Eileen Earnshaw
THE EASTER GIFT
Today, I received a gift,
unexpected, amazing.
I had no thought of need until,
there, from the fold of slate and gutter
a Robin sang. The tiny chest pumped twice as big
his song of triumph filled the garden.
the chicks were hatched, safe, at last.
There commenced such a coming and a going,
such a fluff of feathers, such a commotion.
A rapture of cherry blossom covered the flags,
Hellebores, lifted their sulky heads,
Offered their scattered petals for the coming.
Susan Gash
HAPPYNESS
No purpose in pursuit
For it will be gone
Before you draw near.
Over your shoulder
Just out of sight
Beyond reach.
Instead stand quite still
To lure the elusive
And fleetingly embrace ephemera.
Michael Higgins
Happiness is:
Getting through April with Chaucer’s pilgrims;
Not getting mired in Eliot’s wasteland
Where April is cruellest and thorny roots
Clutch keen legs slimy in stony rubbish,
And souls sink in self-isolation’s gloom.
No! Getting through April with its showers that
Did not come until the merry month of May
Like Chaucer’s pilgrims dashing on their way
To Canterbury with the goodly gentle knight
Fresh from the wars and his bibulous crew
And the Wyf of Bath with her husbands five
Denied her Queynte, or else invited much,
Who could not take the pace and those crude men,
The Reeve and Miller with their rude crude jokes
And then the Nun’s own priest, and then the sad
Franklyn with his tale of Brittany and
Good Chaucer himself with his boring tale
Of old Melibeus and Sir Thopas
Told in jarring dogg’rel or plodding prose,
But riding to Canterbury all the time
To pray at Saint Thomas’s tomb and then
Come home to the Tabard Inn which serves
Good English beer throughout the English Day.
Is it better to travel if you don’t arrive,
Than stay imprisoned at home with husbands five
Or Eliot’s Wasteland, that miserable Tom,
Who never went to Canterbury or Becket’s Tomb?,
For with Chaucer and his pilgrims one can dream
Of the open road and the candle’s gleam.
The Lyf so shorte, the craft so long to lerne,
This mean I by happiness that all men yearne.
Linda Rowe
LIFE GOES ON
(To tune of Obla Di Obla Da)
Lessons we must learn to keep each other safe,
All in this together from the start,
Scientists and doctors say it isn’t hard,
These are the rules and we must learn them off by heart.
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah…..
Let’s make sure that life goes on …
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah…..
Let’s make sure that life goes on,
Stop infection spreading is the Number 1,
Washing hands is vital to the plan,
Lots of soap and water will break down the germs,
So wash for 20 seconds, longer if you can
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah
Lets make sure that life goes on
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah
Let’s make sure that life goes on,
For a couple of months we have got to do our best…..
Just a couple of months, staying in our homes, to help the NHS
Shopping for essentials is okay to do,
Look out for the supermarket times,
Keep a social distance when you’re in the store,
It’s recommended that 2 metres will be fine.
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah
Let’s make sure that life goes on
So for me and for you life goes on,
Yeah
Let’s make sure that life goes on
SO PLEASE STAY SAFE
AND LET’S MAKE SURE THAT LIFE GOES ON!
Ray Stearn
The Colour Of Isolation
A comb-over of bananas sit in the fruit bowl in the kitchen,
Green yellow with a promise of ripening.
Echoing the early yellow that was crocus on the daily walk,
Companions to white and purple cousins that all gave way
To yellow daffodils, that in turn deferred their time to dandelions, then
Pink drifting snow from cherry blossom adorning the park paths
So children can play at weddings.
Bluebells came, thinly in our local park.
Supported by countless shades of green,
Green, to hint at new life.
So many greens, so many lives.
Windows adorned with rainbows,
Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain
Rendesivir Options You Grant Blindly In Vain?
The black screen of the laptop
When it brightens to life
Brings contact with family and friends,
Vital links taken for granted
Just a few short weeks back.
Brothers, sisters,
Choirs, choruses,
Music,
Attempts at poetry.
The pleasure of a shared pun,
Or a short comment,
“I’m in the pink, no red alert here.”
A rare brattle of rain on the Thursday window
Could trigger the blue of depression
The grey of despair, but
The rattle of pots and pans,
Prompt at 8.00 pm gives a focus
For a moment.
For it is all moments, this time,
This place, this space
Where we exist,
All our thoughts coloured
By Corona Virus
And a comb-over of bananas in the fruit bowl in the kitchen.
© Ray Stearn
2nd May 2020
Eileen Earnshaw
SILENCE
Silence, the texture of wet wool.
Each breath fights for supremacy
over jeans, trainers,
yesterday’s detritus.
Some sounds accentuate,
the tick- tock of the mantle clock,
life measured in three second sighs.
Memories come and go,
people, faces, half forgotten.
I repeat their names,
capture their essence
enfold their being.
Time shifts, a story told
long ago
as real as Cinderella
Unsound, silence, solitude.
Lynn Lovell
THE HIND
Down the path between the cemetery and the school chain link
the barbed wire of brambles gives way to a gap
beaten down as a short cut.
Early on a silent morning
a hind, oblivious, grazes on the bristly grass
as I stop, stunned, motionless.
Only two arms’ length away
she tenses, lifts her head and stares,
curled lashes shrouding deep brown startled eyes.
Our gaze locks for a three second eternity
then a flicked ear, a thrown head, a pivot and
she runs, disappears;
and I
remember to breathe.
A bubble of pure joy builds and
I am smiling, smiling,
wanting to shout out to someone
but there is only the silent lane
the sunshine and a deep happiness
that will last as long as memory.
Beautiful, Lynn.