The poems are extracted from our anthology “A decade of writing 1997—2007 ”.
Here are examples of poetry from some of our members.
George & Mary
They still have their thick woollies on from the January sales
Although it is now June
and has been, thus far,
an unnaturally tropical year in Warrington.
The suit was ten bob with a pin tuck shirt and pure wool tie throwed in.
Marys coat, twice that but astrakhan
had a lovely swing when she walked up the street.
They always felt the cold see.
Their legs was four fat wall hangings of corned beef
Their noses was blue Victoria plums
Their eyes was watery and shot with blood vessels and
The warm clothes embraced them like the fond grandchildren they never had
and as they lay on
the municipal beach that council had slewed out of derelict Lewis’s store
to bring tourists in
Asleep they went.
George – the man – dreamt of giant hot pies that flew through the air
Shot down for your dinner
Mary – the woman – dreamt of Victor Mature and Richard Burton
bickering about which one would take her for a drink
after the premier of
When they woke up 45 minutes later
the artificial tide had come in and was lapping at their
and it was time to go.
She looked at the Town Hall clock and
He flagged down the bus and
they were gone –
shuffling down the street, shaking off the builders sand like
a pair of Colditz escapees.
Thank God for me, for you, for us
For the 4.30 train and the 5.15 bus
Thank God for the storm that created the crash
Thank God for the peanut that started the rash
Thank God for the ambulance driving in tandem
Thank God for the names on the list, sorted random
So P was with A and B was with Q
Johnston with Richards – me with you
Boils with burns, aches with gashes
Sprains with ulcers, breaks with rashes
All gathered together in casualty
Thank God for my desperate need for a wee
Thank God for the handbag that slept on the floor
And the stumble, the shame, the reddening jaw
Thank God for the Sister who rushed to the aid
Of a broken boned man and allergic old maid
Thank God for her presence of mind at that time
That enabled dual treatment – yours and mine
Thank God for the hurried exchange of addresses
And all the good things that such haste progresses
The smile, the look, the follow up letter
Thank God for our lives – ahhhhhh, that’s better
For Fred and Bet, a holiday meant a caravan
Somewhere on the Western coast, and once the Isle of Man.
For Fred had always said that they could not afford
(even if they’d wanted one), a holiday abroad.
So Bet was quite delighted when Fred broke the news
They’d celebrate retirement with an Eastern Cruise.
At last! A chance to see the places she’d only seen in books
Pyramids, Oases, Mosques, Bazaars and Souks
To hear a Muezzin call in a Cairo street,
To feel the warmth of desert sun and sand beneath her feet.
That night she dreamed of Egypt, sailing down the Nile
With Omar Sharif in a felucca, Cleopatra style.
Next morning she could not resist going into town
In the Oxfam shop she bought a lovely evening gown
(a necessity for dinner serviced upon a cruise)
Some sun block, sunspecs, and a pair of pretty summer shoes.
That evening, sitting by the fire, said a happy Bet
“Fred dear, have you applied for our passports yet?”
“Passports?” said he, “We don’t need those for our trip afloat
We’re cruising east from Gas Street in a narrow boat.
Along the Coventry Canal we’ll cruise, and we’ll explore
Places in the Midlands that we’ve never seen before!”
Fred never understood why Bet screamed till she was hoarse,
Then packed her bags and left him, and is suing for divorce.
|After The Tornado
Barriers stretch from kerb to kerb
An unfamiliar eerie silence.
Busy roads now traffic empty
But for lines of parked white vans.
The whine and whirr
Of chainsaw motors
Swiftly slice uprooted trees
Disturb the peaceful afternoon.
Shattered windows, blown out doors
De-roofed houses sporting covers
Red and blue and gaudy orange
Look like mushroomed market stalls.
People calmly moving rubble
Stacking doors and window frames
Bits of fences, strips of flooring
Onto bonfire looking piles.
The little park where once we played
Was closed, deserted, silent, bare.
The trees we climbed, when kites got tangled
Lay flat, exposed, plucked from the ground.
A man stopped by, with broad white smile,
‘Come to see our big Disaster
I was shopping, sky went dark
I hurried home before the storm.
Turned the key in my front door
It wouldn’t open, wind so strong
I pushed and pushed till I fell in
Thank God I’m safe, we’re all alive.’
Any comments, errors or problems please contact the
|Copyright © 2005—2018 Wythall Writers Group. All rights reserved.