Tag: poetry

Poetry Square

Poetry Square

Many of our contributed poems have had a square produced for them – a quote from the poem to help us share more easily on social media but also so we can display them in the game. This one is at the start of the 

Where is Freedom Born – Pete Cox

Where is Freedom Born – Pete Cox

Is freedom born in a fire burning a palace?

A Recipe – Kim Allen

A Recipe – Kim Allen

A Recipe for Beginning Afresh using lockdown store cupboard ingredients.

Before the counting’s done,

while it’s still fresh,

take one wobbly cyclist

newly confident on empty roads.

A cup of watching nature in the garden.

At least 500g of birdsong,

feel free to add more to taste.

As much as you can find of empty skies

and smog free air.

A handful of daily walks.

A good slug of care and compassion.

A tablespoon of acting for the greater good.

A smidge of clap for carers if you fancy.

3 cups of verges brimming with wildflowers.

A litre of clearer water from Venice.

Add all the ingredients and mix.

Don’t forget the cherry on top

Lower Carbon Dioxide emissions.

Serve anytime, day or night.

There’s more than enough,

to enjoy right now

and leave to prove

the benefits for future generations

Kim Allen

Six Miles – Leanne Moden

Six Miles – Leanne Moden

Six miles, again, we’ll go today…

Another Town – C J Mawganson

Another Town – C J Mawganson

What can be done

Is there ever a way

Covid Lamb – C J Mawganson

Covid Lamb – C J Mawganson

They said that he died, the old man from the flats

Diabetic and eighty, he fitted the stats

An ambulance came, was a call from his daughter

They took him away, Covid lamb to the slaughter

Connected by wires to machines made by Dyson

No time for goodbye or a kiss from his grandson

‘We did all we could, please prepare for the worst’

They’ve said it so often the lines feel rehearsed

Another bed empty, another one bagged

Another confirmed, another toe tagged.

No poem by Auden, no black horse with feathers

The only respects are for distancing measures

We scuttle from houses like terrified spiders

To clap the front line, as it serves to remind us

We’re here, still alive, and not yet met our fate

Then return to our fears at one-minute past eight.

Fen Blow – C J Mawganson

Fen Blow – C J Mawganson

Feel the Fen Blow bey…

The Houseproud Husband To His Wife – Paula Monger

The Houseproud Husband To His Wife – Paula Monger

There are silverfish in the bath, my love…

The Three Bears – Garry and Paula Monger

The Three Bears – Garry and Paula Monger

An animal for which we care
Must be the big brown cuddly bear.
Bears are furry, bears are climbers,
Bears are loners and not rhymers.
Now and then to break this rule,
One meets a bear who’s no-one’s fool.
Whenever he can spare the time,
He has a flair for making rhyme.

Returning from the woods one day
The smallest bear was heard to say,
‘I think that I can see from here
Our door is open, Mummy dear!’
The little bear was soon proved right
As presently it came in sight;
The burst door was a nasty shock –
It would require a brand-new lock.

With claws crossed all three went inside,
One by one, not side by side;
The biggest sat down on his chair
And combed the tangles from his hair.
The second curled up on a couch,
With her pipe and tobacco-pouch.
The smallest bear fell off his stool
Which fell apart – he felt a fool.

Next they viewed the kitchen table,
(It’s the sequence in the fable)
Look! The large bowl has been tasted,
Food spat out and now it’s wasted.
The medium bowl was also sampled –
Dropped and smashed and contents trampled.
The smallest basin was upended
The silver spoon extremely bended.

They each went on to their own room
Filled with dread and gathering doom
Big bear’s king sized water-bed
Was in a pool where it had bled.
The next bear’s bed was hard and flat
The air inside had been squashed out of that.
The little bear’s bed was unbroken,
Its tenant snoring and unwoken,

This story must come to an end
Before it drives us round the bend;
It might be happy, might be sad,
Fit for a girl or for a lad;
Ursa Major, Ursa Minor
Or a panda with eyeliner –
Remember, take a lot of care
Recruiting your cub’s next au pair!

Garry Monger

The previous time I wrote a poem I was 12! Taking three science GCEs at school I dropped the Arts.
The Three Bears is my second poem, lockdown has saved my bacon but I shall have to create some doggerel for when things reopen
Seasickness – Leanne Moden

Seasickness – Leanne Moden

Here, there is clarity…

Ghost Buses – Lorna Sugden

Ghost Buses – Lorna Sugden

The buses are running…

Tom’s Football Game – Cardinal Cox

Tom’s Football Game – Cardinal Cox

A figure stands in Walpole St. Peter’s churchyard 
Raised for Tom Hickathrift, the hero of the fen
I will tell you this tale, although I am no bard 
About Tom, mighty giant amongst lesser men 
One Sunday when all good folk were in church to pray 
A crooked figure stood outside the churchyard wall
Yelled a challenge, “Hey Tom, why don’t you come and play?”
And the twisted form stood by a mighty stone ball
Now proud Tom could not resist so joined in the game 
They kicked the boulder between them for many hours 
Tom knew he did not need to ask the other’s name 
His opponent had a horned head and strange powers 
The game ran from morning to end of evensong 
When Tom won the game had lasted 12 hours long.