W

Wars

by Marina Moffatt 

The sirens wail and tell their tales

of ruction and destruction

the searchlights pierce the sky above

to find the screeching planes

with their deadly cargo in motion

to drop on low-lying plains.

The planes twirl and swirl to avoid the light

then pounce on a target within sight

and drop their bombs while people stray

to get away to live another day

leaving their towns and homes in fright,

how can this be justified as right?

The reverberation is felt forever

as bodies dismembered

are always remembered

by broken minds surrendered

to disorientation and frustration

and the population bound forever

in relation to each nation

and according to their station.

The fetid smell of death permeates the air

while pilots pursue their goals with stunning flair.

The stench and wrench of dying people

litter the streets, while cathedral and steeple

still stand forlorn and look down sadly

as the city is battered and crumbled badly.

Blood flows into the streets, that become bare

the sound of people’s gasping echoes everywhere,

the crashing bombs give them a thrashing

while stashing the furniture against walls

and once stately homes collapse in grand halls

bashing everything topsy turvy and askew

’til nothing looks fresh and no longer new,

but everything has vanquished

as good folk anguished

The people and pets have been pounded

while screaming, the sirens have sounded

everybody appears astounded

except for one forlorn cat

who sits on a wet mat

and looks at a child who is whining

in the arms of his mother lying

on shining shattered glass, sighing.

While cute little children burn

when will we ever learn?

The bombed buildings with gaping holes

look like a dragon’s mouth with teeth missing

belching fire and smoke as people crawl like moles

and escaped gas from pipes hissing.

The city is covered with smoke

only the fiery furnaces give out light

the bombs have done their work

in the blight of the deadly night.

Crushed bashed and busted

dropped strapped and wrapped

bodies spoil and boil in the hot oil

which melts them into the soil.

While little old ladies burn

when will we ever learn?

The sweat and the crap of the dying

the tears of the mothers crying

the vomit of the wounded in pain

mingle with the drops of rain

which drain and seep in the plain

and the pools of blood which stain

a city which was once so fair,

now its heart has been torn bare.

The planes disappear and the carnage ended

the wounded are bound and the dead buried

but the crying and sorrow continue

as the damage affects bone and sinew

while the dull thuds are heard of the people trapped

and the scream of nerves which have sorely snapped

and the hopes of everyone duly dashed.

Many countries have been devastated

as the population was decimated

some sections annihilated

and certain cities obliterated

Let the dead bury the dead

since none are alive or able to do so

and suffering brings the usual refrain

what is the gain after all this strain

for vanquished and victor ahead?

While the poor people burn

when will we ever learn?

Me and My Health

by Marina Moffatt

My health and I have an intimate life

we are locked together in perpetual strife

intent on travelling a grim warpath

as we hurtle along on a spiral path,

ascending and descending at furious speed

until we collide head on and bleed.

We live a love hate relationship

at times held together in an icy grip

other times cosying up warm, together

stapled as one with a spiritual stapler.

It seems we can’t exist in harmony

without squabbling with antipathy.

I dash from doctor to specialist

to hospital nurse and theorist

hoping someone will give me an answer

as my body looks like a messy sampler.

Alas, the medical profession cannot agree

as to what is the best procedure for me.

What is good for the diabetes and blood pressure

is bad for the skin and the posture.

Let’s try this, let’s try that

maybe the first is correct

no, we’ll swap the medication

and again change direction.

Don’t exercise you joints are like stones

go to the gym, it strengthens the bones.

Don’t eat carbos as they turn into glucose

but if you’re on insulin, you must eat fructose.

Maybe alternative therapy will work to a ‘T’

Don’t overload the medicines and there’s no guarantee.

You’re low on iron that’s why you’re going bald

you’re missing chromium that’s why you look old

Iodine, artichoke and sea kelp

are essential for your thyroid to help.

Aloe Vera, Devil’s Claw and Hypericum

are compulsory for an optimum sternum.

Agnus Castus is for your hot flushes

Salvia whereas, is to spare your blushes.

Increase your libido with black Cohosh

I’m getting a suspicion this is all tosh

garlic is good for your every part

but it plays havoc with affairs of the heart.

Luffa is for the migraine I am starting to get

I am better off ~ the above to forget!

by Geoffrey Spratt

Sometimes at night, when I retire to bed

Upon your pillow I see your dear head.

You lie defenceless, breathing soft and calm,

To me your image seems a sort of balm,

It fills my heart with love and sometimes sadness

If we have been at odds, in foolish madness.

Beneath the gentle lamplight's pearly glow

Your features lose their age and seem to grow

Back to the girl I wooed and finally married.

The one who shared my burdens and who carried

Our only child; our fortune's pawn and loving pride,

The one on whom our hopes and futures ride.

Despite the cares and pains that make it hard to cope

I still delight in loving you and hope

You love me too, with body and with soul,

Excusing faults that I cannot control.

So at this time when life's a helter-skelter

Within each other's arms let's always shelter.

Christmas 2002

by Marina Moffatt

The glorious days of Autumn are nearing their end

And everyone is thinking of Christmas

Squirreling their gifts under a bed

Parents ignore what they overspend.

Though this is the season of friendship and Joy

too many are lonely with nothing to do

but watch television or go to the Pub

and talk to people they would normally snub.

The TV and shops are full of false glitter

which makes their loneliness seem even more bitter

yet families together can argue and scrape

and go on repeating as on a tape

they stutter and flutter and get in a tizz

and grumpy and tired they fall in a zizz

until they wake up amongst the litter

of dashed hopes and dreams in a jitter.

Yet every year there is magic for me

to look forward to Christmas and all it can be

like a child whose birthday is drawing near

I run around excitedly preparing everything

until I feel that my heart will sing

as a girl when I heard Christmas bells ring.

I make the house beautiful and fragrant with flowers

and all the place bedecked in showers

of shiny sheen and green bowers

covered in ivy and holly

so that it all looks cosy and jolly

to welcome the people I hold most dear

in my lovely home full of bounty and cheer

With sweet spices in oranges and wreaths

and the cakes and loaves shaped as sheaves.

The Christmas Angel and Crib have pride of place

so that we do not forget whose birthday

we celebrate with so much reverence and grace!

The Island

by Ann Usher

The island called to her.

She lived in a glass and concrete flat.

The island called to her.

She worked in a glass and concrete office.

She walked to work through grey, grim streets.

The traffic, the crowds, the noise, the smell.

The grey, grim streets, the grey, low clouds, her grey low mood.

She was alone and lonely in the midst of crowds.

She fled to the north.

She went by train and then by ferry, over the angry, noisy sea.

She walked the hills, the heath, the beach.

She saw the crowds of trees, of birds, of flowers, of clouds.

She wore the island like a coat.

She could see the world without an end.

She drank the rain.

She ate the air.

She took the silence into her hands, into her head, into her heart.

She had come home.

Movement

by Marina Moffatt

The wave of music in the trees

Bending in the slightest breeze

Holds me in rapture as I see

The humming bird swoop down to me.

The poppies in the waltzing wheat

Nod their drowsy heads to beat,

And all of nature seems to dance

To an unfinished melody;

As little furry animals prance

And then stop still and take a stance

And stare to see if I dare glance.

The same music moves me on

Through all my days and years,

And though I bustle scuttle and shuffle

And drop onto my knees in tears,

The rhythm and style and all that’s sublime

In the music, scoops and swings me

In the swirling symphony.

Renewal

by Geoffrey Spratt

Phoenix-like from ashes I had thought long dead

Emotion kindles in my heart once more and flames to light.

Unbidden and unstoppable, the bitter-sweetness of unspoken love.

No wish have I to halt the onslaught of its tide,

I am just flotsam, quite engulfed within the wave,

Drowning in wonder, wanting none to save me from its might.

Shall I pursue the object of my heart's desire?

Can I still dream romantic dreams and yearn for wondrous nights?

Or should I seek to purge my mind of your sweet face and rise above

My nature's passionate and tender carnal side?

There still is one whose faithfulness and love may save

Me from my weakness and return me to the path of right.

Then reason's rebirth, cool and clear within my head

Shows me my way, denying self, and girding me for flight.

I must not stay within temptation's sphere, fly like a dove

And seek familiar cotes wherein to safely bide.

Yet still sweet memory overcomes and makes me crave

That which I shunned; the wonder of new love and such delight.

Life’s Journey

by Irene Briscoe

I wonder sometimes as I walk through the street

When I look at the people I pass or I meet,

"Are you truly happy with life," I feel inclined to say

"Has life treated you well, Gone the right way?"

While some find their work makes them content

And others take up hobbies to get their fulfilment.

There are those who travel to a distant shore

Hoping for new experiences and so much more.

So what is the answer for contentment in Life?

For some people to marry, a family, a good wife,

While others strive another way to be content!

Filling the void with religion to get fulfilment.

Therefore, whatever the way you decided to go

Do find happiness in you choice and so

Contentment, Because this seems to me, meant

"It’s up to you," as how your life is spent.

by Rita Angus 

I pass unnoticed as the fleeting cloud

Is blown unheeded through the skies

By London’s jostling, bustling crowd

Where traffic roars midst shouts and cries

Tall, black spreading trees in the London squares,

Loom, towering from their earthy beds

Whilst I alone, and folk in pairs

Pass quickly, talking, nodding heads.

Bright lights through many a mullioned window gleam

On to the cold and windy street

Upon the ever moving stream

Of a million moving feet.

Like rich autumnal snowflakes, curling brown

Leaves windswept, battered, blown from trees

Set whirling, scattering through the town

By the chill October breeze.

The Nile Journey

by Irene Briscoe

Slowly the great cruiser glides

Along the Nile it makes its way

In early morning, as the rising mist lies

Emerging in the dawning of the day

And adding to the mystery of its history

Perceiving the Ruins and the palm tree

Hearing the wail from the tall minarets

As the sun rises over the sea

Then watching men in their boats

Casting their many nets

The sun is up the heat intense

Moored to visit, people anxious to explore

Temple complex of the Past and to sense

Past Civilisations and much more

Hustle, bustle ~ What a noise

Carriages jostle for their fare

Tradesmen ply you with their ware

Statues, necklaces of the Past

Never question if they’ll last!!

Oh! What a vision ~ What views we saw

Columns, Statues and much more

The Isle of Philae, Abu Simbel and Luxor

Nare forget such wondrous sight

The Pharaoh’s and their earthly might.

The Storm

by Marina Moffatt

The storm came crashing down

into my blissful dream

like a lion which has caught its prey

startled into a scream.

Not sure what was really happening

I jumped up in a fright

and stumbled to the window

as the noise broke up the night.

Graced by trillions of stars

the velvet midnight blue sky

had been shorn by jagged lights

as the angry clouds tumbled by.

Lightning was shooting furiously

and I could see the trees tremble

as my pounding heart seemed to burst

through sinews all in a tangle.

I saw a fox on the prowl

and a cat came scuttling by

and I wondered about small animals

dug deep in where they lie.

The window frames were trembling

as the pelting rain shattered the glass

shards of which seemed to splinter

from the ledge to the battered grass.

The wind by now was howling

as the leaves whirled away in a trance

and I heard a tree pound to the earth

the last gasp’s deathly dance.

In a short while the storm had abated

and nature settled down with a sigh

as snuggled down in my bed

my dreams came floating by.

In the morning the sun was shining

and everything burnished as new

with no hint of the passing storm

except for the sparkling dew.

Passion

by Marina Moffatt

Passion is something I dimly remember

as being all consuming in every member

it filled me with awe and ran through my mind,

and threatened to leave all else behind.

Passion for men and passion for sex

and worry about the past with my ex,

the quarrels and tantrums with my mother

who could not understand the dither and bother!

She hated the men and I hated her,

my bewildering feelings caused quite a stir,

we swirled and we whirled in a sea of emotion

until we all drowned in a cascade of passion.

The tiffs and the sniffs and the ‘I don’t cares’

the snake pits of anger and other snares,

held us tight in a self hating embrace

until we had finished the exhausted race.

The men came and went, as rapidly

as my feelings for them changed radically,

dramatically moody as our weather in May

when all the four seasons can be felt in a day.

At the time I felt guilty as I trifled with feelings

But now realise it was youth, and the stirrings

of adult emotions I could not control,

which left me with angst deep in my soul.

The feelings I once felt, have now matured,

and contentment with all is now assured.

I am glad these extremes are now in the past,

and can savour relationships which will last.

Retirement

by Irene Briscoe

Not to go to work, to do as you please

When you could lie in bed at ease.

Think, did you dream, of that future time

No one would care, "the days were all mine".

Ten years on, this is not quite as it may seem

So, really then, what does Retirement mean?

For your days must be organised to stay on "Active Being"

Hard work retirement, old friends you must keep seeing

Having hobbies, new interests to fill each day

That is what Retirement means and of course

No Pay!!

Send details (and photos), of your activities or outings to info@brentwoodu3a.org.uk