The March Gale – Alan Taylor

Jagged shafts of air slam against my face

Just discovered this poem which I composed several years ago when I retired and I briefly joined a poetry writing group.

The March Gale

The harsh wind drives dancing reeds to frenzy

Steaming hills cascade clouds over rocky crags

Down in the valley

Shards of sunlight are scattered to distant horizon

Each exposing a litter of glittery debris

Which flickers briefly

Then is covered by the shadow of raging clouds

Jagged shafts of air slam against my face as

I struggle upwards onto flat moorland

Where a spinning, screaming maelstrom batters my senses

And leaves me clinging to the edge of the world

Alan Taylor

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Spot – Stephen Holloway

Some hours later the spot is still present

I’ve been writing a mixture of things for some ten years and been thinking about writing these things for a lot longer. I wrote a lot as a child and then life blocked my way. The construction industry sapped my creativity, although as a plasterer (which I believe is the only creative trade there is) I had time to think as the wicked stuff began to set. I continue to be set in my ways.

Spot

Taking everything into account, it marred the face

Whichever way you looked

Holding the mirror to one side, or the other

Fixing the angle below the chin

One slight squeeze wouldn’t hurt

It should be ignored, as the experts say,

It could take weeks to go away

More slight squeezing to the region

Blighted the area to a shade of crimson

It now resembled an active volcano

Infected with a molten puss

That spat and sprayed and stayed for days

Don’t keep touching – it may spread

If it gets worse, take to your bed

Firstly – wash the area thoroughly

Then moisturise with a well known product

Apply the face pack to an inch thickness

Look in the mirror

Cry

Some hours later the spot is still present

Its presence is resented

Staying indoors for a month is an option

Or finding out where the balaclava is hiding

Shopping online is, of course, the way forward

Make friends with a neighbour

Remove the mask

Look at the mirror from a distance

Futility and resistance

Call a friend who has acute acne

Ask what they’d do in such desperate circumstances

The long tone of being cut off

Look out of the window, but catch a reflection

Of the offending appendage

Turn on the wireless – more bombs in Syria

Always more trivia

Stephen Holloway

Quality of Life – Sarah Ellen Macdonald

the song of coming Autumn

I am Sarah Ellen Macdonald, I am a grandmother, mature graduate and performance artist, I was also a long term carer for my late husband. In 2010 I joined Meldreth Tavern Gallery Writers to explore my inner voice and make a little time in a demanding and difficult life. Some of my work has been published in their anthology (Blurb Books 2012) More recently I have returned to live in Scotland where I still write.
The verse I have chosen to send is called Quality of Life was written in 2014.

QUALITY OF LIFE

Daily, my herculean task,

To liberate you from

the prison of yourself,

whilst accepting with love

your body as it fails,

denying it the gaolers key.

Freeing your mind

to plan our days;

In meadows beside the river.

Of sunshine sand and sea.

Or under dappling canopies

of gossiping Beech trees,

Whose fluttering leaves whisper

the song of coming Autumn,

on a soft Westerly breeze.

I can bring you the sweetest scent

of newly opened tulips,

redder than the sunset.

I can give you the gold

Of the freshly mown straw,

drying in the sun.

The gift of Autumn leaves,

falling gently earthwards.

The sharp sweet taste

of homemade jam,

fruit of the village orchard

and the wild bordering wood.

The nip of snowflakes on the tongue.

The laughter, carols and bells

of an icy Christmas eve.

Sarah Ellen Macdonald

Where There’s Flame There’s the Rocks and the Sea – Benjamin Heinig

Gannets chattering like a full orchestral ensemble

I write poetry for a hobby and write about the land, the environment, travel, places, spirituality etc. As a Self Employed Gardener, a keen walker and enjoy cooking and baking, I have been writing poems for about 15 years.Previously had a poem of mine “To Be Usually Green” printed in the Kindred Spirit Magazine January/February 2019 issue.

Where There’s Flame There’s the Rocks and the Sea

Written By Benjamin Heinig 31st August2019

Where there’s flame there’s fire

Where there’s fire there’s fury

Whether wintry cold with frost and snow

Candles burning 12 of Advent Show

Whether friends or family

Work or joy

To the Bass Rock I GO

Gannets chattering like a full orchestral ensemble

Yet a storm at sea with heavy rain, haar mist and a gale force wind

At The Rocks Hotel Dunbar Scotland

A family evening meal sat in the Medieval Dining Room with red painted walls

Sat around a long dark varnished wooden table

With a large blazing bright fire in the long and old stone fireplace

With Scottish landscape and pictorial paintings on the walls

Candles and candlesticks dotted about

Chasing shadows into the night

Looking out of the rustic windows

At the sea only a hundred metres away

It seems so nostalgic

A magical experience

There’s a Kindling Kindred Spirit of Saint Nickolas coming down the fireplace chimney

It must be Christmas Eve Night

To be woken up the next morning with delight

A blanket of snow sparkles in the morning sunlight

Benjamin Heinig

Tough Love or Love is Tough? – Jada Leigh

I refuse to give up on us, as it is well worth the fight

My name is Jada and I am a third year student at The University of York. I am currently studying social work, although I hold a passion for English literature.

Tough Love or Love is Tough?

Jada Leigh

It is inevitable that all relationships tend to blossom at the start.
Then instantaneously things just begin to fall apart.
Accepting the temporary feeling of being abandoned all in the dark.
I have acknowledged that love is not easy and clearly not a walk in the park.
If he expresses that he loves me and I am of significance to his life.
Then may I ask why a plethora of tears have streamed down my face this night.
Recollecting my thoughts and evaluating my emotions, how can this despairing feeling be classified as right?
I hope our relationship is not a façade, although things appear to be coming to light.
I guess it is normal for the spark to sporadically disappear, meaning the relationship may not seem as bright.
It is time for us to put our pride aside, therefore put your shining armor back on and begin to be my knight.
I refuse to give up on us, as it is well worth the fight.
I am a true believer that time is a healer, maybe years on we will experience baby fever.

cannot wait for the day that we feel our blessing start to kick.
Knowing that you’ll be the father of our kid is of pure bliss.

Jada Leigh, York

Love Corner – John Rabenheimer

Today we will paint violet and orange

LOVE CORNER

A scurry of quiet voices.

We are on board the morning train.

Leafless trees and brambles

brush the sky.

Today we will paint violet and orange.

The horizon revolves slowly

its opposing way,

It’s like the rim of an artist’s palette;

that tower is his thumb poking through.

How awesome is our Artist supreme.

Far more beauty in this world

than the sum of ugliness.

I’m heading for the hospital;

a small matter, but not for my family.

Went into a little shop

to buy pen, notebook,

so I could write this down.

The man behind the counter hunted

every corner. Sorry, he said,

take mine.

John Raubenheimer, Settle, North Yorkshire

To What End – Elen Hughes

a shadow of a memory

To What End

Chop me up and share out the pieces

My flesh is the giver of life;

it was selfish of me to cling to it for all these years.

Of what remains

Burn it. Bury it. Chuck it in the bin.

Leave it to waste and

Remain

only so long as time

In a form

of sorts.

And all the rest means more

(or less?)

To whom it may concern

To whom it may provide

a shadow of a memory,

a ripple of what once was,

a comfort in the remembrance of fondness.

A sham.

The next is not to be dealt with

Or dished out or examined.

It is to be

pure and unfiltered in its falsehood,

naturally poisoned and distorted,

in that way –

Time’s specialty.

Hovering in your mind, interrupting your stories,

somehow more prominent now

Skirting at the edges of your vision,

Buzzing at the window,

not quite me

more than I am

(or less?)

Until

you

too

Elen Hughes

Neuroplasticity – Amy Ndubeze

The trees snake their roots around your waist

Neuroplasticity

Instead of of rose-tinted glasses, you had them swapped out for a thin permanent film

I’m not sure when you got it fitted

But I know no child should excuse what you excused

Cheeks stinging and you whisper

I love you, I love you

Nose bloody

Forgive me, forgive me

The trees snake their roots around your waist

Keeping you stable

(keeping you from running)

Snake their way into your brain, and you rot, as expected

Decaying wood used to keep the fire going

Flames become you, for being alight is the only life you know

If dulled out who are you?

What is a life without pain?

Pain is a mother and she nurtures you

Pain is a sister who playfully belittles you

Pain is a father who gaslights you

So of course it was always your fault

Neuroplasticity

A neat word you learnt in class that made you realize that no matter how many tablets you take

No matter how many therapists you see

It will always be you

The feral child will bark until she dies

And so shall you

Amy Ndubeze

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

Becoming – Amanda Steel

And now I’m changing From the little girl you knew

Becoming

Amanda Steel is the author of the poetry collection “Pieces of Me” and several novels. She is also the editor of Printed Words and co-host of the podcast “Reading in Bed”. Her website is www.amandasteelwriter.com We really appreciate Amanda’s support.

Becoming

I was still talking

Even though I had paused

And had more I wanted to say

I only blinked and missed

What you wanted to say

Now you’re missing it all

I haven’t turned out yet

I’ve still got a way to go

I was still talking

There was more to say

Even though I had paused

And now you won’t get to see

But I hope that you know

I hope you hear now

So that when we meet again

I won’t be a stranger to you

I was still talking

And now I’m changing

From the little girl you knew

I don’t know what I’ll become

But I’ve plenty more to share

And I can’t be who I was

I’m still turning out

Into whatever I’ll come

Amanda Steel