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 November 2014

The Suitcase.

Brown leather-strapped heavy as hammers
but oh! the smell.

"Books" he muttered, dark eyes shifting,
then went out in his raincoat.

Can't clean in there, ma'am.
Run upstairs hold your nose shut the door quick
Oh! the smell.

Police came. Too late. Suitcase, man, raincoat -
But not the smell.
© Sheila Rogers
All rights reserved

Thursday 20 November 2014

To the Lighthouse

From salt-encrusted rocks,
seals’ mournful cries
echo across the waves,
telling of ocean-loss.

The slim white needle flicks a golden beam
across the waves.
Elusive as a rainbow, it dissolves.
Repeats its steady pulse.

We’re drawn in with the tide,
then spat back.
‘No visitors allowed.’
The lighthouse
remains forever separate.


© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

Breaking the Union

Adorned with sprays
of summer flowers,
the tiny cup brimmed
with her memories.

He snatched.
across the kitchen floor.

Cradling its saucer,
in silent tears,
she fled.

He played ever louder.
Later, he found her note.

Standing in an emptiness
too quiet,
he knew
he’d broken

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

The Suitcase

This case is battered, old.
Each day another piece succumbs
to the dark ravages of encroaching time.

Yet it holds tapestries, embroidered
with rich silks and one, as bright as any,
a work in progress still.

So do not hang your dreadful DNR
above my bed until the moths get in
and chew black holes throughout the treasured fabrics
of my mind.

© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

The Suitcase

His home, while
He struggled
And sweated
In the jungle;

My mother’s letters
Bundled in his uniform,
Dreams, censored
Written ahead of him.

In the family home,
Empty in a cupboard;
Births, deaths pass;

Now in a barn in Devon.
I can’t let it go.

© Valerie Taylor
All rights reserved

A complex traveller

We found a rampant garden of delights in the conservatory, pressed against the panes: photographs of houses and people we didn’t recognise, air mail letters from Indian lovers, antique lace collars, babies shoes, an engraved Dunhill lighter, sixteen five-year diaries… 

And we’d assumed her effects wouldn't fit inside one suitcase.

© Sophia Roberts
All rights reserved