This is our celebrating life and always fighting back section- it is Lorraine’s Page. All poems are by members of our little team, unless specifically stated otherwise. The key poet is Lorraine, and (where indicated), other members of the team contribute here and there! The above witch image is ours, used as the badge on our social media. We think she’s great on the microphone and also looks pretty good on our range of mugs, bags, etc.
We are now offering any of our poems (or all) read to you in an audio file and sent to your requested inbox. You can have any of the team read the poem(s) for you. We do make a small charge for this though (with any money for these given to the Parkinson’s Foundation for those suffering from Parkinson’s), but we will also talk a bit about the poem and what it means to us.
Feel free to comment, and if you want to send us a bit of poetry, we may publish it here if we like it. If we do publish, we will send you one of our mugs as a thank you!
Before the Poems, A Celtic Blessing for all who read our pages. From us all to you:
May your God’s cradle you in the protective palm of their hand, May the sun shine in your face.
May the wind be a gentle breeze on your back.
May the road ahead be clear,
with gentle gradients, clear divisions and surmountable hurdles.
May the spirit of love we share keep us bonded.
And may the force be with you.
And with your friends.
And your fellows.
And, yes, even our foes;
So they may be drawn into the light and walk there with us.
So Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of poetry, with various contributions coming and going from the team, organised and led by the wonderful Lorraine Foley.
First up is a tribute to Dads who are there and stay. Mark lost his Dad a couple of years ago and misses him every day. This poem is for him. For this one Mark gave me the ideas he wanted as a draft and I threw away the structure and any technical desires for this one, I just wanted feelings to flow.
Dad (mostly by Mark, but extensively touched up by Lorraine)
“Too many cracks on the pavement to avoid them all,
What you have to do is avoid the lines,
But how do I avoid the holes,
Without you being there to guide me?
What do I do when I feel alone,
and the hole is all I have?
What do I do if all I touch is wrong.
That’s when I need my dad to be there?
Do you remember that night so long ago,
at a Winter’s Tale?
Or standing on the terraces,
Or having chocolate cake?
The last thing you ever said to me was
I’ll continue doing that dad,
until I get things right.”
This one is called “Unleash the Witch” and it is by me (Lorraine). What can I say guys, it’s Halloween soon (unless you are reading this after October, then it’s not – but I will try to change the page again by then) and it is time to get scared, this one is called “Unleash the Witch.”
In shadows deep, where moonlight fears to play,
Unleash the Witch, let darkness have its sway.
Beneath the boughs, where twisted branches sigh,
A wicked presence wakes, prepared to fly.
Her eyes aflame with ancient, eldritch might,
A sorceress, conjuring the endless night.
With whispered curses, spells that chill the bone,
She weaves her web, in shadows all alone.
Beware, for in her cauldron, bubbling deep,
A potion brewed, to steal your soul in sleep.
Her cackle echoes through the haunted glen,
A spectral wail, a dirge that knows no end.
When autumn’s eve enshrouds the land in dread,
Unleash the Witch, and let the terror spread.
And we have a poem sent in by a reader. If you want to send in your Zombie memory, or deliver a Macbethian witches scene send it in! No promises, but if we like it we will put it up!
This one is a Shakespearean sonnet from reader Giles Musgrove from Manchester. Cheers Giles:
Upon this night when moonlight’s silver gleam,
A masquerade of spirits takes the stage,
In shadows deep,
where eerie phantoms dream,
They gather for a spectral, haunted page.
The air is thick with mystery and fright,
As ghouls and goblins waltz in eerie trance,
They dance with grace in pale, unearthly light,
In this macabre, ghostly, Halloween dance.
The witches cackle, casting spells with glee,
Their broomsticks twirl in a wicked ballet,
The specters glide through night’s dark tapestry,
A ghostly waltz that leads them far away.
Oh, Halloween, where magic’s touch is near,
In this strange night, we dance without a fear
The next poem is called Sandman. We are messing around with the poetry page and freshening things up a bit generally, as we don’t want them to get tired! And a poem called Sandman has to be about getting tired. This is a bit of poetry therapy this one, it is by a 15 year old, and he is rather proud of it, he’s passing an environmental message at the end.
I couldn’t sleep last night,
This huge clap of thunder over the house
Where everyone was scared, even the mouse.
I tiptoed down the stairs,
As lightning lit up the room,
Boots and cats in hallway,
eyes shining in the gloom.
God in the heavens is angry,
Look at what we’ve done,
Our poor planet’s not at peace,
What have we become.
Bring on the Sandman.
Next up: Straight Lines. This one is all by me (Lorraine) It is about a lovely walk I took, I love wandering in the fields and woods! It is just one of those poems about nature really, but it also reflects on how my boyfriend and I have battled through life and what it throws at you.
“My friend Graham told me to walk in straight lines.
As who wishes to walk in an endless square?
So today I walked and praised the Roman times,
Past the yellow fields of mustard seeds and rue
But there’s deadly nightshade, Belladonna,
That I will put aside for you, and you, and you.
The raven sits on the scarecrows shaggy head,
Bird of ill omen, but friend to me and mine,
I carried him on a silver ring, long ago
A prophecy in school days of what was to come.
One step in front of another, one day at a time.
The road still stretches on, horizon far away,
I walk ever onward, simply because I can,
No fence or gate to hold us, the planet mine to stroll,
And the sun is yours as much as mine
No-one here to take control.
I loved you absolutely, and every day still have,
But life can spit upon us, and too often has.”
Fly (This one comes from an obvious love of Macbeth, it is also reflecting on those bastards who love to drag us down – all by Lorraine). Referencing this one, it is from the perspective of Macbeth just before his “Tomorrow and Tomorrow” speech.
“Fly False Thanes,
and see how they run,
Just as soon as they see the battle is done,
A knife in the back
so it seems is wielded,
always from the one you considered a friend.
In the darkness of the night,
like those I knew,
or far from sight,
puscillanimity hides my thoughts of vengeance.
I refuse to write about the sun,
I curse the world and what its become,
on calvary a light diminished,
I’ve just seen how Shakespeare spins it.”
I was talking to someone the other day about the poetry, as it is always lovely when someone says they enjoyed such a poem, or ask what it is about. But they commented that there are not so many happy poems here. I’m not sure I entirely agree, but I have one of two that I can put forward. Here’s one that Mark gave, as I told him to! He is playing with sonnet form and says it’s a poem of memory, as sometimes that is all we have.
“That room with a moment that’s trapped,
Nothing special about that space it’s true,
But please stop the clocks and times wrapped
Stop me now in a loop with that first look.
So amazing as you entered the door,
Beauty like the softest chocolate taste,
Wrapped in a smile and a box of delights.
I have to know you, just tell me your name.
I’ll write it down, I’d tattoo it, insane.
Love in an instant, I believe it was.
And no matter the water that just flows away
I love you as much now as ever did that day.”
This next poem comes from my love of rather unusual Victorian nursery rhymes. I like when things go weird! You may, or probably will not, know “Dr.Fell” – this poem connects to Dr.Fell Syndrome where you just know you dislike someone the moment you meet them, but can’t quite say why. I reversed it, and note that I know exactly why! All in fun, bears no resemblance to anyone alive or dead etc. I kept to the 8 syllable to a line rule on this one. I’m reflecting on an old school enemy who used to bully me! I changed her name though lol.
I do not like thee Dr. Fell.
And Why that is I cannot tell.
But this I know, and know so well.
I do not like thee Dr. Fell.
I do not like thee my stranger.
And why that is I sure can tell.
You bullied me I can’t forgive.
You messed me up as all can see
But as I really should forgive
So Church and Bible tell me
I find it in my heart to say
Just go away and stay that way.
(and can I say how amazing I look in this T-Shirt of ours LOL)
Locked Down, But I have the Key.
Old Mother Hubbard
You Know her cupboard
Where the poor little doggy had none?
Well I’ve been locked up inside
door locked, mind fried,
deprived of my family and friends.
Yet inside my head
I’m always so free,
a wonderful world of mystery,
where carpets can fly
and those I love are with me.
So in old Hubbard’s cupboard
I don’t need the key
It’s only as dark
As my mind allows it to be.
BEFORE WE GET TO ANOTHER POEM, OUR CO-EDITOR USED TO HAVE A PODCAST DOING STORIES, THIS WAS THE POETRY EPISODE FROM IT. IF YOU LIKE POETRY AND ENJOY A PODCAST THEN FOLLOW THE LINK!
For those who like a bit of background to a poem, this one is about how shit can fall on you and yet you find the fight if you can find someone key who still believes in you. All you need is one!
I based in on a one word, then following line with a regular 10 syllable metre. It is all by me, Lorraine. Enough of that, on with the poem…
And do you have the glue that can mend me?
There can be no fixative strong enough.
Like a heart left in tatters once too often.
As I reach out my hand to your safety.
As I grasp the one life belt in the sea.
This next one came from watching that great movie “Hokus Pokus” where the zombie has bits dropping off all the time. It is a strange connection, but it became this poem. It plays with my love of horror, Benny shared some ideas with this one too. The end bit is imagining Billy Butcherson coming in the room.
The living voodoo doll,
with body parts rotting away,
bandage them to keep them there,
as bits drop off day-to-day
I’m not feeling all that sad,
karma speaks and baggage leaks.
Wrapped up parts, stuck on with glue,
zombie flesh, the living dead,
I used to kind of like that film,
Until that reality walked in my room.
We all are volunteers here (apart from Benny and Mark), making the magazine as interesting as we can for you, all content is free and should stay that way. But we do have our own merchandise line, exclusive products designed in house. Have a Look! The links are above.