SUNDOWNERS - Marian Griffin ©
On Friday the sun, a great greedy Dyson
sucked all the gold from this earth,
gorged the warmth, stole the day,
slammed a door shut sullenly
in the dank depths,
left us shivering.
On Saturday the sun dived unnoticed
into the scary sea.
Sudden darkness terrorised us from sleep.
We wassailed through the night,
poured cider around the bedposts,
smashed saucepan lids to worry evil spirits,
begged the day back to us.
On Sunday a love-letter huge with hope
scrawls tomorrow! in a copper flourish,
sinks to a glimpse of sealing wax
slipping coyly into its envelope.
And in our easy dream we see
the dip of the hill
where all shall soon be well.
Waiting for the Train - David C Johnson ©
Use this link to hear David read and watch Diana Taylor's film accompany it: WAITING FOR THE TRAIN
ME AND MY SHADOW - Robin Young ©
Decisions, decisions; which way to turn?
Walking into the sun makes my eyes burn.
The sun behind me, other problems begin,
That figure appears, stiffly pushing in.
Ignoring my protests, he shows me the way,
Keeping one step ahead, to my dismay.
When no one’s looking, I give him a kick;
If I had one to hand, I’d lob a brick.
He seems unable to grasp rejection,
Shows no awareness of my dejection
‘Til he says, “l’m your shadow, can’t you see?”
I reply, “bloody hell is that really me!”
A stiff, hunched-up lump, a blundering wreck;
The only thing missing is a bolt in the neck!
“Get thee behind me shadow. Please, just go.
Where you’re leading me, I don’t want to know.”
So into the sun, with head down, I turn,
My eyes running, my face starting to burn.
That lurching monster must now trail behind;
I don’t want to see him, I’d rather walk blind.
‘Smile For The Camera - Mark Sayers 3/9/07 ©
Having a camera. - - stuck up one’s anus
Could be the in-thing to entertain us,
For there is nothing which matches the view…
As the probe crawls here and there inside you!
In subdued colour, which is such a boon,
They have high hopes for 3D very soon.
A Sigmoldoscopy is a real treat
And they reserve you the best front row seat.
Alfred Hitchcock - couldn't improve on this
And there is no way that I’d ever miss
Having a glimpse of my rectum and bowel:
Winding caverns flushed with pride, so not foul.
Endoscopy may seem rather a chore,
'I’m afraid Paul that you’ve drawn the short straw!’; (1)
Although it would drive me right up the wall,
The Queen’s Day Unit Staff don’t mind at all. (2)
Thank God there’s no creepy crawlies in there!
Can you imagine if you saw a pair
Of eyes; two cockroaches without a care,
Out for a stroll, so they get some fresh air?
Or for that matter, a few slurping slugs:
‘Smile fee the camera!’, with such ugly mugs.
Yet the best bit of news was still so come,
‘I’ll explore more and bore up from your bum:
A Colonoscopy should fit the bill,’,
One of the joys of being over the hill
Is one learns so much about one’s insides.
There are such charming staff giving free rides
Which concentrates the mind, without a doubt
And provides something new tp talk about
‘Come back to my place? A film of my bowel?
What did you say? You've now thrown in the towel!’.
Mr Sylvester wants more; that’s no crime.
It’s nice to know I'm not wasting his time.
Seeing the winds of change, more ways than one,
The fun’s begun once he pops his flash-gun!
Notes (1) Mr Paul Sylvester (2) Bristol Royal Infirmary
BLIND FAITH - Sandie Lloyd ©
"Bell," he murmured, quite low,
as if accustomed to her being near him,
and,
as if used to rapport between them,
was patient when no response came.
For a short time he waited,
and then said "Bell" again,
Louder, more urgent.
Still nothing happened.
The pause was shorter.
"Bell!" he called. "Bell!"
From my window I watched
his big, blonde, beautiful dog,
frisking.
She was completely oblivious that he,
on the edge of the common,
grew anxious.
He raised unsighted eyes
to where he thought she might be,
and tried harder.
"Bell, Bell, come along, girl, " he shouted,
his voice not quite under control.
Everything depended on her,
and she seemed to be so unmindful.
His blindness seemed to place limits on
what he had licence to ask or demand.
Finally he stood and twiddled her lead.
She seemed to remember his presence.
Bravely she broke free of freedom,
She put herself back in harness.
She could have stayed alone in a heaven,
but chose to share darkness with him.
His face, his world, lit up
when he felt her safely within his grasp.
"Good girl, good girl," he crooned ,
and patted her.
She, like God, didn't look back.
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL - Alan Summers ©
It’s like a barn, desolate bright, surrounded by the colour of heather.
Clouds on clouds move in on everything.
first swifts the sky turns back to its blue
I don’t know what ushers what first but…
rabbits
out of shadows
into sunlight
a wall hopping magpie
how can one be for sorrow
in any month
And why does a house feel just right, as if it belongs, and to who, and when, and why?
fading photos
the goldfinch tugs
at cobwebs
Haibun [prose+haiku - see definitions page] inspired by 'House on the Hill' by Helen Garrett
Oil on board (80cm x 70cm) Victoria Art Gallery exhibition:
Towards the Unknown (24 November - 13 January 2008)
The Holy Roller Coaster Ride - Lisa Saffron ©
I had a private session
with my guru yesterday.
about a little problem
that just would not go away.
I asked my guru for advice.
She gave a brief miaow.
This is what I asked her,
could you kindly tell me how,
How can I be happy,
find peace amidst the strife,
live each moment as sacred,
lead a blessed, holy life?
I told her I'm not lazy.
I'm committed. I have tried.
For years, I've been riding
a holy roller coaster ride.
My Yin I have strengthened.
My Yang has lost its violence.
With the Quakers, I have sat
in a Ghandian gathered silence.
With the help of the Grandmothers,
I cast the Net of Light.
I've awakened my Light-Body,
which gave me quite a fright.
I've saluted the sun and balanced my ki,
chanted in Hebrew, tapped to be free,
davenned and prayed to the Lord God above,
learned that miracles are an expression of love.
I've vibrated at top speed
for deliberate creation,
communicated non-violently
at the least provocation.
I've dutifully upheld the Law of Attraction,
even bent spoons with my mind
to my complete stupefaction.
My guru, she listened
without saying a word.
Then she yawned and she stretched
and she purred.
Yes she purred.
She curled up on my lap
and pointed both her ears
and allowed me to stroke her.
Well, I burst into tears.
All at once I felt happy,
free from stress and all that.
Because each moment is sacred
when you're stroking a cat.
The 99% - Rachel Dennis ©
The planet is beginning to sag
under the weight of humanity's greed
"More, more, more"
shout the manic hordes, grabbing the
plastic tat that ends up in landfill
Mountains of perfectly good clothes
discarded after being worn once,
twice or not at all
Food bought on a whim casually
tossed away as others trudge
wearily to the food banks
"We must have it," mumble the zombies
as, eyes glazed, minds numb, they
stumble along the glitzy malls where
shops full of mass produced rubbish
scream "buy me"
"I will take, take, take
what I want, want, want
with no thought for others"
yell the 99%
The planet can get stuffed because they will
have what they desire, when they desire it
The rest of us, the tiny 1%, do our best
as we shake our heads
watching the world wink out
The Seven Ages of Gran - Julie Boston 2014 ©
Sired
Admired
Inspired
Hired
Fired
Retired
Expired
January morning - Mary Lambert 2/13 ©
From my pillow, the morning is quiet.
The sound of silent movement.
I hear a shout and laughter, clear and crisp;
children are throwing snow balls as they walk to school.
In the street, harsh lines are muffled into swollen softness.
Only two charcoal tracks on the road contrast against the white,
and tell of ponderous journeys.
The garden is monochrome;
gone the verdant viridian and winter umber.
Bloated in a mantle of albescence
The January sun reluctantly shines through the leafless beech;
its beams mottled by the thickened twigs.
Crystals glint as its rays touch them.
The distant hills, rounded in a linen shroud,
just one small polar topped coppice stands out,
it’s kohl stems contrast against the gin sky.
It’s going to be a lovely day.
On Friday the sun, a great greedy Dyson
sucked all the gold from this earth,
gorged the warmth, stole the day,
slammed a door shut sullenly
in the dank depths,
left us shivering.
On Saturday the sun dived unnoticed
into the scary sea.
Sudden darkness terrorised us from sleep.
We wassailed through the night,
poured cider around the bedposts,
smashed saucepan lids to worry evil spirits,
begged the day back to us.
On Sunday a love-letter huge with hope
scrawls tomorrow! in a copper flourish,
sinks to a glimpse of sealing wax
slipping coyly into its envelope.
And in our easy dream we see
the dip of the hill
where all shall soon be well.
Waiting for the Train - David C Johnson ©
Use this link to hear David read and watch Diana Taylor's film accompany it: WAITING FOR THE TRAIN
ME AND MY SHADOW - Robin Young ©
Decisions, decisions; which way to turn?
Walking into the sun makes my eyes burn.
The sun behind me, other problems begin,
That figure appears, stiffly pushing in.
Ignoring my protests, he shows me the way,
Keeping one step ahead, to my dismay.
When no one’s looking, I give him a kick;
If I had one to hand, I’d lob a brick.
He seems unable to grasp rejection,
Shows no awareness of my dejection
‘Til he says, “l’m your shadow, can’t you see?”
I reply, “bloody hell is that really me!”
A stiff, hunched-up lump, a blundering wreck;
The only thing missing is a bolt in the neck!
“Get thee behind me shadow. Please, just go.
Where you’re leading me, I don’t want to know.”
So into the sun, with head down, I turn,
My eyes running, my face starting to burn.
That lurching monster must now trail behind;
I don’t want to see him, I’d rather walk blind.
‘Smile For The Camera - Mark Sayers 3/9/07 ©
Having a camera. - - stuck up one’s anus
Could be the in-thing to entertain us,
For there is nothing which matches the view…
As the probe crawls here and there inside you!
In subdued colour, which is such a boon,
They have high hopes for 3D very soon.
A Sigmoldoscopy is a real treat
And they reserve you the best front row seat.
Alfred Hitchcock - couldn't improve on this
And there is no way that I’d ever miss
Having a glimpse of my rectum and bowel:
Winding caverns flushed with pride, so not foul.
Endoscopy may seem rather a chore,
'I’m afraid Paul that you’ve drawn the short straw!’; (1)
Although it would drive me right up the wall,
The Queen’s Day Unit Staff don’t mind at all. (2)
Thank God there’s no creepy crawlies in there!
Can you imagine if you saw a pair
Of eyes; two cockroaches without a care,
Out for a stroll, so they get some fresh air?
Or for that matter, a few slurping slugs:
‘Smile fee the camera!’, with such ugly mugs.
Yet the best bit of news was still so come,
‘I’ll explore more and bore up from your bum:
A Colonoscopy should fit the bill,’,
One of the joys of being over the hill
Is one learns so much about one’s insides.
There are such charming staff giving free rides
Which concentrates the mind, without a doubt
And provides something new tp talk about
‘Come back to my place? A film of my bowel?
What did you say? You've now thrown in the towel!’.
Mr Sylvester wants more; that’s no crime.
It’s nice to know I'm not wasting his time.
Seeing the winds of change, more ways than one,
The fun’s begun once he pops his flash-gun!
Notes (1) Mr Paul Sylvester (2) Bristol Royal Infirmary
BLIND FAITH - Sandie Lloyd ©
"Bell," he murmured, quite low,
as if accustomed to her being near him,
and,
as if used to rapport between them,
was patient when no response came.
For a short time he waited,
and then said "Bell" again,
Louder, more urgent.
Still nothing happened.
The pause was shorter.
"Bell!" he called. "Bell!"
From my window I watched
his big, blonde, beautiful dog,
frisking.
She was completely oblivious that he,
on the edge of the common,
grew anxious.
He raised unsighted eyes
to where he thought she might be,
and tried harder.
"Bell, Bell, come along, girl, " he shouted,
his voice not quite under control.
Everything depended on her,
and she seemed to be so unmindful.
His blindness seemed to place limits on
what he had licence to ask or demand.
Finally he stood and twiddled her lead.
She seemed to remember his presence.
Bravely she broke free of freedom,
She put herself back in harness.
She could have stayed alone in a heaven,
but chose to share darkness with him.
His face, his world, lit up
when he felt her safely within his grasp.
"Good girl, good girl," he crooned ,
and patted her.
She, like God, didn't look back.
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL - Alan Summers ©
It’s like a barn, desolate bright, surrounded by the colour of heather.
Clouds on clouds move in on everything.
first swifts the sky turns back to its blue
I don’t know what ushers what first but…
rabbits
out of shadows
into sunlight
a wall hopping magpie
how can one be for sorrow
in any month
And why does a house feel just right, as if it belongs, and to who, and when, and why?
fading photos
the goldfinch tugs
at cobwebs
Haibun [prose+haiku - see definitions page] inspired by 'House on the Hill' by Helen Garrett
Oil on board (80cm x 70cm) Victoria Art Gallery exhibition:
Towards the Unknown (24 November - 13 January 2008)
The Holy Roller Coaster Ride - Lisa Saffron ©
I had a private session
with my guru yesterday.
about a little problem
that just would not go away.
I asked my guru for advice.
She gave a brief miaow.
This is what I asked her,
could you kindly tell me how,
How can I be happy,
find peace amidst the strife,
live each moment as sacred,
lead a blessed, holy life?
I told her I'm not lazy.
I'm committed. I have tried.
For years, I've been riding
a holy roller coaster ride.
My Yin I have strengthened.
My Yang has lost its violence.
With the Quakers, I have sat
in a Ghandian gathered silence.
With the help of the Grandmothers,
I cast the Net of Light.
I've awakened my Light-Body,
which gave me quite a fright.
I've saluted the sun and balanced my ki,
chanted in Hebrew, tapped to be free,
davenned and prayed to the Lord God above,
learned that miracles are an expression of love.
I've vibrated at top speed
for deliberate creation,
communicated non-violently
at the least provocation.
I've dutifully upheld the Law of Attraction,
even bent spoons with my mind
to my complete stupefaction.
My guru, she listened
without saying a word.
Then she yawned and she stretched
and she purred.
Yes she purred.
She curled up on my lap
and pointed both her ears
and allowed me to stroke her.
Well, I burst into tears.
All at once I felt happy,
free from stress and all that.
Because each moment is sacred
when you're stroking a cat.
The 99% - Rachel Dennis ©
The planet is beginning to sag
under the weight of humanity's greed
"More, more, more"
shout the manic hordes, grabbing the
plastic tat that ends up in landfill
Mountains of perfectly good clothes
discarded after being worn once,
twice or not at all
Food bought on a whim casually
tossed away as others trudge
wearily to the food banks
"We must have it," mumble the zombies
as, eyes glazed, minds numb, they
stumble along the glitzy malls where
shops full of mass produced rubbish
scream "buy me"
"I will take, take, take
what I want, want, want
with no thought for others"
yell the 99%
The planet can get stuffed because they will
have what they desire, when they desire it
The rest of us, the tiny 1%, do our best
as we shake our heads
watching the world wink out
The Seven Ages of Gran - Julie Boston 2014 ©
Sired
Admired
Inspired
Hired
Fired
Retired
Expired
January morning - Mary Lambert 2/13 ©
From my pillow, the morning is quiet.
The sound of silent movement.
I hear a shout and laughter, clear and crisp;
children are throwing snow balls as they walk to school.
In the street, harsh lines are muffled into swollen softness.
Only two charcoal tracks on the road contrast against the white,
and tell of ponderous journeys.
The garden is monochrome;
gone the verdant viridian and winter umber.
Bloated in a mantle of albescence
The January sun reluctantly shines through the leafless beech;
its beams mottled by the thickened twigs.
Crystals glint as its rays touch them.
The distant hills, rounded in a linen shroud,
just one small polar topped coppice stands out,
it’s kohl stems contrast against the gin sky.
It’s going to be a lovely day.