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  • Writer's pictureSTEVE COOKE AATA


Updated: May 11, 2020

Eileen Earnshaw


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


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


(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,


Let’s make sure that life goes on …

So for me and for you life goes on,


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,


Lets make sure that life goes on

So for me and for you life goes on,


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,


Let’s make sure that life goes on

So for me and for you life goes on,


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,


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, 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


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.

44 views1 comment

1 comentário

Valerie Chapman
Valerie Chapman
06 de mai. de 2020

Beautiful, Lynn.

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