Last Post...the final four poems!

 

 

 

We Sheep

 

Gurgling, burpy bleats

Lolling sloppily from the

Green endangered throats.

Heather Taylor

 

 

 

 

 

Kiss  Me  Quick

 

Hey  look  at  me  all  drenched  and  wet

Oh   forgot  you  haven’t  met  me   yet

I   was  left  behind  on  this   wrought  iron  bench

By  that  bleached  blonde  wench

I  was  so  glamorous  when  new

Glittering  pink,  edged  with  cream  feathers

And  a  ribbon  of  blue

She  was  in  awe  of  my  silken  rim

When  she  and  her  pals  were  swilling  the  gin

They  hugged  and  kissed

Cackled  with  laughter  and  danced  the  twist

I  was  placed  aside

But  I  couldn’t  hide

I  craved  the  calmness  of  the  tide

“Here  let  me  try  it  on!”   was  the  cry

I  wanted  to  curl  up  and  die

My  novelty  worn  off

The  night  club  closed

She  wondered  on  the  prom,  concrete, sand  and  sea  tickling  her  toes

In  her  sleepy  state

She  watched  the  fisher  men  dig  for  bait

Enfolded  by  the  damp  sea  mist

She  staggered  away,  shoes  in  hand,  sparkly  bracelets  on  her  wrist

Leaving  me  here  for  the  next  misplaced  tourist.

 

Anne Ward

Birdsong 

Black Angus heifers paddling in the Wyre,

St Peter’s spire and Nicky Nook

brush stroke a pastoral scene.

A landscape from the past,

lacking only country folk and horse-drawn wain.

Ripples circle outwards from hoofs in the

shallow ford between two luscious,

green- mile fields.

They lap contented at the  tea-stained water

as it slugs along the Martin-pitted slopes.

Nesting  birds dash in and out,

bank left, then right,

fly-catching on the wing,

sky ballerinas in sweet Summer rain.

Today they will not sing their freedom in the sky;

will not mock the beef- boys happy with their lot.

They see the pock-marked soil,

over-flowing with rose-tinted rain

and offer only birdsong in their wake.

Adele V Robinson

Stalking Stanah Saltmarsh Blues

Well I woke up this morning

a memory in mind,

you, soft hipped and glorious,

sweet kissing kind -

but my reed bed was empty

so lust ebbed away…

oh mama, I’ve got them old

saltmarsh blues today.

I stalked you to Stanah

by the widening Wyre,

whose muddy shore ciphers

proclaimed you a liar -

all blue-eyed and blowsy

left soft by the fray…

oh mama, these saltmarsh blues

quite blow me away.

We talked of zonation

like estuarine hex lines,

how time changes everything,

mutating love-signs.

It’s tilting at windmills,

keeping sadness  at bay…

oh mama, we’ve all got

our saltmarsh dues to pay.

Steve Rowland