Committed writers dedicated to working together to produce excellent poems, short stories, drama, life writing, and creative non-fiction

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Sheila 01823 67 28 46

Valerie 01884 84 04 22

Wednesday 26 June 2013


Half way down the ward,
Clinically cushioned.
A husk of a man.
Post operative psychosis
They called it.
But where was he?
This world or another?
Deep, deep down inside
Clutching at wisps of fleeting knowledge,
In pursuit of his being.
In this world.

© Helen McIntosh
All rights reserved

Monday 17 June 2013


The garden is liquid gold
streaming along glossy
leaves, drenched in light,
green  underwater chamber,
my womb, my ignorance.

Suddenly, I look down,
the mirror of my blotchy flesh,
the creases, crevices.
Then up into the
azure sky.
Where else can I look
to ask my question,


© Valerie Taylor
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What's wrong with me?

I haven't got a phobia, an -algia or a hernia,
nor yet a simple complex to bewail so they can cure yer.
My feet were pretty grotty once but they've been chopped and changed,
I'm really fully better - though the dog is quite deranged.

So when the general boasting starts I just sit still and stumm
and listen while the whinges go cavorting round the room.
I shake my head and smile and tut and quietly sip my tea
because I never ever can decide: what is there wrong with me?

© Sheila Rogers
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I am thinking of your eyes looking into mine
The pair of emeralds that truly make me pine
My thoughts then wander to your golden hair
I imagine your golf club swinging through the air
Today I woke to see the springtime snow-drops glisten
Do I hear the softness of your voice; do I really listen
Is that your breath; so soft as only I can feel
I smile…for I am feeling everything; not least your zeal
 I even feel the purr and gentleness of your snoring
And laugh… for life with you is never, ever boring
In truth, you were in my mind throughout last night
Again I had those special feelings…so right; so right
To some a break away may be very well
To others it’s a cause for pining, and only they can tell

© Kenneth Campbell
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When he popped the question on his bended knee
A reply was anticipated with certainty & glee
This early morning gesture that was so very strong
Merely prompted a terse comment about the Seagulls’ throng
So beware of a question that might not hoist the sail
Disappointment is the only message from this thorny tale

© Kenneth Campbell

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The Question


“Guys, let’s unpack this question...”

The keen and the stupid put up their hands to guess. Mr Middlebrow, palms down, tried to contain curiosity mistaken for adulation. Later he would boast of his pupils’ problem solving strategies.

The answer is in your fat head, thought Carl. Just teach me.

© Tim Scott
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Same place, same street, same house

Swirling swooping returning
homing in on home
riding currents,
watching shadows
sun pointing
moonlit way

them back each year
same place, same street, same house,
same neat and tidy nest

like me they are returning
knowing safe will be there
knowing there will be safe
our blind faith rewarded

© Liz Redfern
All rights reserved

The Reverend Jim Jones.

"I am the truth: come follow me."
"To where, Lord Jim?"
"To Guyanese forests lush with peace and light, to live and love as one, each one with me.
There is a better life. Come, follow me."
"Yes, oh yes."
"Together we'll transcend the mire in glorious sui-cyanide."
"Amen, Lord Jim."
© Sheila Rogers. May 2013
All rights reserved

Friday 14 June 2013

The question

was not, “Are you willing to take me out?”
nor, “Are you inclined to come with me?”

 “I’ll take you if you want to go”
is not an answer.  Neither is,
“I’m happy to.”

That’s not what I asked you.
 “Do you, or don’t you, want to? 
Yes?  Or no?”

© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved