UNDERGROUND
by
Pauline Anderson
Under the earth – life Life we can’t see, winter and summer
The bulbs waiting to show
The seeds full of life we can’t see
Imagine they shiver with excitement waiting for the right moment
Asking the cosmos “What is my time”?
The little creepy crawlies, the mice, the shrews hide for warmth
Protected from the frost, the ice, the snow
Hoping they have enough provisions hidden for the winter
They live with Alice in Wonderland
The whole earth alive
Do we kill it
Kill it with greed
With selfishness
With over-production
The earth is a being
Expecting and waiting for us to know it is alive above and below ground.
Lisbon, Portugal
It Beggars Belief!
by
Jean Chadwick
A teenaged girl, pleading eyes, circles tables in a busy café.
She massages her exposed, swollen belly with one hand.
The other hand, cupped and outstretched, begs for her unborn child.
Heads turn away.
She moves from one table to another then moves to the next café.
The responses are the same.
What does the future hold for this girl and her unborn child?
It beggars belief!
The sad old litter bin raider, unshaven, unkempt, dirty clothes in tatters.
Oblivious of curious onlookers, he rummages through the garbage to see what he can salvage.
A half empty drinks bottle, a plastic coat hanger, remnants from a take-away, a newspaper a glossy magazine.
He double checks a cigarette packet, just in case.
What has happened in his life to reduce him to this?
It beggars belief!
Man with no feet sits on the pavement, begging bowl by his side.
How did he get there? No sticks or wheelchair in sight.
Did someone bring him and place him there to beg?
How did he lose his feet? An accident, perhaps?
Do we really want to know, do we really care? What could we do anyway?
We have passed him now, carried along with the crowd.
In an instant the sight is eliminated from our memory.
But he’ll be there tomorrow and many other days.
It beggars belief?
An afro-haired man, rough looking, is bumming cigarettes from café customers. He has no luck.
Agitated now, he grabs an empty Coke can from a table and goes to stand by a wall.
He grinds the can viciously up and down the wall.
The noise attracts attention, heads turn.
He crushes the can in his hands and flings it to the ground with all his might.
He rubs his hands together, straightens up and walks off in a purposeful manner.
It beggars belief!
A young man plays an accordion whilst his little dog sits beside him.
A begging bowl, fashioned from the bottom portion of a plastic bottle, with a wire pushed through to form a handle dangles from the little dogs mouth.
We feel sorry for the pathetic little dog sitting there, motionless, in the heat of the day, no water bowl obvious while his master plays.
The dog has no choice in the matter. Does the musician have a choice?
It beggars belief!
A big, burley, tank-of-a-man, shaved head, muscular limbs, appears from nowhere, charging menacingly down the street.
His arms are flailing and he’s mumbling to himself.
A metal restaurant sign is in his path. He grabs the sign and flings it to the ground with Amazonian strength.
The noise shatters the peaceful café scene.
Heads turn in the direction of the commotion.
He then tosses a postcard stand to the ground, the cards scatter in all directions.
Onlookers gasp in disbelief.
He charges on up the street disregarding the havoc he has wrought.
The restaurateur, alerted by the racket, is now on the pavement looking anxious and bewildered, phone clamped to his ear. Maybe he’s calling for help?
The shopkeeper has now emerged to find his card stand lying on the ground empty, the cards strewn across the cobbles.
He rubs his head, perplexed.
We have witnessed the actions of a man full of pent-up anger and hatred – but at what or of whom?
Perhaps he’s ill – he must be ill.
But what if you or I had been in his path instead of the restaurant sign or the postcard stand?
It beggars belief!
Greek Island Reflections
by
Jean Chadwick
Turquoise waters lapping gently on tamarisk edged shores
Lazy strolls through ancient shady olive groves
Cloudless, azure skies
Still, hot, stifling days and balmy nights
Bird song
Cicadas
Yapping dogs
The clicking of worry beads
Swallows swooping for flies to feed young
In clay nests glued to walls and eaves
Elongated, spindly cats with battle scars
Adorable kittens you want to take home
Roaming packs of mangy disowned dogs
Friendly, welcoming locals
Ladies in widow weeds
Wide-eyed children with ready smiles
Black-clad priests with long bushy beards
Greek salad
Feta cheese
Tzatziki, houmous and taramasalata
Saganaki, dolmades
Gigantes plaki , those delicious giant butter beans baked in the oven
Stifado, souvlaki, moussaka and kleftiko
Meat balls
Stuffed tomatoes, aubergines and peppers
Imam and briam
Aubergine salad, chick pea balls
Pastichio
Cheese and spinach pies
Baklava
Kandaifi
Yogurt with honey
Ouzo
Retsina, cheap barrel wine
Mythos beer and raki - but that’s not for the faint-hearted!
So, let’s raise our glasses
‘Yammas’
And here’s to the next time!
THE OLD MAN
Very old now
Very weak
Did not want to eat
Just drink
Why were people impatient?
Why did they not understand?
That he just wanted to sleep the Big Sleep.
Nothing tasted any more
His tummy was always full
Some days not even milk tasted
He couldn't be bothered.
They said he must eat
Otherwise he would die
He did not mind dying
But he was afraid of pain, it scared him
He hoped he would go in his sleep.
He died with unknown help.
He lay in his open coffin at home
Surrounded by flowers and candles.
Did he smile?
It seemed so.
While we who were behind
Celebrated his birth into another world.
Pauline Anderson
"A lazy day in the garden"
I love to sit out in my garden, in the shade of the old cherry tree,
With a Telegraph crossword in one hand, in the other a large G & T.
But the roses are covered in greenfly, I really should give them a spray,
And their leaves are covered in black spot, which really just won’t go away.
The slugs have eaten the pansies, the clematis has succumbed to wilt,
Rust has got at the hollyhocks, and I'm sitting here covered in guilt.
The borders could do with weeding, the shrubs could do with a prune,
I really should stake the delphiniums, I'm sure I'll get round to it soon.
The heron has had all the goldfish, he comes every day at three,
But the pond is so full of blanket weed, I don't know how he can see!
What with greenfly, mildew and aphids, blackspot, fungus and blight,
The gardener's job is unending, I think I'll give up the fight!
Which of these jobs should I tackle? I don't know where to begin,
I know, while I make that decision, I'll just have another large gin! Jill Carlson
THE DINNER PARTY
I've read the book; I've read it twice,
I've looked and looked, it must be right.
The list is made, it's very long
With names I do not understand.
Mise en place and moussaline,
Parton Brie and langoustine
Wantons, kedgeree and skirlie mash,
Clams, scallops, lobster too;
Goujons of plaice, wow that will do.
What shall I cook? - damn that awful cookery book!
Forget it all, they are just friends
Who've come to dine, and drink and drink,
I really don't care what they think.
The take away has just arrived!
Pat Wood
Haute Couture
(High fashion in the garden)
Look at me
I'm over here
Here in the corner.
I'm naked
Completely naked
Stripped
Bare
Size zero now
You could say.
I shiver and take stock
There are others nearby
In varying degrees of nakedness
And I see a few still holding fast to their multi-coloured cloaks
Saffron, red, bronze, brown
Fashion icons now
Maybe
But their time will come
And soon they too will be as naked as I.
Now, please don't feel sorry for me
Because my state of undress is only temporary
It’s the winter of fashion season, you see
just give me a little time to recover, to rejuvenate.
Be patient and you'll see me again
Standing proudly in the corner
Fully clothed
Bedecked in my new designer outfit
Just one of the Spring’s latest collection.
Jean Chadwick