January February 2016 Faces and Places · From the estate agents handout it is now an Elegant downstairs cloakroom and shower. I give it a miss and pause instead with my hand Poised

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Memories

As you turned the corner I saw the glint in your eye,

It made me smile as you passed on by.

Then stood by the door was a face I thought I knew from before,

I had to turn take a second look,

Tis funny how all those memories come flooding back to me.

The hands of time run fast and another year is passing on by,

But all those memories of those days gone by live in a special place inside.

Tis hard to recollect all those faces that have caught my eye,

But those ones that looked sad,

I know made my heart cry.

Those of joy that made my heart smile,

I look back on and dream a while.

And those that looked empty, I wished I could have coloured with joy.

But it was those ones that wore a smile and who's eyes shined bright who truly cap-

tured my heart and filled it up with delight.

Then all those old faces that held their memories of days gone by in their eyes,

Captured me in a spell, with all their stories they had to tell.

And all those little faces that beguiled me with their smiles,

Those faces so innocent and true,

Captured my heart and filled it up with love anew.

And with a tear in ones eye I have waved a few faces goodbye,

But they are in a place in my heart,

Where they will stay, wrapped up in love until my dying day.

Pauline Price


Stormy Days England the land of hope,

Holds its head up high once more,

As winter storms blows at its doors,

Tides rise and swell,

Rivers cry for miles,

Tears of confusion ,

As walls and bridge’s fall on by

And the water rushes on in and says, “Hi”.

Tis sad to watch the people cry

But they are of British steed,

And one knows they will take their place among the rest and carry on and do their best.

And among all the horror that sits in front of thee

They will rise above it all and smile in the face of adversity.

For tis their home, their land, the place they want to be,

British through and through,

Hearts filled with courage and love ,

They will wave away their sorrow,

And welcome in a new tomorrow.

Pauline Price


ORBITAL CONGESTION An endless quest of going nowhere

Sitting in a pointless queue

Fumes and anger overspilling

Wheels no motion block the view

Anti-clockwise like a car park

Without tickets four lanes wide

Perfect strangers late for dinner

On this tour there is no guide

Eyes wide open watching nothing

As the minutes tick on by

Every day a total outcry

No-one close to answer 'why'

Where's the person who can fix this

In an office that's our man

If he's caught in all this traffic

Hope he has a travel plan

One lane closed and then another

Causing chaos somewhere new

Someone's job to make us suffer

Do they really have a clue

Now that daylight is fast fading

There must be another way

I can only dream of moving

Going nowhere that's today

Judy Clegg


WINTER OF MISERY Waters rising day by day

Without help the people stay

No-one listening to their sigh

No-one hearing as they cry

Weeks of misery left alone

Time has come for them to moan

Stop the talking hear their plea

Now their river is the sea

Not for them a falling tide

No dry land to run and hide

Tidemarks now on every door

Mud and grime upon their floor

So next time it starts raining

Don't close your ears to those complaining

Send some help don't let them wait

Now it's there it's come to late

Judy Clegg


CONVENIENTLY ABSENT

You sit alone,

neglected,

in your study-room,

day after day

the well of tears drains away,

spirit of life

parched for lack of sustenance,

turned off

the sounds of harmony and rhythm,

space emptied of meaning.

They, once hearth and home,

drive you out

into barred solitude

under the same roof

on separate, adjacent lines,

no longer loved as yourself,

become scandalous

to the strangers in your midst,

today conveniently absent,

at work or school or church.

Now prepared

the means of exit with care,

nothing left to chance or change of mind,

letter lies open, clear - out on the desk,

they may read its explanation,

take note,

or pretend it never appeared at their home.


You rise from a seat,

irksomely comfortable,

with steel-eyed resolve possessed,

all to be done as planned,

gathering the journey’s materials,

leave a space,

to descend dim-lit stairs

into sudden, self-created vacuum.

Graceful you are

as an angel

through to the empty garage,

armed stool, waiting for you,

in the centre of a circle of fire,

to step into the breach and fall.

WILL DRAKE


LOVE, OUTLAWED

We have met sordidly

under cover for groping love,

outlawed and shamed

by blinding ignorance,

cried silently

into our cold shoulders,

solitary, thinly defended

survivors of rank discrimination,

lived a secret dream

behind dim, closed doors,

to come out into shadows

for momentary tenderness,

away from the distant anonymity

of people’s going to and fro

without conscious and premeditated

touch or feeling.

We crave each others' hearts

in the fiery embrace of companionship,

knowing our times of being together

must be snatched

from a relentless routine,

in the hope for better circumstance,

before violent waves threaten

to overwhelm our small oasis of guarded peace.

WILL DRAKE




David Bowie

Star Man took the train

to be with Major Tom

no longer waiting.

In the sky. The stars

look very different

today.

Chrissie Morris Brady


HEAVENLY STAR DUST

There's a star in the heavens

from a world blessed with fame

with stardust of Ziggy

we all know his name

Laughing gnomes and the glam rock

the idol of mods

the star of the big screen

top of the pops

There's a writer of lyrics

musical zest

makeup and artwork

master on stage

His songs played the juke box

the old hit parades

fashion setter trendier

music ablaze

world stage and live aid

with jagger in tow

his musics in history

tops of the show

He was a creator of love songs

admired by his fans

his medleys are legend

the song and dance man

Raymond Wills


Fishing Forecast

He was a Viking in his forties.

Tyne after tyne he asked me out

For a German Bight

And a couple of drinks at the Portland.

Aftter mullin and malin it dover

I said yes. He picked me up in his renovated Humber.

He in his Fair Isle jumper and I in my fastnet stockings.

Over drinks he told me he liked the outdoor life.

I worried he might be a dogger

But he said he was a fisher,

We ordered Dover Sole.

I told him I got my fish from South East Iceland.

“Would you like a Bailey’s with your pudding, Shannon?”

I said yes. Later I wished I hadn’t.

(I had to work on Lundy)

We had a faeroe time. He was a bit of all Wight.

“Come to Roskilde with me,” he said

And we can Rockall weekend.

I’d say the general synopsis is good.

Jill Barr


Postcard from Cornwall

Land of horizontal rain.

Landscape like a big bloomer,

Cracked and crevassed at the rim,

Houses and people nestling within.

Moors shrouded in mist,

I realise my shoes leak

As we stride out to see

Prehistoric stones which loom into sight,

The Hurlers, three circles interlock,

Trevethy Quoit, a little house of stone

With a massive outsized capstone .

Only a giant could have hauled that into place

At Polzeath a wide bay and headlands.

Waves lash the rocks and a lone surfer

Struggles ashore.

Families beachcomb in macs and wellies.

At Trebetheric where Betjeman lit his

First fag of the summer

We enter the tiny church

Like a ship at sea in the golf course’s

Rolling emerald ocean.

Its wonky spire points

Roughly heavenwards.

St Enodoc’s stab at converting

The pagan Cornish.


On a rainy Sunday we stagger Around a blustery headland. The sea below snarling white foam. Lone seagulls and choughs buffeted By Atlantic winds. Then off to Rock to climb six Flights of stairs And relax in the deeply carpeted splendour Of Nathan Outlaw’s hotel. Saffron soup, mackerel tart, rhubarb sorbet. The rest of the day Lost in papers and a calorific blur The essence of Cornwall is elusive. That’s why we always Want to go Back. Jill Barr


YOUR FACE

When I close my eyes I see your face

It was so full of beauty and of grace

A face so trusting and so sublime

Wrinkled and worn throughout time

A face that calmed the strongest wave

A face that always seemed so brave

That face so pure with love it seems

You're always with me in my dreams

A face to me that was like no other

That face could only be my mother

Patricia Taylor


MY PLACE

I live in a place where the sun always shines and people are happy not sad

Where love and praise go hand in hand and nothing is ever bad

Where children smile and play all day and always sleep at night

Where grass is green and flowers bloom and everything's alright

Where neighbours smile and help each other and never ever fight

Where roads are free from traffic and the day is always bright

Where no-one sees a doctor or ever has to take a pill

Because they are all pain free and no-ones ever ill

This heavenly place where no-one goes isn't a place to dread

The saddest thing about it is it's all inside my head

Patricia Taylor


Viewing a House

The door , still obstructed by that thorny rose

That rampled over it, blossom bright only in June

The inner door, its coloured glass that glowed,

Reflecting bright patches on the passage floor.

The wallpaper, just the same square patterned

Anaglypta I used to make different designs in

My head. It's still that dull magnolia colour.

The hall stand, Edwardian red polished wood

With long curling brass coat hooks, is gone.

We bought it at Louis Johnson's sale room

(Also gone). At the end of the passage after

The dog leg of stairs, the old pantry, with its

Wire mesh meat safe, its jars of salted beans

And pickled beetroot, is also gone. I see

From the estate agents handout it is now an

Elegant downstairs cloakroom and shower.

I give it a miss and pause instead with my hand

Poised on the handle of the back kitchen door.

Seeing the big black fire oven that went before

They did. Who could have had enough space

For that big square red leather backed chair

That could hold me warm and comfy on winter

Mornings when the frost flowers bloomed

At night on the inside of my bedroom window,

Wait to welcome me back on my shivering,

Red-fingered, already dark returns from school.?

So here, I give up. My courage abandons me.

I do not open that door, better by far to

Leave in tact those illusory ghosts that wait,

Mam, surprised but rushing to boil the kettle,

Dad ready to clasp me tight into

The unshaved stubble of his chin.

Margaret Riches 21-01-2016


A Love Friendship

Oh a love friendship, seasoned, mature, integral and sound:

it can be done; the split heal; the single life resume.

The first early time has passed away

like mist when sun in gold

and white seethes through the morning haze,

dissolves it by a warm touch; so the old will fade, the new

arise, not better, not worse, but in a different form,

a new form, a living life,

a willing bond single in one life.

The old songs still sing to us: Red Red Wine when James Berry came,

Got a Good Thing Going equates Silvia Kantaris

Carole Anne Duffy and John Fairfax

with that first beginning;

that Springtime of our lives together

when I Just Called to Say I Love You by Stevie Wonder

became a hit, when you phoned me from Hamwick in Hampshire

as friendship grew into love

and love gave us these songs, those good times.

So it was in the time of the morning sun that we gazed

upwards holding hands in adulation of our creation,

for what we made now shone within us.

This love was born, a love

that formed a friendship everlasting.

Oh the stars flickered above the stream in the dark valley,

and dawn burst open like a flower on the hill-side bracken.

A wild duck quacked good-morning, good day.

Then low flew the black crow.


The hours the days the weeks the years sped past with clouds and shadows

and intermittent sunbeams till all seemed smooth again.

An old door with a new look opened,

inviting, then slammed shut.

The black crow in the North Wind proved right.

But I also saw a white dove prophesying peace that day,

and horses had not the colours of the apocalypse.

Yet it’s a friend I’m wanting more

than I did yesterday.

More than I did yesterday I pursue contentment.

The boat that drifted from its moorings returned on the tide:

it has a name, and that name is Hope

and hope creates the ‘new’:

and this boat can be a flying boat

that can lift you into the jet-stream of ‘inspiration’.

It descends gently; brings the joy of soil and love forward.

You step out, transformed, yet down to Earth.

And so I wish it were, that we, reformed, might be two waves

that ride together in our activities, share our dreams

but not one bed, for this is different,

this is a love friendship.

Yet we still have a bond symbolised

by wedding rings, and these we ought to wear to show the world,

and know between ourselves, we have this contract, this bond,

this gold of the morning sun.

What do you think? Shall we wear our rings?

John Neville Jarrett


Homeless

I'm Tommy the tramp in Taunton, the nicest person you could meet

But please stop hating me, because I permanently live on the streets

Sitting outside a Charity Shop, feeling lonely and poor, oh what a pity

Watching people buying luxuries and food with their money in the city

Intending not to offend people and smell, there's nothing I can do

I only wish I could have a nice hot bath or shower just like you

The people who walk past and laugh at me are horrible, it's not funny

I'm only trying to find food and shelter, but I haven't got enough money

I suppose rummaging through bins for food makes me look weird

Well I am homeless, wearing tatty clothes, with long hair and a beard

I sometimes take a little walk around during my restless days and nights

Just to get some exercise, and to admire the many popular sights

There are times, when I'm out on the streets, I start to feel sad

Because I miss the warmth of being at home with my Mum and Dad

When it comes to this time of year, I really hate sleeping rough

Because it's cold and wet, and keeping in the warm and dry is tough

Especially when I wake up one morning freezing cold and drenched

After having slept out all night in the pouring rain, on a park bench

I prefer the summer, with shorter nights, even if they're hot and sticky

Because I don't sleep shivering, even if it's uncomfortable and tricky


Sometimes people are kind to me, giving me their spare change for food

Then I won't have to without, and I'll be in a much better mood.

I just dream at night and pray, that one day God will guide me home

So I can get off the streets to find my own place, and live on my own.

by Ollie

Documents

January February 2016 Faces and Places · From the estate agents handout it is now an Elegant downstairs cloakroom and shower. I give it a miss and pause instead with my hand Poised