Poems from Session V

June 2, 2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE
Len

Listening through the open
window to a first year
soprano at the RN college.

Falling asleep on the softest
couch the Royal Exchange
has to offer.

Walking to the furthest tip
of Oldham Street and coughing
up the fumes.

Observing the masses in the
Arndale Centre, crawling over
each other to get to the sales.

Smelling petals I don’t
know the name of
in Chorlton cemetery.

Crunching the path
with the balls of my feet
until they ache.

Clowning with Jimmy’s son
under the biggest oak tree
in Heaton Park.

Crowing with the birds
at the edge of
hole number 9.

Howling with the dogs
on Chorlton Ees
at midnight.

Sprinting with the kids in Didsbury playground
and screaming with the girls
that don’t go to school.

Waking up on Piccadilly
Gardens grass and smelling
Nero coffee.

 

TENBY

Adele Fowles

 

Driving to Tenby.
Writing in your little diary –
the cottage and the heatwave and the beach.
Listening to you crying and screaming,

NEVER EVER AGAIN.

 

Watching you walking alone
along the beach
collecting those sweet little shells.  
Trying – failing – to make any sense
of any of it, at all.

 

 

 

NUTSFORD VALEA

Anonymous

 

listen to the birds

watch the trees

see the insects

the flowers and bees

sometimes the frogs

maybe an odd fox

geese fly by

snow winter

fresh air

 


POEM
Luisha

A bedroom is a sanctuary,
a place of relaxation,
where one can unleash
imagination.
Viewing rural attraction
at the window pane,
trees, flowers, birds
echoing down the lane.

A bedroom is a place,
your own breathing space.
A calm area, where
poems can become.
A place
where relaxation
takes place.

In a bedroom
the world is your oyster!
Read, write, create
something extraordinary!
But don’t forget,
a bedroom is a
place
where the mind expresses itself.
So the content of a bedroom
reflects the content of personality.

Personality is unique,
subject to critique.


POEM
Paul B

Sitting and watching people relaxing
with coffee cups and pop.
The sun is bright but not too hot.
Smelling the beautiful flowers and
freshly-cut grass,
the breeze on my face
helps me forget the rat race
and I’m able to drift, which
also gives me a lift.
Forgetting the stresses of modern-day
life – no anger, no aggression – and
it takes away the strife.
Forgiving others is easier coz
I’m in this place
that lifts me up and
fills me with grace.

REMEMBERING LYNSLEY STREET AND HOPWOOD STREET
Carl Peploe

They were both pulled down in 1996.
I walked past them just before
they were going many many years ago.
By then they were all derelict
and there were cages for pigeons.

I wish the old streets were back.
Why didn’t they leave the old streets alone?
There was a community back then,
now there’s shitting nothing,
just faceless concrete prisons.

The old streets had character
even though they had outside bogs,
like Coronation Street in the 1960s.
But them days have gone forever.

Now it’s all alienation,
pissed up dickheads and yobs.
Put them all in little boxes
like pigeons and dogs.


POEM
Brian Clewloe

Walking around Manchester
to sit in Piccadilly Gardens
to see the water fountain and
have my sandwiches
listening to street music.

Then going round the Arndale
to see the shops and going in HMV
to buy a James CD,
and going to Deansgate to look at
the shops, then getting the bus
to come to St Luke’s
to do art and poems.
Then going home for tea
and reading the paper and
watching TV.

 

 

 

 

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