60m of blue climbing rope
Uncoiled on grass under crag
It must be ready to pay out freely
Within its strands the memories
Of every previous winding up
And knot
The rope pays out
Freely
We climb
Julie Carter
newwriting24may2018
Stirrings
New shoots seeds with needs
Hedgerows home to the broody hen
Stirrings in the loins of young men
The Season of the Hormonal Male
Shorter skirts and softer dresses
Encouraging thoughts of sweet caresses
Female bodies released from winter cocoon
Will be turning heads very soon
Resolutions now easier to keep
Thoughts of loves one is hoping to reap
The season has sprung, there is no going back
Desire is there, it’s the route one might lack
Hedgerows bristling with new life at a pace
Shoots, buds and eggs all caught up in the race
Matches, hatches, it’s a time for them all
Memories made you will forever recall
A prelude to summer, don’t let it waste
Time will soon pass, go to it in haste
With someone to love, you will feel on a throne
Much better than spending time all alone
If all else fails don’t give up on the spree
Lower your sights and spend time with me.
Trevor Coleman
I polish my boots
A summer day dawns
Mist lifts from the mountain top
I polish my boots
Missing Parts of Speech
Poetry and prose without adverbs and adjectives is like a summer without sun and strawberries. Their lack creates a drought for our ears and ideas which those missing parts of speech can help to take wing and fly, lifting our minds above chatter and chaff, nurturing insights into mundanity. The discipline of the sadhu on a ledge suits such a being but the potential in language for rhythm, scansion and rhyme are tools to be honed and cherished like a burning glass igniting fires in our hearts and minds that can then take us beyond the shadows in the cave.
Colin Dixon
Flowers paint the grass
The light has come back
Lambs are in the field where
Flowers paint the grass
It is that time of year. We are treated to more sunlight and the days are growing longer. Snowdrops in the garden remind us that things are changing. Leaves return to the hedgerows and to the trees. We rejoice at the colours of the flowers and go for walks in the sun by the Lake. Soon the bluebells will be with us. We rejoice with our friends the birds who sing in the trees.
Dorothy Crowther
Soon drunk
Peacock fans in trees
Smoke turns gold to grey
Taste of ash on tongue
Over-ripe, flowers seed
For next year’s Spring
And you say: ‘Another year
older,’
We smile,
Knowing now
That summer is a sweet cup
Soon drunk
Kath Sunderland
Mungrisdale Writers 