The Cage with No Door

How do you escape from the cage with no door?
You feel the need for a hole in the floor
Bars surrounding you all the way round
You can’t get rid of this terrible pound

The depths of depression are dark and grey
One doesn’t know where one is today
You try to get out of this terrible place
But there’s no-one to help you and no friendly face

The birds torment you, you can’t think why
Already they’re making a noise in the sky
You feel so bad and everything’s black
For this long hard night and the sleep you lack

The birds still torment and the Disprin’s inside
You feel yourself float, to oblivion you glide
A beautiful feeling, some sleep at last
Then awake so quickly – it’s seven, past

The night is over and feels like a week
You’re feeling the strains from the lack of sleep
You struggle on to work through the day
But no-one knows that you’re feeling this way

When rational thoughts come back to one’s mind
The way out from this cage is easier to find
The help of one’s husband, family and friends
Are all that one needs to help make amends

But one faith is the answer to finding the key
For Christ is the one who can help you to see
That the cage is not closed for ever more
You’ve at last found out that there is a door

Ros Wright

(Composed in anguish during the night of Monday/Tuesday 23/24 May 1983 in an effort to sleep.)
 

Frozen
First published in The Young Writers Magazine 2nd Quarter 2005

Autumn days, when the grass is jewelled
And a Bohemian storm is brewing
So silent, so perfect, so tranquil
Come now, it is time for us to speak of other things
A little politics and philosophy
Cabbages and kings
London’s burning I see
Dead souls, dead hopes, dead dreams
A fate so inevitable, yet so sad
And then I turn and realise
I’m frozen in this tragic kingdom
Surrounded by the stars
For eternity

© Stephanie Wayne (16)
English International College, Spain
 

A Spanish Ode

The family have been to stay
Having suffered first six hours delay
I took them here and took them there
All seemingly without a care
Beaches and bars were on the list
El Corte Inglés could not be missed
Out every day for lunch and dinner
Tapas were a definite winner
Forget Macburgers, soss and chips
Now only rosada will pass their lips
Then off to the airport bright and breezy
Looking forward to taking life easy
Their parting shot you hear with fear
‘Fabulous time, we’ll be back next year.’

Rita Hansford
 

What is a Pekingese?
First published in The Orient Express, Lakeland, Fl, USA—November 2004

‘What is a Pekingese?’ you ask
To answer that is quite a task
For dogs they’re not, and that’s for sure
More an addiction, without a cure
These furry friends capture whole hearts
Mere dogs can only take small parts
Haughty, bossy, proud and bold
They never do what they are told
They rule the home in which they live
Demanding all, and yet they give
Their slaves such love you can’t complain
That life will never be the same
For once you’re hooked you can’t go back
Without a Peke your house will lack
Just everything that makes a home
From where you never want to roam
They don’t need walks, although they like
To get about without the hike
They love the car and nicely sit
On the back seat, with all their kit
Their brush, their comb, and all the rest
It is their right to look their best
Beloved by the Chinese royalty
They reward us with unswerving loyalty
What is a Pekingese? Let’s see . . .
Everything in the world to me

© Celia M Burnett
 

Ode to Harry 'O'

So off you go from whence you came
For us Mondays and Fridays won’t seem the same
You were always on the tee on time
And, even if not in your prime
Made every effort on the first
To hit a ball without a thirst!
But, even if for a swim it went
And even if after time was spent
Searching here and searching there
Another ball was hit, to where?
'Not on the green' Harry did say
So what I thought, you can walk and play
When many your age are hardly able
To put their feet on or under the table!
So, off you go to pastures new
But please like us, take your memories too
Of us Elderly Persons In Continent
On Mondays and Fridays full of intent
To play this game we have loved and hated
When in the same round we are so frustrated
Striking that putt that will just not fall
Into that cup that suddenly seems small
You leave us with such fond memories
Of playing your ball so close to the trees
'Now that takes skill' you say with a laugh
Knowing that your ball is close to the path.
We all wish you well when in the UK
Even if most days it is too cold to play
We know that you will be there when able
On the first tee wearing Lillian's sable?
We will all miss you in EPIC each week
Playing the game with the skill we all seek
To be a Tom Watson or is it Faldo?
To burn up the course and take home the dough
What will I miss when looking from the tee?
People asking strangely 'Is that Charlie C'?
My answer, 'No, it's Harry O!'

John Parsons
 

Memory

Forget me not is all I ask
Nay, one thing more
For should remembrance prove a task
Forget me!

Chris Carpenter
 

Coffee in Estepona Town

As I sipped my coffee the couple passed
With measured step and quiet grace
He with his cane
She on his arm
I pondered as I watched their pace
How had they lived?
What had they done?
Where had they been?
Who had they known?
With these thoughts, my mind did idly toy
Like countless others, linked through life
They would have known their times of joy
And share of strife
This duo dressed in sober grey
What could you tell?
What do you have to say?
Lover’s footsteps fleet and quick to passion’s tryst
Here quietened tread, tangoed, by husband’s stick
Raven tresses, flashing eyes and comely smile
Now, by age’s mantle masked the while
He, with wrinkled brow and hooded eyes
A manhood of quiet dignity belies
Oh noble pair
My heart was touched to see you so
Unaware
The milling crowds with cool intent, swallowed them up

David Palmer
 

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