
Earth Poem
By Helen Salsbury Bats flittering in a twilight sky. A deer, holding still on an empty lane, as with quiet cycle wheels, I draw closer. Birds I’ve never seen before, on a [… read more ]
By Helen Salsbury Bats flittering in a twilight sky. A deer, holding still on an empty lane, as with quiet cycle wheels, I draw closer. Birds I’ve never seen before, on a [… read more ]
By Christine Lawrence Exactly when did this happen? We ask ourselves today when we wake up to each morning, the year has slipped away. The good times passed us by and still outside the birds [… read more ]
By Cathryn McCarthy This strange April, we watch the daisies rise on ragged lawns, ignored till it began; lost traffic jam orphans, bereft of plan, we jolt awake at solitary cries: bumblebee’s zip, rattled laugh [… read more ]
A poem by Bruce Parry, accompanied by a piece by his late father, Emlyn, and a painting by his mother, June. Sky Train by Bruce Parry There is a feeling of release and freedom inside [… read more ]
By Richard Williams How many mornings slid one into another, under the pergola of a lockdown garden, a mug of black coffee as shadows swung by, waiting for the page to turn. A book [… read more ]
By Linda Hilborne Lying back on the sofa. It was so exhausting to be ill without that extra worry: will I get pneumonia next week? Millions of other people painfully processing that same fear. [… read more ]
By Barbara Claridge today by the underpass the jackdaw jabs criss-cross the openfield square by square like police finger tips search long grass juicy with sap between silk stems and butter cups his grey [… read more ]
By Diana Ashman Pandemic, a crisis planet lockdown, no autonomy or freedom of choice, people frown, authorities put rules into place, isolation, social distancing, life slows to a pace. As the weeks pass by, [… read more ]
By Sue Cornell We venture onto half known pavements. Our legs carry us, our feet accelerate and brake on unfamiliar territory several streets from home. Approaching fellow travellers we nod, smile apology and cross the [… read more ]
By Liz Kay At Number Nine Mary is humming, twisting bunting. Her fuzzing hands wave to Number Ten where Charlie and Steve are leaving for their daily cycle. On Thursday evening, they had forgotten [… read more ]
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