Thursday, 29 March 2018

Bells Birds Fish and Rings

by John Young

Scorched broken landscapes, fractured society,
fish that never swam, a once proud waterway , congested with prams.
Boats that don't sail, trees don't grow, birds don't fly bells don't ring.

Profits before people, noses in the trough, oligarchs out of water, elitist toffs. 

Tuesday, 27 March 2018


by Giovanna MacKenna

There was no place for my words
no space where I could let
them loose, they had no
shelter but were chaotically
unleashed to the mercies of
uncomprehending stares, bitter
gusts of green-tinged winds

I heard a tale of truths
spoken in a wood-lined
cradle, words cherished by
the soft lapping of reed-soaked
swells, a fire glowing on water
as ready ears gathered-in
the inky sprays of others’
lives and held them dear

This, is a liminal place where
elemental forces mix
water, fire, wind ignite with
the earth of our courage.
This is an ‘other’ world
where words and friendships
blaze upon the water, a beacon
for those whose bodies
pulse with unquiet echoes

Sunday, 18 March 2018

Ice Pics


by Aileen Paterson

We coorie in
settle into nooks
warmed and fed
with home made cake
cold hands holding
toasty mugs of tea
notebooks nestling in laps
ready to capture
every moment of
this clear morning
bright with promise
and blue skies
our eyes wide open.
The barge slips
through broken ice
shifting sullen thoughts
that are lost
in the black water.  

Breaking up the ice

by Aileen Paterson

Today we make our way
through solid water.
And though it moans
the river splits,
gives way to our
slow determination.
People smile to see us
take our chances
and when it shifts
the water dances.
Bubbles come from
some deep place,
the river breathes.
We smile and wave
like river royalty.
We give our presence
to the morning,
the ducks and old sleepy foxes,
silent, waiting.

Through the Ice

by John Young

Through the ice on the Peccadillo
She offers a slither of a microsm of life.
Crashing and crunching through the shards, now slush.
She keeps going.
Always forward.
As life.

She is strong and proud-
Of long rivets and welds rusty and old and....
And of much much more.

A carrier of memories
and of forgotten tales.
And now.. my comfy reliable trusty carrier of joy.

Thursday, 1 March 2018


by Giovanna MacKenna

Soft, salt red, russet, brown
bracken, fern to fur, basking
baking sun-struck aglow
a twist of life, snug
amongst the debris
beauty brandished against
a backdrop of waste.

Circled, tucked and twisted
her brush of bristles arm,
danger-pricked, she slips
from sleep to stealth, flips
up, white flashes, pads planted
breaking browning grasses.

Eyes sharpen, holding us
fixing, fastened on until
We are dismissed, disregarded,
dumped as swiftly as the
debris that floats beyond her feet.