3 minute read
POEMS
PRINCE PHILIP THE BLACK BENCH BURIED ALIVE
Prince among men, who so graciously bowed, Willingly serving our Queen, Even as Christ washed the feet of his own To teach where true greatness is seen.
Prince among men, you answered the call With good humour to meet each demand Inspiring our youth to rise up with strength To serve or to even command.
Yes, Prince as a husband, a father, a friend With grace reaching out to each one Serving the One who is Prince o’er all kings And who now welcomes him home with ‘Well done!’
Pauline Lewis, Porthcawl
KEEP LOOKING BACK AND YOU WILL NEVER MOVE FORWARD
Not another doom monger I can see it in their face About to say something negative And ruin my happy place We all know how hard it’s been We’ve been through it together We’ve struggled with anxiety We’ve been through stormy weather But what’s the point in re-living it What good will all that do Laying blame on others, resentment It’s only effecting you So keep your negativity and outlook that’s so bleak I’m looking forward to the better times, my next minute, day and week I choose not to dwell on negatives I’m excited for what’s to come So don’t waste your life always looking back After dark there is always sun.
Eve Victoria, Porthcawl
As we walked along the lakeside A black bench caught our eye. Our legs were getting weary So we reached it with a sigh. We dug our water bottle From the bottom of our bag, That long walk in the midday sun Had really mad us sag. Refreshed, we looked around us. Eyes popped, mouths opened wide, As we absorbed the perfect image That graced the other side. Those rolling hills in shades of green Grasses, foliage too, Swept us away to dreamlands Where emotions swirled anew. From their foot down by the lakeside With its solid rocky base, They soared up to the skyline Where the heavens they embraced. That simple wooden bench Worked its magic that spring day. Left its picture printed in our hearts To be cherished, come what may.
Judy Dee, Porthcawl
THE SNAIL
A head, two horns and a tail Let us celebrate the snail God’s gift to the soil Far too perfect to spoil. The shell on his back Is the home that we lack. So, should envy prevail, Please don’t damage the snail. Don’t hurl in the air God’s answer to Prayer. Take him hostage on the hosta, As he climbs to accost you. Place him somewhere with care, As he climbs to the air, And the flower spike he slimes As this poem reminds.
Sally Richards, Porthcawl
(Song of depression) Why did you wake me? I did not want to be awake You came with your warmth and light And shook out the darkness, You would not let me sleep. You thought you were being kind Afraid I would miss the morning. I had not planned this day, Last night as I closed my eyes I admit I was not thinking of you I thought of no one or of any place No heaven, no haven, no place of peace. I wanted it to be my last sleep No dreams, no desires, no wants No waiting on the steps of stairs Disappointed when you do not appear. I wanted a stranger’s hand to hold I wanted a stranger’s face To be the last face I see.
You woke me from my sleep you had no right No human faith or belief gave you the right When you are tired of living It is best not to live at a My internment goes on while I live You put me in my coffin while I still breath I smell the fresh earth I hear the sermons and the hymns I scratch the lid, I scream, I shout But I am not heard.
Malcolm Price, Nottage
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