Till The Streetlights Come On – Kit Duddy

just as Didi passed to Pele

My Name is Mr Kit Duddy I am 72 yrs of age
a former housing officer and retailer retired.

I live in East Kilbride Scotland, married
with two children and six grandchildren.

My hobby is writing poetry and I have
a poetry page on facebook/ kitspoems.
I hope you enjoy this poem which was
inspired by a painting by Danny Abrahams,
shown by Cheshire Galleries on facebook
of young boys playing football in the
street as the streetlights came on.

Till the Streetlights
Come on

And we played the game
while the ball was there,
and our mothers were
sleeping in their chair.

Yesterday’s soiled, were on
the washing line, bairns in
their pram and dinner on the
mind.

Seated there to even a seam,
caught by exhaustion and love’s
young dream. Mills and Boon was
never quite what it seemed.

As the score climbed higher and
disputes were shed, united had
won but not time for bed, so best
out of twenty five instead.

Yet the smirr of rain that wet their
heads, never seems to dull the side
who’d led, and as mother scrambled
out to save her line, street lights were
out so all was fine.

Then the flicker of yellow crossed
the glass just as Didi passed to Pele
who scored the last.

Match ball was presented, the
owner took it home,
and more than the scoreline that
night had grown.

Kit Duddy
kitspoems.
Inspired by
The artist
Danny Abrahams
Cheshire Art Galle
Thank you for reading.

Kit Duddy

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Sarah Elizabeth Jones – John Gallas

Sarah Jones is knitting the sea

John Gallas : NZ poet living in Markfield, Leics. Published by Carcanet Press. Orkney St Magnus Festival Poet, translator and librettist.

Sarah Elizabeth Jones

Sarah Elizabeth Jones d. April 23rd 1960 aged 90

(Master Mariner Jones drowned 1907 aged 44)

Aberdyfi Graveyard Memorial

Sarah Jones is knitting the sea.

It purls

down

from her

house on the hill

like Golden Syrup

over the lych-gate

and the road,

the marram-dunes

and the salty

fifteenth

green.

O Captain Jones,

collect thy bones,

climb out of the sea

and climb the woolly hill to me.

I have been alone for fifty years,

and I am sick of tears.

Only the needles’ click clack click,

my teapot, and your walking-stick.

John Gallas, Markfield

Stir – Lisa Franklin

Everything changed with a phone call

Lisa Franklin is a poet and theatre maker based in the Midlands. Her work typically explores the relationship between nature & the digital and attempts to challenge the role of audience.

She is one half of theatre company; Gertrude & one piece of poetical music troupe; The Mechanicals. She is currently on tour with ‘The Righteous Jazz’ – a piece of theatre studying the life and works of poet Philip Larkin.

Stir

Always moving

House

To house

To house, to house, to house

To house

House

Everything changed with a phone call

Sent to Coventry

A trip to the hospital

Not moving

I couldn’t leave

And now,

I don’t want to

House to house to house to house

Home

Lisa Franklin

Pump – Steve Singleton

Two days in, confined to my room

Pump

Tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,

tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

The never-ending soundtrack, to my days

and nights.

Before, tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

I was free to roam unrestricted, unchecked, unrestrained.

But the more I hear,

tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

The more poison enters my system,

the more my world contracts.

First, confined to the ward,

tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,

A Prisoner in every room

each shackled to the wall.

Caged with their own fear and pain, unwilling to share,

anxiety etched on their faces.

Dead, flat eyes stare into their personal oblivion,

but not mine.

Tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,

I wake to the noise, but

as the ward awakens it slips to the back ground,

lurking unnoticed, overpowered by routine,

medic’s in and out,

trollies, squeaky shoes, conversation in hushed tones,

the hospital revving to reach a crescendo of noise.

Tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,

Poison, overwhelming my defences, it betters me physically,

it rips out my humour, my bravado

but not my determination.

I cling to ’this is temporary, it will pass’.

Two days in, confined to my room,

food I cannot face.

Tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

Three days in, all I can do is close my eyes, to hope in sleep

I reach a state, where waves of nausea

will not find me.

All to soon I visit Mr Armitage and Mr Shanks

who have seen it all before.

The day wains

tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a,

roars back.

Silence trying to creep through the hospital,

never quite snuffs out the sound.

Tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

Day five, the small hours, its contents discharged

the last bag hangs empty from my skinny friend.

The pump silenced, the rhythm stops.

No more,

tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a.

A few short hours, unmolested sleep follow.

Discharged home, a pale shadow who looks like me.

Empty, retched and exhausted, but

still standing,

unbowed,

still fighting.

Steve Singleton, North West London

The balance of our relationship – Kevan Taplin

I fell even lower

The balance of our relationship

In the beginning we hung like a Calder mobile

In perfect balance,moving slowly

Then shapes began to drop from your side

NO.

First the red triangle of passion fell, I plunged.

NO.

Now lower, trying not to see the imbalance

One more shape dropped from your side,

I fell even lower.

NO.

Finally the circle of trust fell.

The concept of balance was lost forever.

NO.

I plunge towards the toxic mercury fountain of bitterness

beneath me.

The balance gone forever…

Kevan Taplin

Lo(nley)ve – Anu

Until one night you said you’ll be back and I never saw you again

My name is Anu and I am 16 year old girl from South London, Bromley. I wrote poetry as a way to communicate, as an outlet, it’s my therapy and I enjoy sharing that with people.

Lo(nley)ve

The feeling you’re holding tightly onto something you feel you want and need.

The fact I can have you to myself and you’re my only excuse for greed.

To be with you, not without was my one hearts wish, to share with you that beautiful true loves kiss.

Because that’s what I thought you were, my one true love.

But you started to lose interest and ‘I love you’ became a phrase, is it something I did or didn’t do that got us into this phase?

After time went on I raised my concern and your reassurance would surely lead me on.

Until one night you said you’ll be back and I never saw you again,

So I sat and there to remain,

Ceased to complain.

Just got out a bottle of wine and drank the pain away.

Because I knew it would happen

I knew we’d get here to the end of this rollercoaster of emotion.

I never knew what love was until my Kingdom had no King.

the butterflies became bees and my heart began to sting

It was nice that for 5 minutes I endured love from someone, it’s bad it ended so quick.

So to never love again or never love the same?

Is what I have to pick.

Anu, Bromley

It is Spring – Melanie MacLennan

I will spoon-feed you peaches

I’m a 19 year old Literature student from the Highlands trying to fall back in love with writing and words.

It is Spring

If there is still a life

to be grasped at,

then Spring will

bring it to back

to you.

–

If there is still

a ragged breath somewhere

inside of that

chest,

then I will nurse

it quietly into a song.

–

I will tuck you in

and I will water you.

I will spoon-feed you peaches

and love

and open up the windows

again.

I will change the sheets.

I will keep you safe

until your suffering

falls asleep.

I will bring flowers

to the grave of

the person

that you were,

before you were

somebody that is really,

really

sick.

–

It is Spring and I

know that you think

that you’re dying.

–

It is Spring and

the April light is still madly

in love with your

delicate hairless

head, your

veins still

furiously alive beneath

tender skin pumping

drugs that will

break you before

they will build you.

Your sticky honey

hands still clenching mine;

your child. I am your child.

Your child.

–

On the worst days,

I will bring you entire

gardens of growth.

I will show you how

the earth unwraps itself

every single year to reveal

fresh layers of hope.

–

Listen, I know.

I know that you want

to die with dignity,

that you

want to write the profound

letters and sink

softly into the sky.

–

There’s no dignity

in digging yourself

an early grave.

There’s no dignity

in leaving me behind.

–

It is Spring and I

know that you think

that you’re dying.

–

But the birds fly quietly

through the clean blue air.

–

They come back home

again and weep

with joy and relief for

their matted wings,

and all of the

different places that there are

in the world.

–

And you watch them

up there,

in their small arrow formation,

from the dirty old window

beside sick bowls

and needles

and you laugh with amazement.

You laugh because you’re

still alive to see the

birds coming home.

–

It is Spring

and the grass has

never been this long.

The bees never so excited.

The sky’s bursting

and the plants are

singing, loud

and gentle.

–

It is Spring.

–

It is Spring,

and you still have

so much

growing to do.

By Melanie Maclennan

This Is How The Sun Will Destroy The Earth – KR Pearce

Seasons blur December daffodils

K R Pearce is a 44 year old Sussex born and bred Poet who has written both comedy, poetry and short stories throughout his life. From his late teens to his mid-twenties he performed around the UK both as a poet and with a band. He then shelved his performance poetry to only write for his own pleasure due to putting his family and work commitments first. His works have remained unpublished, but he now feels ready to embrace sharing his work again as part of his recovery from work related stress. Many styles and topics are covered including everything from politics and the economy through to the environment, demanding children to 1970’s cold war spies!

This is how the sun will destroy the earth:

Lithium ions
Taming lions
Solar farms
Spinning yarns
Combustion factory
Licking the battery
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Selling ice to the Eskimos
Before we know it
Hiding C02 emissions in our pocket Trading them to worldwide friends
To carbon neutralise
Into power socket credit
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Dead seaside towns
Hide Bedford ice cream vans
And high street tango tans
Taxed by the minute
But still Stacey glows
In her flannel clothes
Stepping in her credit limit
Like it isn’t dog shit
This is how the sun will destroy the earth

–
Palm tree oils
Massage developing worlds
Seasons blur
December daffodils
When autumn falls
Colour loss seen from satellites
As we take our weekly flights
This is how the sun will destroy the earth
K R Pearce 2020

The Autistic Princess – Melanie Jeffs

The love grows stronger, day by day

My name is Melanie Jeffs and I am 15 years old. I am in the process of a diagnosis for ASD and wanted to write a poem about how my boyfriend has helped me come to terms with who I am and own it rather than be ashamed of it.

The Autistic Princess

A lonely princess cries herself to sleep

Alone, nobody understands her ways

Her brain inside is like a puzzle or maze

Nobody can catch those tears she will weep

–
Food, lots of it, a new way to cope

The pounds pile on and clothes grow tight

It becomes an addiction, one she cannot fight

Nobody understands her, she’s lost all hope

–
But wait, a prince, with that same mind maze

Climbs up the tower with loving open arms

He reassures the princess with a voice that calms

And helps her escape the tower where she lays

–
He opens her up to a new way of life

Showing her what living is all about

She proudly speaks, and is never in doubt

The two fall in love and become man and wife

–
The love grows stronger, day by day

The princess hardly feels sad since,

She is accepting of who she is, thanks to the prince

She knows her true love will always stay

–
A journey of happiness has only just begun

Soulmates, two hearts, joint as one.

Melanie Jeffs

Heartbroken Addiction – Sarah Louise Rennie

replacing love with glass bottles God

My name is Sarah Louise Rennie, I recently graduated from Edinburgh Napier University after studying English Literature for four years. I have suffered since I was thirteen-year-old with Rheumatoid Arthritis which lead me to go down the dark road of depression. I understand a subject like this is very sensitive and might not be suitable for the poetry competition, but I have had a passion for writing all my life and if you cannot be honest in your writing then what is the point in making art?

Heartbroken Addiction

by Sarah Louise Rennie

Rip my heart out, replace it with liquor,

the way it burns down barley makes me quiver.

Not living, just existing, broken and numb without you,

replacing love with glass bottles God, I hope I pull through.

Replaying made-up fairy tales of you returning in my mind,

and me putting down the alcohol finally leaving it behind.

–

My joints are all swollen and so are my eyes,

I’ve tried to move on but I can’t seem to cut these ties.

So many hospital beds I’ve lay praying to wake to your face,

so many intimate relations, yet you I still can’t replace.

Bottles, pills and all these cheap thrills have nothing on your love,

still searching, still wondering why in the end I wasn’t enough.

–

Intoxicated on streets trying to blur out the past,

you were the one good thing in life, how stupid to believe it’d last.

I’m crippled, I’m on my knees, I’m shattered like broken glass,

struggling, self-medicating, my thoughts are racing, it’s way too fast.

My lungs cannot breathe, you’ve sucked out all the air,

Even now I know that you’re gone, I’d like to think you’d always be there.

–

Recovery from heartbreak, addiction, Lord I don’t think I’m ready,

everyone has got to start somewhere, even though they’re highly unsteady.

When you see light, you see hope,

and when you start to fight you begin to cope

So, I’ll go on and I’ll roll up my sleeves, I’ll show all my battle scars,

farewell to these substances of abuse no longer will they keep me behind bars.

Sarah Louise Rennie