Alky in red by Rosemary Ostley

(A Christmas poem using the words: blood, falling magnetism, recalcitrant, and hope)

Well, what do you know,

Outside in the snow

Is a fat man

In boots and a beard.

His coat is blood red

And the hat on his head

Hides a bottle of gin,

So I’ve heard.

He jumps in his sleigh

And he’s up and away

As Rudi’s red nose

Gives clear line of sight.

Snowflakes are falling,

The cocktail hour’s calling

He swigs as he flies

Through the night.

Our chap’s magnetism

Is love through a prism

That colours the world

With laughter and joy.

His remit is clear:

Take the fun far and near.

In more ways than one

He flies high.

He’s free as the air,

He hasn’t a care,

Old Mrs Christmas

Can’t get at him here.

Recalcitrant genes

Keep him focussed, it seems,

As he plies himself

With good cheer.

But come Christmas morn,

In the cold light of dawn,

He sighs with relief,

Lets the gin bottle fall.

This alky in red

Going home to his bed

Has brought wonder and hope

To us all.

New Year at the Writing Group by Sue Barton

We’ve had the Christmas celebrations

Said goodbye to our relations

Cooked our goose, set ourselves loose

To gather up our words obtuse

And shape them into something worthy

Or throw them in the River Mersey.

Here is John whose poems call

Make us listen one and all.

Karl no doubt has something written

With expletives quite unfittin’.

And Dave will bring us genre noir

With sex and killing near and far.

Barry’s shown his second book

And we must give it careful look.

He cannot yet go out to play

‘til we’ve have had our thoughtful say.

Now that he has raised the bar

It’s up to others to go far.

Festivals have tested Naz

And she’s been given all the jazz

About her writing being tops.

We did tell you sweetie pops

That you will be the next sensation

With accolades around the nation.

Gill excels at Science Fic.

And treats us to a widespread pick

Of her otherworldly works

Where terror in each corner lurks.

Laura gives us added twist

Velvet tales in iron fist.

Mac entertains with good clear hand,

A valued member of our band.

Robert, our young academic, Writes of trains most dramatic.

And Clare, with lovely Irish lilt

Softly are her stories built.

Who next? Oh! yes ­ Veronica

No easy rhyme for your monika

Stories penned for every age

From very small to bearded sage.

Fran comes along, when she’s able,

To entertain with latest fable.

For all of those who come and go

Let your inner writer flow.

The New Year’s with us everyone

There’s serious writing to be done.

So I must need a mental slap

For writing all this mindless crap.

Bedford writers keep on going,

Seeds of mystery always sowing.

Whether sex, death, war or peace,

Imagination just unleash.

Do have a happy writing year .

The New Year by Barrie Hyde

The New Year cometh and promises are made,

Let’s give up booze, give the needy some aid.

Time for a fresh start, don’t let your head rule your heart,

Let’s make the world better, let’s make the world smart.

Then you wake in the morning, your head throbs a bit,

And you smile at the pledges, they were all bullshit,

You take some aspirin, and go to the pub,

A couple of pints and some processed grub.

You look at the news and nothing has changed,

Tribal fighting by those clearly deranged,

The poor are still poor and the rich are still rich,

Politicians pontificate, twaddle is their pitch.

The world it keeps spinning,

With mankind in its way,

Wanton destruction,

Is the legacy of today.

But when we’re all gone the leaves will return,

With a balance of life nature will learn,

One dominant species is bad for the rest,

And through natural selection,

The earth will be blessed.

Happy New Year!

A limerick with a twist by Robert Simmons

Inspiration

Somewhere, there’s a guy called Bastion,

Who struggles to get enough inspiration.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea!”

“I’ll just jot it down here…”

“Bugger. It’s gone out of my head again!”

Brick Creep by Veronica Sims

Our house is built where once before there was a farmyard,

A bolt for a barn door

We found, when we were planting a tree…

Also

Rubble scattered long ago

To stem the tide of mud and dung, I expect.

Sometimes I try to imagine

Cow sheds,

Stables, (shire horses, oat munching)

A sty for the pigs (pungent)

A chicken or three,

Cockadoodledooing in the morning, a rooster,

A couple of outside cats (to catch the rats)

A shaggy dog (but that’s another story)

Now the farm is an estate.

Endless brick houses,

Neat hedges, (trimmed to boredom)

Grass verges, thoughtlessly cropped by machine,

Parked cars,

And beyond the bright painted, closed front doors…

Suburbanites.

I Fell Into You by Nasreen Rafiq

I fell into you

Into and

In two.

And further still

The years of Us pool around bare soles

Seeping, inky and indigo

Rags mop and streak cold legs

Discarded, threadbare.

The raven hops upon the sill

Cocking and lilting

Listening

No birdsong between us two

Gazing and falling, into you

Falling, falling

In two.

Empty of nest

Life once lived

Empty and void

And further still

Stretching and wrapping scarf intact

Indigo steps venture out

I stride with the throng

As far as I can go

By dusk I turn back

Follow my tracks

I talk with a brother

Beneath a green dome

His words drift all around me

They fall and flutter

Leave me in peace.

There is hope he said

Sunset,

My release

And so I return

Pace picking up

Your face dark and sunk

I don't want to go

The musk of Us lingers in here

Stagnant, stale,

Swallowing me whole

The raven returns

And pecks at the pane

Joined by another,

they all look the same.

Bearing witness to the end of Us

If only you knew

I fell in two.

And further still

The Old Man Slumbers by Dave Appleby

The old man slumbers in his arm chair

Dreaming of when, proudly not humbly he could

Stand without trembling,

Run without stumbling,

Dive without tumbling,

Shoot without fumbling,

Kill,  

Pick his way nimbly through the shambles,

Amble back to his base

Unconcerned,

Grumbling to his fellow soldiers

About the tumbrells dragging the condemned to death,

About the peeling paint in the damp and crumbling barracks,

About the rumbling thunder and the endless rain.

Life’s a gamble and the odds are stacked against us

And our souls are jumble sales of worthless tat.

The old man mumbles in his sleep.