Screenshot 2017-04-06 15.34.05
hans christian andersen

Green velvet smoking jacket
svelte and warm and treasured
since Cambridge
the pool of light that quickened
the grain in his oak desk was
as much a portal for him
into other worlds as was the
oak door through which he entered
his library at every

Sometimes the desk supported
the console of a racing carriage and
at others the cockpit of
a spaceship from the pen of
Leonardo da Vinci and
at others still the pool of light
upon the desk resembled that upon
the spectacles of a tiny Rumpelstiltskin
or the chestnut hair of Lydia
the one and only he’d ever
truly adored

And his pen added a carrot-nose
to a snowman fashioned
by his father and the slowing
pace of his seventy-five year
old legs was rejuvenated as
his pen pointed brighter than
candle flame into the
archives of an always fertile mind

His eyes could appear as blank
black discs in a handsome patrician visage
when observed at the desk from
eventide street window but
only because there they gazed
inward, remembering, rejoicing
resurrecting realities borne of
fairy tales of wing├ęd truth

Simon Marsh


Photo at Pixabay

A gift of a day, unexpected,
found only in the incidental way of a passing remark;
a walk through almond terraces and tangled olive groves,
down, over warm rocks that smelled of salt and windblown pine
and rosemary.
We swam and the sun threw dots to dance around us.

Kit Hollings


Photo at Pixabay

Joy lives in small things,
sunshine colours on a water droplet
or reflections from a spider web.
It is in primroses, daffodils and bluebells
waking after winter’s sleep.
Joy is caring, sharing and little acts of kindness.
It is commitment, love and belonging.

Dorothy Crowther