Slow down a while.  by Serena Micaleff  february 2013


If there was a button I could press to slow down the pace of life,

It would be pressed.

A fastness and need for speed seems to carry the mind along a path

Of one I don’t understand.

Step back I say, your speed is making life go by you may miss out on seeing things

Because you are too intent with getting here and there, thinking you will be me more near

But you must see more clearer, take time to stop and rest a while look up at the sky and see the

Clouds look to the trees and see the birds, look to your love ones and see them grow,

 For it all looks so much better if you take life slow.


 Difference of Opinion by Mike Lodge  february 2013

Individuality is easy to define
Usually not following the common line
Everybody is totally unique
Most noticeably in the way we speak
Some dress in order to impress
And others are flamboyant in their dress
Flash suits and flashing smiles
Trying to build impressive piles
Many wings in the big house
Expensive kids, expensive spouse
And the poor down and out
Who has nothing to shout about
With long, unkempt, greasy hair
Life’s hand, anything but fair
Classical music, deep thinking
Disco dancing, happy feeling
Political agreement, not often found
As the arguments go round and round
And finally they do agree
To disagree

Recollections.  by Kay Richards    February 2013

From Kay's Help 4 Heros book


 Home from the front, tattered and torn
Fighting for people back home,
Seeing your comrades suffer and fall
Standing confused and alone.
Was the scarifice worth it?
Will anyone understand?
The nightmares you silently suffer in sleep
From that damned, forsaken land.
Do they appreciate the bullets and blood?
Part of the soldiers toil
The children losing families
Upon rank and blood sodden soil
Who mends the scars within the mind
Eliminates the pain.
And the question is when this war ends
When will it happen all again?

 East Anglian Churches  by Mike Lodge December 2012


They used to be the focal point of the village
Surrounded by graves of village people
The landed intered within the church
Every church had a yew tree in the grounds
Said to ward of evil and keep the church alive
Newborn life, marriage and death
All celebrated in the church
Hub of life for village people
Often built of flint by people of the village
Some have square towers, others, are round
A few have spires, mostly wooden
The more bells they have, the wealthier the village
And the more ornate the graves headstones
The peel of the bells carries across the landscape
Summoning to church the people of the village



 The Wind in the Trees  by  Mike Lodge  November 2012

The big hardwoods resist the wind
Very strong, they do not flinch
Only the smaller branches move
Gentle movement in the wind
Standing proud, their trunks stiff
Not giving an inch

The coniferous trees sway in the wind
Tall thin trunks, bend in the breeze
Resisting the wind by bending with it
Losing needles and cones in the wind
In forested lines, they bend and sway
Standing upright when there is no breeze

The coconut can really bend
Resisting the most powerful wind
Dropping coconuts on the unwary
Their sinewy grain allows them to bend
Firmly rooted, they stand their ground
Fronds, shaking in the wind

 My Grandad by Mike Lodge 9/2012

Born in 1889 was granddad Sam
He was a Victorian man
Saw the early bicycles
And the very first cars
Drove trams in Broadstairs
Fought the 1st world war
And lost a lung to mustard gas
Fighting in the trenches of the Somme
Friendships, forged and gone
In the war torn, devastation of the Somme
Later he joined the Metropolitan Police
Attached to the Port of London Authority
He patrolled the London docks
Then he forsaw the 2nd world war
And moved his family out of London
Bought some land and built a home
And was a smallholder throughout the war
Kept a thousand chickens for eggs
And two hundred rabbits for meat
Supplying all the schools with rhubarb
He never did learn to drive a car
But with a smallholding he couldn’t go far
Rode his bike almost everyday
Smoked a pipe and roll-ups all his life
Died of a heart attack during the night
A sudden end to an eighty three year life

 The Harvest  by  Mike Lodge   september 2012

It's summertime and the weather should be fine
but up to now, it's been raining all the time
crops should be staggered, hay, rape,barley, wheat
but they've all come at once, to get them in, no mean feat
up at 5am, collecting bales, or disc cutting fields
start combining midday, realising reduced yields
if it's not raining, working into the night
forecast fair, up at first light
in the combines air conditioned cab
particle filters, developed in the lab
guidance and cutter height the only task
no more, dusty, negative Raccoon mask
bath, dinner, beer, then bed for all
continue planting into the fall
ongoing vegetable harvest all year round
plant, spray, harvest, then till the ground
but the iconic view of summer
the combines, as from a cloud of dust they lumber
working late into the summer night
with powerful lamps, their way they light
grain transported and elevated into the store
tractor and trailer return to the field for more





Unamed poem  by Loren Miles  sept 2012
Walking on cobbles - stilettos find the cracks
Sinking in quicksand, no way to stumble back
Craving for elegance, succeeding as a fool
Must accept acceptance? I think that's just a tool
Heat or something similar begins to ware you down
Smiles escape attention so you summon up a frown
Feel so incidental, not a player, just a cog
Keep the machine turning but stay shrouded in a fog
Up above is sunlight but your neck can't stretch that far
Desparate now for air, or see the twinkle of a star 
But without a ladder from  ahole you can't escape
Want to be extraordinary but the chasm is too great
Change your scene, employment, house, relationship anew
Still, the day's end shhows you, you can't get away from you
How can you be different, someone other than yourself?
Crazy and flamboyant, not just perched upon a shelf
Everyone has 'something' so the help book gurus say
What's the use of talent when it's hidden far away
Learn your unique meaning, learn to love and to be true
Only with this wisdom can you hope to make it thhrough
One day you will get there, keep believing if you can
All of it is true, you'll find your reason, see your plan

 Paralympics  by Mike Lodge  september 2012

No longer able bodied, but mentally alert and fit
Enduring handicaps, wanting gold, they go for it,
Powering through physical and mental pain,
Faces grimacing as they strain
Special podiums, their medals to receive
In their abilities they truly believe
Track and field, basket ball, or in the pool
Do not, dismiss us, we can do it all
These fantastic games, raising awareness of our plight
Causing people to see us in a new light
In new buildings, at the front, an access that is wide
Please don’t demean us by putting it at the side
Treat, us with respect, be nice to us today
Remember, mentally alert, we have got something to say


 Going for a Win by Serena Micaleff   4/8/2012


The flags are all flying, as the Olympics take place,

With all different nationalities of the human race

Concentrations are high and pulses are racing

For the competition that they are facing

Gold is what they want they are going for a win,

After all the hard work they have put in.

No stopping them now! A fight to the end

A good luck to our home team is what we will send.

 Louise by Loren Miles   4/8/2012

Little Louise, where di you come from

Delicate, beautiful, fair?

So full of love and so gentle, so cheery

How I wish I could find where

Someone as gorgeous and lovely as you

Came to our lives like an angel so true

Smiles so infectious they light up the world

Bluest of eyes dancing brightly

Never a care as you watch all around

Softly your gaze skims so lightly

How I wish joy could be shared with a touch

I just must tell you I love you so much


 Rain by Mike Lodge   4/8/2012

Rain makes our food plants grow.
Giving life to the seeds we sow.
Plants extending, upwards with new growth.
Swelling ears of wheat, for our daily bread.
but rain is just dirty water.
Cleaned and mixed with barley for our porter.
Filling rivers and their tributary feeds.
Rushing along, clearing the summer weeds.
With too much water, they overflow.
Flooding fields, drowning the seeds we sow.
Our homes, flood waters can destroy.
Raging river, tossing a car like a toy.
And when the waters have receded.
The land has to dry, before it can be reseeded.
Homes and infrastructure have to be renewed.
Farmers, struggling, to grow our food.
With new plaster and new floor.
We find, we can insure the house no more.
In some countries, they pray for rain.
And in others, it rains, again and again and again….


 I Fancy a Pizza Tonight  by  Mike Lodge  1/7/2012


There’s a good program on the telly tonight
A full length film I have not seen
Tale of adventure and daring exploits
Escapism in a fantasy world
Spectacular stunts that are amazing
car chases, ignoring the traffic light phasing


I’ve called my mates and they’re coming round
Bringing a choice of beers
And the local take-away’s menu
So we can have something to eat
Then we’ll throw away the washing up
No glasses, so drink the beer from a cup


It’s 8 o’clock and they’ve arrived
They’ve settled in my chairs
And decided what to eat
One wants a Chinese meal
And another thinks a kebab will delight
But I fancy a large pizza tonight


Beers are opened and the first ones are downed
The food arrives at the same time
Bills are paid and tips are given
More beers are opened and the food devoured
The food is eaten the beers are gone and it’s getting light
I really enjoyed my pizza last night


 The first of two poems about my grand children . Each so very different but both adorable.  The next one next month

Tommy  by  Loren Miles 1/7/2012

Tommy, a whirlwind, an energy rush

Eager to know almost everything

Open mind, ready to learn how life works

Happy to learn about everything


Fast as a rocket he zooms thriugh his world

Drinking in vast vats of knowledge

Curious, inquisitive, a true active mind

For answers he's ready to forage


Language and singing, dancing and play

building, dissembling, creating

Tommy, you brighten my day and my life

Champion too, at debating


A cosy house by the sea! by Serena Micaleff  1/7/2012

If I won the lottery it would mean to me

I could have a cosy house by the sea!

Watching the sun set and rising once more,

The waves crashing like a welcome friend outside my front door.

Relaxing walks among sand dunes and drift wood,

Living the beach life as only one should!

Oh if only I could win the lottery some day

How life would then be,

For, I’d be living in a sand castle my lover and me.



 Friend     by  Cindy Rowe     3/6/2012

My friend, you're an angel
A blessing for sure
I whispered a prayer
And you knocked on my door
Your wings truly hidden
Your halo is gone
But you bring to my life
A different love song
Unique in your purpose
Your mission is set
It was never by chance
That you and I meet
And you add to my life
More than silver or gold
'Cause the treasure you have
Is my heart that you hold
And the time that we have
Short or long, I don't know
But forever a mark
you will leave if you go
So don't ever you think
You're a friend and no more
'cause you're God's answered prayer
When you knocked on my door


 Driving in my Car         by     Mike Lodge         3/6/2012

I used to go for a drive to relax
But now the English roads are very crowded
And everybody is in a hurry
Fuel is expensive, a high percentage is tax

Now, few drivers are polite or nice
No hand signals in the highway code now
But I have seen a few that were never included
Hurry now, I’ve got to get there in a trice

On the motorway, lorries that pass and make you sway
Car drivers, whose lane discipline is poor
Fatal accidents with their devastating toll
Hurry up, we want to get there yesterday

The roads are busy all the time
And few drivers slow down in fog
Few people seem to take much care
Seldom look before they cross the line

They know the dangers but drink and drive
And the really silly ones take drugs
There is little pleasure in driving now
But people should always drive to arrive


 The Town Centre     by     Mike Lodge           5/05/2012

Now home to many a charity shop,
The small, town center.
Resembling a retail desert.
Shops lay empty.
The department stores mostly gone.
Forlorn and sad,
They have closed down,
Victims of the out of town.
Huge retail parks, not welcoming,
But prospering with their large car parks.
Now more convenient for the weekly shop,
Promising lower prices,
With loyalty schemes and  greater choice,
Than any small shop.
When it is windy in the small town center,
Litter in a vortex swirls,
Adding to the feeling of desolation.
The forlorn and sad feeling,
Of a retail desert.



 Me!  by  Cindy Rowe         5/05/2012

My life hit a wall

My tears broke a dam

I suddenly realized

I am, who I am

I'm not going to change

I won't even try

Don't tell me to walk

When I know how to fly

Don't break me down

Or mislead me with lies

'Cause I only grow stronger

Each time my soul cries

So I am who I am

And I know what I've seen

I know where I'm going

And I know where I've been

The mistakes that I've made

And the ones yet to be

Will be made on my own

And be answered by me

But I'll stand true and tall

As I make my own way

'Cause I'm true to myself

Every hour, every day !



by Mike Lodge 6/4/2012

Goodbye to the darkness of the night.
The new dawn is breaking.
Bathing everything in a new light.
Nocturnal animals have gone to sleep.
Birds dawn chorus brings in the day,
Helping with the new days wakening,
Rousing all the others from their sleep.
Sun rising in the east,
Ball of fire, brings light and heat,
Clouds in the sky, angry in the light,
Said to be a shepherds warning,
Sometimes foggy, everything is grey,
The beginning of a new day,
New opportunity to get things done,
Bathed in the light of the morning sun.


 Thanks Chocolate!
 by Serena Micaleff  6/4/2012 


Oh chocolate thank you for being you satisfying my taste buds as you do,

Melting kindly in my mouth, from the first bite to the last,

Helping me out on days that are needed and always tasting so good,

From a chunky bar right down to a yummy choccy pud.

Yes you really are a girl’s saviour with your adorable amazing flavour,

Thank you for your existence and your never far when I need your assistance

So thanks again chocolate Thanks very much because you always have that magic touch.




By John Silkstone 6/4/2012

No longer the scythe in sunlight glistens
As it did in days long ago
The horse no longer pulls the plough
Its gait is much too slow
Man would work from dawn till dusk
While tilling over the soil
Moving on from farm to farm
His life an endless toil.
In this modern time
On Lincolnshire ’s farming land
Tractors and combine harvesters
Work together in a band
Collecting in the wheat
Or planting out the seed
The work is moving forward
At an accelerated speed.
Machines earn farmers fortune
That’s what people thought
They did not realise,
There’s a battle being fought
Farmer Brown must sell his land
His sheep his cattle his grain.
The lots go under the hammer
As a bullet enters his brain.
Author comment: This poem was written while the great foot-and-mouth outbreak of 2001 devastated the farms of England and I lost a very good friend.


Can I Dance   by  Mike Lodge  3/3/2012
My friend asked me if I can dance
I apologized and said I cannot
She suggested that I try
We went on the floor to give it a go
The band went into a lively foxtrot
I comprehensively proved I cannot
It’s an understatement to say
That I was all over the place
I bruised her toes and her instep too
She agreed my claim of inability was true
And that I was not exaggerating
When I said that I cannot
But I was a little embarrassed
When she called me tangle foot
To this day, the way in which
M y feet should move is a mystery
So when I’m asked if I can dance
I say definitely not

 Belonging.  by Serena Micaleff  3/3/2012

Placing memories together,

From pictures smells and dreams.

Of running in sunshine and chasing down streams.

Thoughts of once belonging,

To another time now gone!

The presence is where I stand now

With my true love hand in hand,

A feeling of fulfilment as I look across the land.


 WHERE HAVE ALL THE DUCKS GONE?  by Bill Conroy    3/3/2012

I tried to write a letter
But I couldn’t find the words
To ask that very vital question
What has happened to the birds?
  So now I turn my hand to verse
 with adjective verb and noun
to ask why our precious ducks
no longer frequent this town
  Once upon a time gone by
In Ely ducks gathered in profusion
But now the ducks are gone
Were they just an optical allusion?
  I came to know individual ducks
I actually knew their name
There was MaryAnne and Abigail
And another beauty I knew as Jane
  They greeted me in the morning
As I trudged  on my way
Quacking a cheerful happy greeting
Wishing me a very happy day.
  But now that is all over
 one single duck in solitude waits
Keeping a lonely solitary vigil
Awaiting the return of her missing mates
 So where have our ducks gone
Why have they left this city fair
We must find the missing treasures
And tend them with loving care
  For there is a local legend
 Tis one that we dare not spurn
If the ducks ever leave Ely
Then the Romans will return
  So citizens of Ely we must
 All quickly rally to the cause
Let us get the ducks back
keep the Romans from these shores


I Don’t  Do New by Mike Lodge 5/2/2012
With a few exceptions
Clothes, shoes and tools
I seldom buy anything new
Never do I buy a car
That is less than ten years old
Buying them new done by people
Who lose a lot of money
When they buy one new
My way is the best by far
I buy when still good but old
And seldom spend a lot of money
New tyres and brakes perhaps
But I never lose on depreciation
As my old car trundles about the nation
Supermarket trolley damage
Really is not a problem
It’s just a few more battle scars
Collected by my old cars
Everything works and it’s perfectly safe
It ain’t broke, so why buy new?


WALLACE ON DEATH ROW. by By John A Silkstone 5/2/2012 
Apologies to Marriott Edgar and this poem, ‘The Lion and Albert.’
There’s a famous place called Blackpool
That’s noted for fresh air and fun
However I’m waiting on death row
For I’m to be shot with a gun.
Now a Lancashire lad named Albert
Stuck his walking stick into my ear,
I asked him politely to stop it
And go for a walk on the pier.
But Albert being a Ramsbottom
He took no notice of me
Kept poking wi’ his ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle,
Saying, “Oi, I’m talking to thee.”
I will not let him annoy me
For I’m starting my yoga trance,
I’m oh so calm with my karma
I know that he hasn’t a chance.
But the wife, she’s getting angry
And building up quite a rage.
Reaching out with her claws
She drags Albert into her cage.
And now that my yoga is over
I’m back in my cage all-alone,
I open my eyes and I’m shocked,
To see a blooded cap and a bone.
They blamed me for eating Albert
Though the wife she thought up the plan
I know, I couldn’t have ate Albert
For I’m a vegetarian.

Belonging.  by  Serena Micallef.  5/2/2012 
Placing memories together,

From pictures smells and dreams.

Of running in sunshine and chasing down streams.

Thoughts of once belonging,

To another time now gone!

The presence is where I stand now

With my true love hand in hand,

A feeling of fulfilment as I look across the land.


  HOW TO BE SEEN AT AN ACCIDENT SCENE by Bill Conroy 5/2/2012


  Friends, always wear a smile and undies that are clean

If you want to look your best at any accident scene

For paramedics will check your pulse and respiratory rate

And then carefully evaluate your under-wear state

As you lie there prostrate with legs in the air

curious passers by will stop and very rudely stare

You can imagine the talk, the gossip, and the chatter

If you haven’t paid attention to those areas that matter

So always leave your home in underdaks that shine

Clean and fresh and designed by Calvin Klein


 Fenland Landscapes   from Mike Lodge......4/12/2011

Fenland landscapes are all about fresh air
and are wonderfull places to be
particularly when the sun shines
and the weather is set to be fair
Uninterrupted, cloud featured and clear skies
criss-crossed by aeroplane contrials
that sparkle in the light cascadeing from
aircraft wings, that twinkle in your eyes
Vast panoramas for all to see
flat lands, crossed by drains and rivers
Villages built on clay surrounded by silt
very few bushes and hardly a tree
Few places for Muntjack deer to hide
no fences to contain them
Land where a hare canattain its top speed
Roads that undulate, giving a bumpy ride
Cities, dominated by cathedrals
Village churches with unusual features
and pubs with strange names
like "The Honest John" and "The Five Alls".

 From Cindy Rowe.....4/12/2011

While chasing moonlight
You lost the sun
While gathering dreams
You end with none
You follow a heart
That’s cold as ice
You seek the warmth
You sacrifice
You're collecting coal
That has no worth
But the diamonds you're given
You drop in the earth
And the glass of trust
You crush back to sand
As you try to prove honest
By not taking a stand
The future you seek
You've lost while you look
Cause the answer was love
That you can't give, but took
And I've no doubt you'll find
All the prizes you seek
But they're fake and they're cheep
With dishonesty reek
And the treasures you chase
All you wanted and more
Were there for your taking
Right outside your door
But they came with a price
More than you cared to pay
Just a simple, I Love You
‘S all you had to say!

 From  Paul Sutherland.........4/12/2011

Red Candle Holder

Our bedroom candle holder’s
blackened around its tinny socket;
we’ve given up chipping off the wax
clinging in layers like paint remnants.
To carry it to our bed the shallow dish
extends an incomplete ring as a handle
not big enough for a man’s curled finger
but still too expansive for a child’s.

Many mornings we’ve seen the thing
spent, as a gift that no one can use,
and reeking. But don’t close the drapes.
Now it’s settled on our white window sill
against blind glass, let it be a reflection
because it can never speak for itself.

 From John Silkstone...........4/12/2011

Apologies to Marriott Edgar and this poem ‘The Lion and Albert’
There’s a famous place called Blackpool
That’s noted for fresh air and fun
However I’m waiting on death row
For I’m to be shot with a gun.
A Lancashire lad called Albert
Stuck a walking stick into my ear,
I asked him politely to stop it
And go for a walk on the pier.
But Albert being a Ramsbottom
He took no notice of me,
Still poking with his ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
Saying, “Oi, I’m talking to thee.”
I will not let him annoy me
For I’m starting my yoga trance,
I’m oh so calm with my karma
I know that he hasn’t a chance.
Now the wife, she’s getting angry
And building up quite a rage.
Reaching out with her claws
She drags Albert into her cage.
Now that my yoga is over
I’m back in my cage all-alone,
I open my eyes and I’m shocked,
To see a blooded cap and a bone.
I got the blame for eating Albert
Though the wife she cooked up the plan
I know, I couldn’t have ate Albert
For I’m a vegetarian.



Give Me Back My Town   by Chris Darlington   30/10/11

Looking up one day at the new Deck flats by the canal

I thought, this is not Runcorn nothing like it, nothing matches.

No beautiful dawn can rise up there in the clouds as is does on the packed tiny terraced streets below.

All the flats seem to do is look down on us and sneer.

As old men and women walk about old familiar streets they are not seen as living history as they are to me, only as tiny grey specks like marks on reading glasses.

I take off my own glasses and wipe them in response and find them damp with condensation not tears.

Give me back my town I scream inside as the pain begins to hurt.

Someone is waving at the old people from a small high up window thinking those below are really toys not human at all.

I put on my glasses again walking boldly in to bright autumn sunlight, I shout give me back my town this is not Runcorn nothing like it.

I hear no response from the new Deck flats, only an eerie silence and somebody shuts a tiny window


Autumn by Mike Lodge  30/10/2011


How quickly the days shorten in October

Darker mornings and early nights

The days becoming colder

Low sun that is very bright

Leaves turning red and gold

Unwanted apples from the harvest

laying unloved, fermenting on the ground

Young Rabbits hopping at twilight

Angry red clouds harken the nights

The year is getting old

and scuttles towards Haloween

The clocks go back and herald,

pretty, loud, fireworks in November

Farmers bring the cattle in

and feed the sheep with hay

Autumn leaves fall and settle on the ground

few bright, warm days

between now and springtime May


My Cup of Tea and Me!      From Serena Michalef    30/10/2011

Leaves of bright orange and red,


As trees become bare and stark,

The winds become to have a chill,

There is a nip in the air.

Coats and scarves are on parade,

Can’t wait to approach my front door,

Knowing my mate Mr Fire is inside to keep me warm,

And as I get the feeling back in my toes, I hear

The wind whistle and blow,

And I’m happy as can be sitting in my chair, my cup of tea and me.


Mike Lodge       10/2011 

Summer Sunday Lunchtime

I live in the peaceful countryside

close by a slowly meandering river

where the Herons stalk unwary fish

with others, rising to the flies

the concentric ripples spreading

an Otter swimming, hunting for fish

blue Kingfisher diving, just a blur

Dragonflies hovering by the reeds

a dog emerges, shaking water from its fur

I am siting in a pubs riverside garden

my luntime meal is on the table

a glass of wine, no, I think a cold beer

it is a lazy, hot, afternoon ahead

savouring the sun and food

by the slow meandering river

 Chris Darlington.       10/2011

Lost in The Fog

Sometimes I'm in your shadow too much,

and slip into it like putting on an comfy overcoat.

Some days, I wonder, if your life has been worthwhile,

or would I have been better off without you.

Sometimes, it's like fastening the old buttons on an overcoat.

The difficulties that you have created for me.

Your shadows sometimes overpower me and make me feel,

like I'm lost in a fog of, if only.

I have decided to get rid of your shadow,

like hanging an old overcoat back on the rack,

but I find I'm still keeping the hanger without knowing,

hidden in an old carrier bag.


 Serena Micallef.         9/2011

The night sky!


The night sky is a wonderful place,

the stars sparkle like mirrors,

with what seems like glitter.

then out of no where a shooting star will appear,

and prance, in the crisp and clear midnight air.

To on lookers below that feel,

pleasure to see such a delight,

in the sky, this crisp clear night.

The moon glows bright in his VIP spot looking like he belongs.

Clouds wrapping their selves around him,

for what seems like a goodnight song, 

before they move on,

floating in the distance, slowly, but content,

to leave the moon to light up the sky,

with moon beams that he’s sent.

Blackdragon  by  Cindy Rowe  9/2011

Blackdragon close your eyes

Slowly slip into my dreams

Hear me call with breathless whisper

Answer me with passionate screams

for this night belongs to you

Your wishes, dreams, desires fulfilled

From the time that twilight comes

Till this earth with light is filled

No boundaries left unbroken

No rules apply tonight

Your wishes, my command

Your desires, your sacred right

Call me softly from the shaddows

Of the fantasy that you weave

And I'll spend this night beside you

But with daylight I must leave

So Blackdragon close your eyes

Think of only me tonight

As I lay my head beside you

Knowing every thing's alright



The Tide  by Mike Lodge   9/2011


I am the tide,

At natures beck and calling,

Twice a day I flood and ebb,

Always rising and falling,

The amount I rise and fall,

Varies with the lunar cycle,

A full moon brings the highest spring tide,

But no moon gives the lowest rise,

In broad estuary’s, in I rush,

Often faster than a man can walk,

Bringing life and food,

To shell fish, buried in the mud,

Twice daily, the relentless tide,

When very shallow, there are little waves,

But as my depth increases,

And the wind is in the opposite direction,

I produce short, steep waves,

Often with white tops, flecking spray,

Giving boats a rough ride, on the flooding tide.



 Feelings!     By Serena Micallef

I was dissatisfied that’s all I can say, 

But I only had myself to blame, 

Change with the thoughts, a change of path,

Back on track don’t look back, back at me. 

I now know where I’m going where I have to be, 

Blessed with the emotion of love and devotion, 

Time to take a chance, 

The best of me I can give then I know that’s the best life  

One can live.

 Ships in the Fens  By Mike Lodge


No longer are there any commercial cargos in the fens,

Only a few passenger vessels remain,

Most of the boats are now for pleasure,

With only a few, the rivers and dykes to maintain. 

The narrow boats look out of place,

Originally designed for canal use,

Rowing and motor boats for daily hire

Hired cruisers showing signs of abuse 

Old converted commercials, now homes,

Dutch Bote. And French Peniche,

So there is no cargo now,

But there remains the oldest ship of all,

Ely Cathedral, known as ‘The Ship of the Fens ’,

With its octagonal lantern, on the hill, standing tall.



 Twists and Turns  By Loren Miles

Why so many twists and turns
Through the journey of a lifetime?
In my heart the passion burns
Will there ever be a right time
To imagine how life flows
Over hill and next to steeple
Searching for an answer grows
Is it you or other people
Sometimes life can bring you down
Lay you flat, smashed into pieces
Then a wave lifts off the ground
Why such heartache for a species
In the tunnel, in the dark
Hard to know that light will follow
Feeling low, the pain is stark
Deep inside the future’s hollow
But that journey that we take
Twists and turns at every season
So we travel – please forsake
Searching for elusive reason

 ***** By Mike*****

Ruined Church at Tivetshall St. Mary


Follow the country lane near Gissing,

On a sharp Z bend the ruin stands,

Forlorn and weathered by the elements,

The end wall still proudly stands,

Missing glorious stained glass windows,

That let the light into the nave,

Whole structure built of cement and flint,

Window frames of stone, mostly intact,

On the masonry they did not stint,

In the nave, grave stones of Helen and John Boys,

Although no roof, still legible since 1661,

Head end facing the morning sun,

All doors missing and the wall has been breached,

The square bell tower is also a ruin,

In the grounds, most of the head stones,

Still stand, defying wind, rain and sun,

And by the ruined churches main entrance,

The Great War memorial, stands proudest,

Around the churchyard, oak, sycamore and holly,

But, no yew. Is this why it’s now a ruin?


Tivetshall St Mary is in south Norfolk, not far from Bressingham and Gissing.



 A Moon Dance.     By Serena Micaleff

Mystical movements,
A gentle rustle of the leaves,
as branches sway in the moon light breeze,
What magical moments are about to take place,
as the animals start to stir.
A moon dance,
A night prance,
A moon dance,
Putting the forest into a trance.
A golden yellow light grabs hold of dark spaces of the night,
and fairies come to grant forest wishes, by sprinkling fairy dust with their kisses,
and flying away in........
A moon dance,
A night prance,
A moon dance,
Putting the forest into a trance.
Then the forest gently falls asleep,
and you cannot hear a little peep
and when the moon is bright on another night the magic surprises will start once more
But till then the fairies must get some rest before the daylight rises.

Receipe for a Poem  By John Silkstone


Weigh a few words of two or more

add breaking lines to tease

stir in a message or metaphor

plus a rhythm that rhymes with ease

bake with mental expressions galore

then serve with a blending to please


*****Serena Micallef***** 


Oh The Rain.
It touches the ground in an old friendly kind of way,
Not Missing a place as it drops.
The Clouds start to let go of nature's creation,
Oh the rain is with us once more.
Helping the flowers, helping the land,
Giving life is what it does best.
Oh, you will hear the brides to be say it better not rain on my wedding day,
No it better not do that, My Mum will go mad if it ruins her new hat!.
But it's rained since life began and I'm sure that's how it should be,
And we may not always like it for this is very true,
But it's nature's natural watering can,
Sent to me and you.


***** From Loren Miles*****



Languid, floating out of reach

Never re-emerge

Grasping gossamer tendrils

New life in a surge


Wanting to escape now

Tomorrow’s far away

Situations too intense

Cannot hope to stay


Greying at the edges

Already touched by death

Leaving’s a formality

That follows no more strength


Eyelids closing lightly

Searching for the light

Life’s one long dark tunnel

Time to say goodnight


 From Serena Micallef

Footsteps all around!
I look out the window - to the people down below,
Some are walking fast and some are walking, slow.
I wonder are they are content or if they are lonely?
The different shadows that they make when the sun hides among the clouds
If you listen very carefully thier footsteps make a sound.
I look out the window - to the people down below,
I wonder what they are thinking, as they go along their way
Will they be walking past tomorrow?
If not then may be another day.
Written by Serena Micallef.


***** From Mike Lodge*****



What are you looking at?

Why are you staring at me?

Are you jealous of my blue hair?

Or is it my bright red boots?

Not proper standards for you I suppose?

Perhaps it’s the ring through my nose?

I wear my hat, the peak at the back,

Only the conformists wear it to the front,

Maybe it is my mirror sunglasses,

So that you can not see my eyes,

So what are you looking at?

Just why are you staring at me?


*****From Loren Miles*****



‘No!’ said the olive tree, bobbing in the wind

‘I will not bough to your will!’

‘Ah!’ said the wind blowing harder than before

Adding a cunning icy chill

‘Drop down your olives to the ground as I command.’

‘No!’ cried the little tree again

‘Only the sun can ripen up my tasty fruit’

‘They will only fall upon the ground then!’

‘Oh my, such insolence’ grumbled the old wind

‘From one so young it is so very rude’

‘No’ said the olive tree, gathering his strength

‘It’s you with all your might who does intrude!’

Now in the olive grove the adult trees agreed

The little one was certainly quite brave

Because of his true courage they awarded him a song

And sang it all together in the glade

‘Oh brave little olive tree listen to our song

For we sing with happy hearts these words to you

For standing oh so bravely in the onslaught of the wind

We know your fruit will grow full and be true

And over many years your trunk and branches will grow strong

And nothing from this land will cause you harm

One day you’ll be the proudest of the trees within this grove

Protected by the spirits Peace and Calm


*****From Simon Murrell***** 

One More Moment.   ( Dedicated to my dear departed mum 1935 - 2007 )

One more moment,
to say I love you.
One more moment,
to say I care.
One more moment,
to say I'm sorry.
One more moment,
of you being there.

One more moment,
to see you smile.
One more moment,
see that glint in your eye.
One more moment,
to hear your laughter.
No more moments,
thats why I cry.


 From Simon Murrell

The Eagle


On a river bank
just you and me,
an eagle soars
so high and free.
Up there in
the big blue sky,
we lay an watch
that eagle fly.
Or stand there
on a mountain high,
just to watch
that eagle fly.
Majestic in his
daily flight,
to watch him
is an awesome sight.

 From Loren Miles



Summer shimmers through the leaves

Of boughs stretched overhead

Warming breezes from the south

Inspire words once said

Long ago to one most dear

Thought your feelings crystal clear


Still he left, now you’re alone

Winter’s harshness froze your heart

Will you ever smile again

Could you love, make a fresh start

He walked by without a glance

Was this love your one last chance


With the spring came fresher views

Helped the ice to thaw, defrost

All emotions strong and true

Melts the angles of what’s lost

New the summer heat arrives

Renew power to survive


From Mike Lodge 


A Walk in the Woods

The weather is warm, fine and clear,

on this Saturday late in march.

The car park of the woodlands beckons me,

walking trails within are dry and firm,

assorted types of tree in here,

I find oak, spruce, Scots pine and larch.

Some trees have been cut to just a stump.

Is this extreme pollarding, to get new growth?

tall and thin, growing as bunches,

competing for and racing upwards for the light.

I come across a small stream,

shallow, slow and within steep banks.

There are lots of large dead trees,

fallen to the horizontal plane,

their roots exposed and showing how,

the sub soil is stony and sandy,

with small pieces of broken flint,

in the reflected sun they glint,

catch the eye with a grey and off blue sheen,

the sharpness of medieval tools easily seen.

Snowdrops, are no more, they have gone,

their bulbs expanding, through the summer,

ready to split in the autumn, for the winters show,

already they have been replaced by small white,

almost daisy like flowers I do not know,

and there are lots of green leaves,

that will soon throw up a single flower stem,

of pretty bluebells, that will carpet the woods.

On the edge of the footpaths, the nettles,

with tiny flowers of bright blue petals,

they are starting to show through,

and with that nasty cats smell that they have,

they live up to their reputation and cause a rash,

no dock leaves when you need them most.

Yellow and blue walking routes on a post,

past small, deep green watered ponds,

that will soon be home to frogs and spawn.

A new generation in natures food chain.

Dry twigs that snap and crack underfoot,

announcing your presence in this peacefull haven,

of solitude and silently emerging leaf buds,

that will soon make this a much darker place,

even on a bright spring, sunny day,

as the season races towards the month of may,

and then, mentally refreshed, and comtemplative,

I walk back to the car park, through the gate.

Damm the rat race, it can wait!



 From Loren Miles



The trouble with procrastination

Is simply that nothing gets done

It’s fine for the odd relaxation

But mostly it isn’t much fun


Your mind tries to find the right answer

But dithers around with much fuss

You’d like to be more of a chancer

But then still decision’s a must


Why so hard to put into action

A plan that’s so thoroughly sound

Afraid of the natural reaction

That ‘doing’ a job may have found


To sit in the shadows just thinking

Is no life at all to perceive

No wonder you feel your heart sinking

It’s time to ‘step-up’ and believe!



 From Simon Murrell

Writer Nightmare.

My pen in my hand,
the paper still clear.
Ive writers block,
of this I fear.

No single thought ,
in my mind.
please be kind.

Paper is ready,
for ink to flow.
But what to write, 
I just dont know.


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