As through a child’s eyes

 As through a child’s eyes

 

If cows are sewn from a patchwork hide,

and sheep they knit from wool,

and ducks are stuffed with eiderdown, then what about the moon?

The moon is made from rich cream cheese,

it hangs from a silken thread,

but it rocks the earth and drives the seas deep down into its bed.

 

Where sleeps the silent hermit crab in his stolen cell,

dining on the bones of men who never ever tell,          

what lies beyond this vail of tears where none but one returned, who gave his life for worthless men, the ransom of their souls.

                

How many salty tears he shed to fill such a brackish sea,

though oceans roar with those bitter tears, he shed them all for thee.

 

  

They say the gates of heaven are carved from a single pearl. So pure, so bright they shine with light from his celestial throne.

 

He beckons us to enter in, the gates are open wide, but few are those who pass that way, the rest too full of pride.

 

 

  

Have you read the stories from the octopus’s ink, of the violence of the crayfish twins who terrorise the briny brink.

 

Beware the gangs of loan sharks, who smile with hungry eyes

But all the while are watching you and whispering their lies.

Or the solitary lives of monkfish whose days are spent in prayer.

“Come share my light of comfort” in the depths of deep despair

 

Come ride the spiny seahorse among the wild seagrass, or see the sea cows grazing, as they slowly amble past.

 

 

  

 

Barnacles wink by moonlight as the tide retreats, and dash across the craggy rocks when the seabirds sleep

 

The eyes of a child are open and see such other worlds, but to us they are hidden, like a flag tightly furled.

I long to see through childlike eyes, as once I could clearly see, but time has made us weary like flotsam on the sea.

No use talking to me.

 

2 min 8 sec

Copyright Peter/Christopher Mathews 2011

BEST LAID PLANS

 BEST LAID PLANS 

Richard Banks

 

It should not have happened in this way

He never meant to go astray

 

The map he had that showed the trail

to village near, down hill to vale,

 

did not! at least that’s what he thought,

or could it be he was at fault.

 

Its lines and signs he misconceived

and after dusk could not be see’d

 

He wandered lost from field through wood,

to marshy heath but to no good.

 

His walking tour had gone all wrong,

a journey short had stretched to long.

 

Caught in brambles, fell into burn,

from bad to worse at every turn.

 

Then dawn did break and with the light

he found himself within plain sight

 

of village he had set-out from.

The people there who thought him gone,

 

did wonder at his sorry state.

Whatever could have been his fate,

 

his muddied boots, his coat all torn

and on his face a look, careworn.

 

What doeth here they now did think

as he on bench did weary sink

 

and not to rise ’til bus came by

to take him where his feet had tried.

Copyright Richard Banks

The Road Not Taken

 The Road Not Taken
- (Cast your mind back to 1975?)

John Abbott

A simple long-held dream, what could it mean?

To be an ardent military man,

Surely, I could, if anybody can?

 

I was strong, fit and hopelessly optimistic,

Maybe I was just autistic or sadistic?

I could jump, run, leap, climb and fight.

And I sort of knew, I was born bright!

 

I spent my time doing only three or four things,

I met lots of girls, which gave me wings,

I read a lot of books, and met a few crooks,

I played a lot of football, kicking against brick walls,

And I studied hard and read lots of history,

Which offered up both victory & mystery.


I applied and quickly passed all the basic stuff,

And I knew it was tough.

However, maybe I was too clever to follow this Endeavour?

After all, I had wanted it forever!


I had to follow a final medical procedure,

And of course, I was a believer!

However, I was told I had a heart with issues,

Very soon, I was using tissues!


You see, I had a faint murmur, 

Which made my dream a burner,

Doing this is never going to be an earner.

 

Didn’t believe it, still don’t believe it, I’ll never believe it,

it didn’t fit the remit!

With this, I must admit, 

There has to be a God, albeit one with wit! 

 

I wasn’t laughing, I was crying, 

All my planning, my guarantee of staffing, and they weren’t buying!

This military boy at almost eighteen, took a mental beating,

Surely this was cheating?




I suddenly lost hope, didn’t want to mope, but it was outside the scope! 

I only had one plan, it was all that mattered,

As for dreams of military glory,

They were forever shattered! 

Copyright John Abbott

 Number 95 Hawthorn Drive

By Bob French

At the far end of Hawthorn Drive sat an old stone cottage; number 95.  The cottages around it had all been purchased by YUPYs and torn down and replaced with smart town houses.  The land upon which the old stone cottage sat was surrounded by idyllic ancient oak trees and wrapped in climbing ivy. For more than sixty years it had been the home of Mary Duval, a gentle widow whose only wealth was the cottage she loved and the memories it held. After her husband had not come home from the war, she was left with bringing up her son who was now the manager of a city bank.

        One autumn afternoon, a young couple arrived claiming to be sent by the council. With convincing smiles and forged documents, they told Mary that the cottage was dangerously unstable and would soon be condemned. Frightened and confused, the elderly woman believed every word. They offered to buy the property immediately, promising enough money to help her live comfortably for the rest of her days. They even allowed her to remain in her cottage until the deeds were signed.  This kindness clinched the deal. 

        Desperate and trusting, Mary accepted a small deposit, while the couple assured her that once the bank had confirmed the deal, the balance would be paid to her within a month. Feeling unsure, she wrote to her son and explained what had happened, but heard nothing.

        The payment never came.

        By the time Mary realised she had been deceived, the couple had legally changed the deeds into their own names and disappeared behind expensive solicitors. She remained in her beloved cottage until early winter had set in.  Then on the 10^th of November, storms and high winds hit the region causing much structural damage.  Mary knew from past experience that her little cottage would easily survive the storms, so she remained in her comfortable parlour; refusing to leave.  As the howling of the storm raged outside, Mary sat and took stock of her situation.  She knew she was frail and was about to become homeless.  Heartbroken, and too frail to fight, the establishment, she wrapped her shawl around herself and quietly passed away.

        The young couple celebrated their good fortune in secret, not wishing to let on how they had tricked Mary.  Within a few weeks, they had arranged a loan from the bank, increased their mortgage and quickly moved to have their newly acquired property torn down and a new town house built on the same lines as those around them.

        Within a week things started to change, much to their surprise. The bank were questioning the legality of the paperwork regarding the sale and the manager of the mortgage lender firm wanted to speak to them urgently.  The couple realised that any plans to demolish the old cottage would have to wait until all the paperwork had been sorted, so they moved into the old stone cottage. 

        On the first night the couple were woken by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The second night, the kitchen window was opened, causing a cold draft to rush throughout the cottage.  The couple decided to tough it out claiming that these old cottages moved with the heat and cold.  Then on the weekend, a door slammed and when the couple went to investigate, they heard the ghostly sound of Mary’s voice whaling throughout the cottage.

        “You will never live in my cottage.” 

        This appeared to be the last straw for the couple.  In the morning after a sleepless night, someone rang their front door bell.  When they opened the door, they were met by a tall gentleman in a smart suit.

        “Good morning. I have an order from the Bailiff’s Court.” and held out the envelope. “Consider yourselves to have been served. Good day.” He left without another word.

        By mid-day the bank had called and informed the couple that their loan had been refused on the grounds that there were some inaccuracies in their application.  They were now completely penniless. The manager took pity on them and agreed to allow them to stay in the cottage until they got their affairs in order. In the late afternoon they discovered that their electricity had been cut off.  As they sat in the darkness, the haunting sound of Mary’s voice crept through the cottage again causing the couple to break into screams and tears of fright. 

        They managed to stay in the cottage for another two days, then they cracked. The people who lived next door to them called the police after hearing screams and thought that a domestic disturbance was taking place.  The police didn’t waste their time and called the local doctor, who after listening to their gibbering account about the cottage being haunted, approached the NHS regarding temporary custody in the nearest mental institute.

         James, the son of Mary, was a senior bank manager in the city.  He was also a member of the Territorial Army and held the appointment of Commanding Officer of the Special Signals Detachment. After he had heard that the couple who had caused the death of his mother had been removed from the scene, he called his son.

        William, it’s Dad.  Are you still interested in living in Grandma’s little cottage?”

        “Yes please Dad.”

        “Good. Can you contact Sergeant Phillips and ask if he can pop down to the cottage and remove the hidden cameras and bugs, including the piped voices.

Copyright Bob French

 

The Family Trip

 The Family Trip

Marion Anthony

The car is packed and ready to go

Loaded with toys, baby food, bottles and baby grows;

For we are going to visit grandparents and stay overnight

Come on we said As the time is getting tight;

In urgency we rushed out of the door, eager to get on the road;

After traveling for a while, there’s a jolt, the car suddenly stops;

We look at each other in horror and shock

Oh No!  There’s something we’ve forgotten…

THE BABY!

Copyright Marion Anthony

 

 CONSCIENCE

Peter Woodgate

One day God spoke to me

And I could clearly see,

Not outwardly, but deep within my soul.

My transgressions were laid bare,

As if for all to share

And confessing every sin was now my goal.

Oh, I had this strange belief

Almighty God was real, my chief,

And all before my eyes revealing him.

So, I trod religious routes

Wearing out so many boots

On the path to rid myself of every sin

But each denomination entered

Had a schism, was self-centred

And I questioned why these factions should occur,

Surely, He, who fashioned all,

Should have the final call

And faith not for diversity to stir,

Mankind, acutely flawed

Cannot be guided or assured

By a God that seems imperfect just like me.

It appears that god allows

So much pain on beaten brows

With death, destruction, grief, for all to see.

My blind faith has faded fast

And I fear it will not last,

Yet conversely, I see things that make me wonder,

The detailed structure and design

Of each creature down the line

A rainbow, lightning and almighty thunder.

I can’t believe it’s all by chance

That this earth has learnt to dance

Our existence then is open to suggestions.

If it’s true, God is our maker

And I should meet him at the crater

Then I'll beg answers to so many questions.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 Sandcastles in the Sky

Jane Goodhew

Sandcastles in the sky reminiscent of times spent with you

Staring at the stars and dreaming of

When we were young and swam in the sea

Then found a bucket and spade and made a castle for two

Just me and you

A moat surrounded it to keep us safe

Which filled with water from the sea

Pretty shells decorated the walls

We pretended to climb up to the turrets

And look out as far as the eye could see

For that was our land our dream

We thought it would be for ever

Our imaginary land and life by the sea

But a wave came without warning

And flattened our castle and then we heard

Our mothers call come on you two it is time for tea.

But fond memories of our sandcastle remain

Even though you now live in the sky for that was the day you died

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew