That Day – Jackie Kirman

From the back of the church, it might be a normal service,

Special thanks to Jackie Kirman who is a Creative Writing Teacher with a passion for producing both poems and short fiction. Jackie has had some of her work published in the past and we really appreciate her kind decision to share ‘That day…’ with us.

That day…

we left in a hurry.

The rest in our wake,

break neck speed.

Holding hands, our three;

fingers enclosing fingers,

enclosing fingers.

Past the three

storey flats with

names scrawled

on dim-lit doorbells.

Past the long haired

cat, with its hanging

tail who circled

three times.

And our three

flowers, bruised

stems, bleeding.

From the back of the

church, it might

be a normal service,

but the congregation

slowly turned.

That morning…

I woke early,

the noise in my

head like a loose

storm door in a gale.

I dreamt

I had no legs,

just an old board

with wheels.

I thought I would

make a sign to hang

around my neck.

Jackie Kirman

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation. Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

Come Home to the Hearth – Judith Bristow

Bathe in fire’s glow

We really appreciate Judith Bristow’s fantastic submission to Voices. Judith is an amateur musician and Early Years Practitioner living in Helston, Cornwall. She loves writing poetry ‘inspired by the sea, the art and gift of storytelling, and human compassion.’ Thank you Judith.

Come Home to the Hearth

Come home to the hearth

Where your ancestors wait

To embrace you in

bearskin, wool, cotton and lace

The twilight seeks in

The day is all won

By you, or some other

No matter – it’s done

Sit down by the warmth

Bathe in fire’s glow

Tell your stories – or not;

No matter, they know

Rest your head on old shoulders

Feel your hearts beat in time

Trust in the wisdom

Of your constant guides

Open your hands

Let the love come back in

You are safe and beloved

Next the hearth with your kin

Judith Bristow

Carnival – Alyson Faye

jugglers juggle, tumblers tumble, stilt walkers stumble

Alyson lives in the UK, writing dark fiction and poetry, which has appeared on the Horror Tree site, in anthologies – DeadCades, Women in Horror Annual 2, Trembling with Fear 1 &2, Coffin Bell Journal 1.Her poetry has appeared on Words for the Wild, the charity anthology Indra’s Net, The Five-Two, Stories from Stone and as part of an ‘exquisite corpse’ poem on space and time magazine. She performs at open mics, teaches, edits and lives with her family which includes 4 rescue animals.

https://alysonfayewordpress.wordpress.com/

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Alyson-Faye/e/B01NBYSLRT

Carnival

Under the canopy of stars

garish side stalls huddle,

jugglers juggle,

tumblers tumble,

stilt walkers stumble.

Its beating heart – the carousel’s stable

of peeling painted steeds

froth and rear.

Candyfloss lips, sugar cane steps,

miniature Charlie Chaplins dance

eating liquorice shoelaces gripped in grubby fists.

Balloons,

tug, rip their tethers

stippling amber sky

in primary palettes. Pop guns burst,

hot dogs and liverwurst.

Behind black lace veils

Esmeralda, Palm and Tarot Reader promises

a long life, gentle dreams,

no savage losses, rich with Hope –

A Depression’s richest currency.

The carnies toss up guy ropes,

paint their faces, mutating

into clowns, gurning for the crowds.

Spinning their web of penny dreams and lies,

laying a patina across the dusk.

Alyson Faye

Anxiety – Robert Phillips

The battle may be long

Thank you to Robert Phillips for his poignant offering to Voices. Embarking on a course of Creative Writing has been a life-changing experience for Robert and we really appreciate his decision to share ‘Anxiety’ with us. A former lorry driver, Robert states that writing ‘has totally changed my life for the better and has opened up many new challenges and opportunities to me.’

Anxiety

Anxiety is not needed
It’s something you choose to allow
Pressure from outside you
Like a grenade waiting to blow

You build it up
Let it smoulder
Then some one else
Lobs another one
Over your shoulder
It waits for you to reach
Your lowest point
And primes your brain
With constant doubt

It’s not liberating or expansive
Binding you in mental chains
It’s insular and destructive
Only anxiety chooses when
The chains can be lifted

Try to talk to someone
Family or stranger
Try hard to converse
You need help to lift this
Damned anxiety curse
Surely sharing can’t make
Your life or feelings any worse

Anxiety makes you feel
Weak and very brittle
Knowing your supported
Builds your armour
Just a little

The battle may be long
But fight with all your might
It’s you that must crusade
To find your shining light
Knowing you lead the charge
Not a spectator in the middle
Make it dance to your tune
Because many a good tune
Is played on an old fiddle

You control it
Don’t let it control you

Robert Phillips, 56

Senses of Music – Steve Fordington

Music harmonises the universe

Steve Fordington is a North Norfolk poet, lyricist, musician and teacher. He has written poetry all his life as well as playing and teaching several instruments. He is an active member of a Norfolk poetry circle and regularly performs in bands, groups and orchestras. He has published many compositions and was a schoolteacher and manager for nearly forty years.

Senses Of Music by Steve Fordington

Music – you can’t touch.

Yet music lets you feel.

It’s from imagination.

Yet music is so real.

Music – you can’t taste.

And yet it stirs your soul.

One note, one chord, a passing phrase

Brings back what memory stole.

It helps recall the sights,

The smells and raw regrets.

It fixes a moment frozen –

A diary point time forgets.

For music is our backdrop,

Our wallpaper of being.

Our collective inspiration

Of loving, knowing, seeing.

Its entity exists alone,

Away from instruments and scores.

No crowded media imposed,

Nor locked away indoors.

And like an everlasting strain

Of all life meant and more,

Music harmonises the universe

For futures gone before.

Steve Fordington, North Norfolk

Just Another Street Encounter – John Cooper

a dance of comfortable acquaintance begins

John Cooper masterfully brings to life a chance meeting between two friends. John is a talented poet who has a gift for conveying observations vividly through the medium of carefully crafted verse. We are very thankful that John has decided to share his excellent work.

Just Another Street Encounter

Two old friends, perhaps neighbours,
greeting each other,
stand in the street below,
passing time in gossip and pleasantries.

A temporary meeting,
evolves to a longer dialogue,
as warming to their respective tasks,
laughter grows loudly.

During short pauses,
a dance of comfortable acquaintance begins,
led by each partner in turn,
prolonging this life interlude.

Then, once all chatter seems exhausted,
there is a cheery, but hesitant parting,
with expressions of mild reluctance,
to take up more mundane daily routines.

Oh me…

I am just the ‘net curtain observer’ of this scene,
not part or involved,
a voyeur of others connections,
returning to a private observance of a solitary role .

John Cooper

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation.

Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

The Tale of a Gentlewoman – Geraldine Tunstall

Her heart was sore

A special thanks to Geraldine Tunstall for her powerful submission to Voices and the poetry competition. Have you found your soul mate? The mysterious nature of love and the human need for companionship and appreciation is addressed masterfully in ‘Tale of a Gentlewoman’. We really appreciate Geraldine sharing this special poem with us.

The Tale of a Gentlewoman

All she ever wanted

was to give her heart to a deserving suitor

Her prized possession

had a little wear and tear

but was still fully functioning

Most wanted one with all the bells and whistles

but she was waiting for a man

that wanted an old antique with some charm

Her heart was sore

she didn’t know how to feel anymore

Lump in her throat, it was hard to breathe

wishing everyone would just leave

so much chatter in her head

trying not to see red

She heard the cries

and whispers in the wind

Not sure of which way she was going

she took a deep breath

and told herself it didn’t matter

as long as she didn’t stop

They met in a dark place

the shadows made it hard to see

So many times they stumbled

but patience and communication were key

She intently listened

held her hand out for him to find

Knew she should share her thoughts

as he couldn’t read her mind

Her face trembled

as the tears brimmed to the top

She’d been holding it together so long

she was ready to pop

She put on a brave face

as he pulled her close

Baby, what’s wrong?

tears streamed as if she’d just seen a ghost

Geraldine Tunstall

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation.

Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

When T Meets B – Erin Keeble

On a beach somewhere on a summer’s day…

We really appreciate Erin Keeble’s excellent submission to Voices and entry to the competition. This poem carries a very important message which comes as no surprise as Erin aims to move audiences and ‘capture their minds and hearts’. A student at the University of East Anglia, one of her poems was published in the prestigious ‘Armistice for Schools 100’ poetry competition (judged by Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy) and her work has also appeared in UEA’s Art-History Magazine. Erin is a passionate and talented lyricist who often takes part in poetry slams too.

When T Meets B

When T meets B there are firework sparks

T’s eyes dilate, above his beating heart

As he gets closer he begins to see How glamorous B is,

floating free

–

Her tall, slim body bathes with grace

The radiant sunlight upon her face

T can feel his body begin to shake

His mind is spinning, he feels wide awake

–

B stretches in the water and turns around

That’s it, T’s heart is bound

As B reaches and beckons with her slim white hand

T swims closer to the sand

–

He’s nearly there

It’s all too much to bear

As he sees the sunlight coat her cheeks

He shivers and buckles, his knees feel weak

–

As B reaches out her slender arm

T is overcome by her charm

He is sure her expression is one of love

Her pale body floating like a dove

–

But when their hands lock her nails are sharp

Like the small jagged teeth of a carp

He struggles but now it is too late

The carp has won, it has its bait

–

Pain encircles him and he is overcome

His head is hurting, his legs feel numb

He looks once at the ocean before glancing with dread

At the white entrapper spinning her web.

–

On a beach somewhere on a summer’s day

Fate dropped B the bag and she washed away

There to stay

And not decay

–

Didn’t think of T the turtle swimming by

In the ocean, under the azure sky

It was dawn when he suddenly wondered why

There was something so beautiful floating by

But he had to die

Why?

–

Because this love he thought he’d felt so strong

He’d actually got it all very wrong

For B the bag was a web of lies

She had got T the turtle mystified

–

Her beautiful exterior and fantastic shape

Hid what lay under her pretty white cape

T the turtle had made a mistake

But he hadn’t realised until too late

–

But if B the bag had found B the bin

T wouldn’t have suffered what fate chose for him

And then T would still be swimming, and free

This was the story of when T met B.

Erin Keeble, University of East Anglia, Norwich

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation.

Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

The Way It Used to Be – Bernie Bickerton

I remember when only spiders had a Web

Special thanks to Bernie Bickerton for this sharp-witted and reflective offering. Can you remember those halcyon days before mobile phones and the internet? Bernie loves reading and writing poetry, and her passion certainly shines through in this brilliant piece – ‘a tongue in cheek view on the evolving use of language.’

The Way It Used To Be

I remember

When tweeting was only for birds,

When Kindle was only firewood,

When Windows were only looked through.

–

I remember

When dating required a meeting,

When Followers walked with Jesus,

When a hundred Friends was a demo.

–

I remember

When only spiders had a Web,

When only churches had an icon,

When only Hitchcock had Angry Birds.

–

I remember

When “to pin” was to prepare a hem,

When to Excel was to do well,

and I remember,

when you had a sunny Outlook.

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation.

Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.

The Decimation – Xavier Coughlan

under the guise of playing saviours

We are extremely grateful for the talented Xavier Coughlan’s offering to Voices, and we appreciate his support. Xavier is a student who often chooses to address the theme of mental health within his poetry. Eloquent, profound and thought-provoking, we are very fortunate that he has decided to share ‘The Decimation’. Thank you Xavier.

The Decimation

Berkshire. A high-security psychiatric hospital designed by architect Joshua Jebb to accommodate Britain’s most elusive and intuitive.

An assembly of ten,

unburdened by morals,

gathered one fierce night

to float suggestions

of a solution –

to fabricate subtleties

in catastrophe

and solve

what makes you man.

–

These mighty ten

had been convened

by fate and a sectioning law,

and together round a table,

crafted by Joseph’s son himself,

the group disputed your future.

–

The Richest clanged

for an annihilation;

the demolition of a continent

blessed not by wealth,

but by culture,

and all the economics

heritage entails,

under the guise

of playing saviours.

–

One proposed a decimation

and advocated it by tying a noose

and swaying from the hands of

Our strongest

and jiggling to the pain of their

blood-crossed hands.

–

We were subdued by two thoughts

in watching him dangle:

admiration for not being formulaic

in not using the flush of lighting;

and the eulogizing of his manifesto

in watching its flair unfold.

–

He was right.

That night, we shared his Lithium,

grinding the pills

into equal amounts –

complying with the cadaver.

Decimation was the future.

The decision had been made.

They bid farewell and set off

to tackle the execution.

Pax vobiscum

Xavier Coughlan, Pewsey, Wiltshire

Did you enjoy this poem? Why not visit Maggie’s website at: Maggie’s Centre Nottingham to find out more about their exceptional work and/or make a donation.

Do you have a poem you would like to submit to Voices? Feel free to do so by email at: voicespoetry@outlook.com or via the ‘Contact’ page on this site.