respectable clean-speaking man. My wife shares my views; she’s my perfect companion. Glad of her role, With no further goal Beyond serving as mate to an upstanding man. So, when I come home late from nights with the Klan, She makes me a meal to entice a gourmet Then, having cleared its refuse away, She is glad of the thanks of her gratified man. I warned her once, as if it were banter, While making sure she would hear it as true, Should she ever prove fool enough to abandon Her husband, our home, I would force her to pay By hunting her down. Then, having found her, Would shoot her, like any she-wolf at bay. For a moment, I wondered what she might say. She was quiet some while, then half-nodded in answer, Knowing never to rankle her right-thinking man. I recall only once when she drove me to anger. Coming home early, I went to our pantry, To greet her, where I knew she would be Preparing our dinner. To my consternation, Glancing down at the counter, I found a can Labelled “rat poison”, next to the pan Where she stood, stirring herbs into my rabbit stew. Since she never eats meat, it seemed like a plan Or could have, had I not known her soul through and through. Still, it struck me as odd that, when I demanded Its cause, she turned red, paled, stammered, then said That lately, having discovered some ants In our cupboards, she had, by some fearsome mischance Bought, then forgotten to store away, The arsenic. After that, seeing me frantic, She caterwauled, bawled, begged for my understanding. As I always forgive folks as quick as I can. When our quarrel was through, I bore her no rancor. Even so, right at that moment, I knew, That to learn, she needed the scourge of my belt, So that, next morning, seeing the welt, She would think about how such follies are dealt with By a moral, law-abiding, upstanding man. Since then, I saunter in, on occasion, To our kitchen, just to see That things are kept clean, pristine, orderly. Come to think of it, I’ve a mind to, today. Having sat here some while, I am feeling a chill, Coming so swift it could give me the willies, Though no phantom can menace a sanctified man. I might as well head inside anyway. There is nothing to keep me here-wait, do I see What looks like a meadowlark crossing my land? I’m glad I still have my pistol at hand To blast that winged bastard.
ANNIVERSARY POEM By Colleen Swan And if the bright wild bells of spring No longer sing when you are by, And I no longer turn to see You watch me with an eye of wonder, Still, we have found a depth through time We could not know at our beginning, And so the golden bells of summer Sing of a softer sun to be. Published in the Wear Valley Mercury Ballad of a Sunrise By louis Sawyer The reeds on the river stood, warm and still, While the river lay restive and wild; She watched her lover sail off through a mist, While she studied the reeds near the river. She saw his hands as they thrust the oars, Recalled the strength of his tawny limbs; She thought of his body and of those nights, Those nights they had known by the river. She made a bed of a few wild reeds, Then wept, and writhed, and rose with a song- For she bore his child on that sun-scarred bank, And she gave his child to the river. Frustration By David Emerson Bright strands wind eternally nowhere, Ever perhapsing towards vacancy; Only endings define themselves. To My Grandmother, recently widowed By Helen Moss Little, strong lady Who gives of self and time unstintingly, Treasures a poem I wrote at age eleven, And wears a cross for her brother who was killed in a bygone war- I would hug you to myself As if my youth and urgency Could keep all time eternally at bay, Leaving you with us as you are this day, Ever unchanging. Desiree By Colleen Swan Desiree, Desiree, Twirling, tripping in a cabaret, Where men who cherish pristine wives Go to gawp and leer At Desiree in dance array, Swirling skirts and tinkling trinkets, Black and silver in a sad display. Eddie plods in lumbering boots, Up and down the darkening streets, A solid, stolid labourer He doggedly piles brick on brick each day, Passing nights in waiting For the haunting lights to fade, Jostled by the raucous strangers As they stumble, curse and sway. Now and then a word, much- slurred and blurred But heard and hurting, Makes him flinch with pain For Desiree, his Desiree. When the last defiler slinks away Eddie walks inside to find her Drooping in her dancing dress, Weary and sullen. Softly he wraps her in his coat, Then lifts her in his builder’s arms; She taunts him with the feats of finer lovers, While tenderly he wipes her rouge away. Helpline By Georgia Day
The Dam Head* by Amy Ekins We sat on tartan. Then glassy rocks hailed The clouds parted in * Section of the River Wear which runs past West Mills playing fields in Bishop Auckland, Co. Durham Dickens a Christmas Carol- Rewritten by Jeffrey Essex Scrooge, waking after having been hauntedDeciding it daft to be daunted, Consigned each ghost Straight back to its post, Then continued to do what he wanted THE MINOR POET by Dorothy Parker
His little trills and chirpings were his best.
No music like the nightingale’s was born within his breast;
But he, too, laid his breast upon a thorn. HAPPY by Carrie Fairfax Mirrored in your eyes, I feel loved and lovely, Pulsing with reborn hope, Happy. Reading your emails, my spirit flies From all I have known, To be where you are, reunited, Happy. I will soar over oceans, mountains, through skies To join you in the life we will shape In strength and tenderness, Happy. |