Lovebirds – Chris Hughes

When our eyes meet The lovebirds tweet

lovebirds

Many thanks to Chris Hughes from Shropshire for his entry to Voices. Chris is very passionate about poetry and has been writing for a number of years now.

Lovebirds

Your hand grips mine
Our minds intertwine
Two hearts beat as one.
When our eyes meet
The lovebirds tweet
Their tune plays on and on.
Initials etched in trees
You brought me to my knees
You span my head around.
For better, for worse
I can’t wait to traverse
My life turned upside down.
A love without fear
My feelings are clear
They’re written all over my face.
Our future together
We’ll be spending forever
Clinched in loves sweet embrace.

Chris Hughes, 36, Shropshire

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.

Nimbus – Luke Nutt

bright like an idea or a movement in dance

Luke Nutt is a university graduate with a passion for English and creative writing. He often draws upon personal experiences but decided to create ‘Nimbus’ in honour of a friend’s sister who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Thank you so much Luke for sharing your talents with Voices and entering the competition.

NIMBUS

a hair becomes ash
for fingers to play
to write a play.
crespucular in mood
but bright like an idea
or a movement in dance.
there is no snuffing you
no forcing you from the sky –
your cloud is as I say

                  your cloud.

mammoth of nimbus
you are no dowager
you live, sky blue,
sky and blue,
light hue on a damaged canvas.
and like the cloud’s tears feed
foliage;
it, too, feeds the stream
next to which we build cities,
churches, homes. keeping hope
remaining
hopeful
for the droplets
that contain
               you.

Luke Nutt

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.

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.

Sonnet – Atmosphere Hayden Van Zeil

At the edge, space is drawing near

Hayden Van Zeil is from Hayling Island and enjoys sport and reading. As part of his Duke of Edinburgh award, Hayden has decided to create poetry. He enjoys experimenting with different styles and genres. Thank you very much Hayden for sharing your work with us!

Sonnet– Atmosphere 

The atmosphere contains many layers,

Closest to life is the troposphere,

The sight of it can answer people’s prayers,

Blue as the ocean, shining like a chandelier.

 

Next to come is the stratosphere,

12 to 50 Km from the earth’s brittle crust,

If you voyage there, you’ll require space gear,

And one immense spaceship thrust.

 

3rd out of the 5 is the mesosphere,

Its purpose is to burn up the deadly meteorites,

Thank god were safe! Hand us a beer,

Shooting stars! What a stunning sight.

 

The Thermosphere is where the northern lights arise,

It is the largest layer of the earth’s atmosphere,

Thermo means heat, its Greek, that’s a surprise!

The distance from earth is 1.0570008 x 10-10 of a light year.

 

The last layer, furthest from earth,

At the edge, space is drawing near,

This layer has many uses and lots of worth,

Its name?… Exosphere.

Hayden Van Zeil, 14, Hayling Island

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.

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

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.

An Angry Old Lady – Rob Lowe

I battle every day

Rob Lowe is a keen and dedicated poet who has been crafting lyrics and prose for many years. We really appreciate his moving contribution which addresses the challenging issue of old age. Many of Rob’s poems have a ‘political thrust’ and have also been published. We thank him very much for ‘An Angry Old Lady’ and we are sure it will leave a lasting impression on you.

AN ANGRY OLD LADY

Two years in this Home

Where I do not want to be;

I had my own home once

But it got too much for me –

Though I was happy there.

Here, I am angry and sad:

I change my moods.

They say this is not good;

My son feels I am rude,

And thinks I am confused.

The things I say, though,

I do not always mean;

Yet say them anyway,

To keep them guessing.

It is only Polly:

That is what they say.

And I get to know

Items they would rather

Not put on show;

I am good at eavesdropping.

I battle every day,

While the others watch TV –

Get ready my retorts.

God knows what they enter

In their shift reports.

“How old are you?” they ask.

I take them to task

When they say: “You don’t look it.”

How do they decide

What my age is meant to look?

“Where are you going, Polly?”

Is another frequent question

When I head towards the door.

I wouldn’t mind so much

If “What are you going for?”

Was what they asked.

But they lack the sense for that.

The staff do their best, I know.

But they think me silly. And I am not!

“It is my sort of lunatic

Ensures they get their pay.”

Is what I tell my son. I wish he would stay.

Rob Lowe, Colwyn Bay

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.

Nursery Mares – Stuart Hardy-Taylor

my life was scarred forever and a more

Thanks to Stuart Hardy-Taylor for his humorous and witty contribution to Voices Poetry Blog and the competition. There is indeed a certain darkness in many of the stories and rhymes we are told when we are children. Stuart sums this up in a very clever way, and we are sure his excellent poem will make you smile. We really appreciate his unique offering.

Nursery Mares

Ever since I was a child, I’ve had horrendous nightmares 

Because of all the stories and nursery rhymes, like Goldilocks and the three bears   

And Hansel and Gretel and red riding hood 

witches and granny eating wolves, how could that ever be good 

And every night I would worry, unable to sleep  

Because I was so emotional and scared, about bow-peep and her sheep 

Expecting me sleep and stop crying, parents what were ya thinking, it begs all belief 

WHEN ALL I COULD SEE IN MY HEAD, IS A BRIDGE AND THE TROLL UNDERNEATH  

Jack and the beanstalk and the goose laying gold eggs  

But only thing i can remember, is the giant that wanted Jack for his bread 

And the three little pigs, i was petrified the wolf, would blow my house down, just like the one with the sticks 

And my life was scarred forever and a more, because Humpy dumpy would never be fixed 

And I’m not surprised I took drugs, come on, cows jumping over the moon 

The fox ate the poor ginger bread man, and the dish ran away with the spoon 

And the little dog laughed because he thought it was fun 

But I would cry and I’d weep for the little piggy that had none 

And little miss Muffet and that great bloody big spider 

Fancy telling me that as a child, that it came and sat down beside-her 

I never wanted to hear, about the old duke of York and his ten thousand men 

And especially the time that they wasted, just going up and down and again 

Putting all these things in my head, I didn’t think it was healthy or fair 

Oh the nightmares that I had, about the mouse in his boots, WHERE, there on the stairs 

But I’m going to bed now, and going to try and go sleep 

And you can do one bow-peep because I don’t care anymore about you or your bloody lost sheep  

GOODNIGHT 

Stuart Hardy-Taylor, Loughborough

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.