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Ominous

Unexpected darkness descends With a decrepit desire for long absent affection, clutching at thin wispy ends with diminished thoughts and caged responses my deserted smile departed. Jill
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Stone Souls

Abbey stones Hold tales of the untold A rich tapestry of thoughts, Echoes and patterns and times ancient by. Of weathered landscapes Broken angel wings, Jumbled thoughts and crumbling terracotta Secrets lie beneath. Of drifting monks And whispering clouds Beneath us lies Hidden skulls The stone souls.   b y Art Branches recovery project group
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Tins

Back then, I couldn't understand. Why so many tins, mum? Towers of carrots, beans and soups. Spaghetti in tomato sauce. She was shaped by war and disability. Rations and depletions. Unreachable shops. The anxiety of uncertainty. Now I'm shaped by the virus war. Rations and depletions. Unsafe shops. The anxiety of uncertainty. I understand, now, and worry. Look at my own tin towers. Just ahead of the panic, Stores drying up, fear building. Ashamed of how I mocked. Unable to say sorry, To say that I understand. Complacent no more. by Adrian Image by Ti Wi via Unsplash
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A Way of Life

It’s become a way of life this summer, the canvas bag slung over my shoulder hoping not to need it hoping the sky will stay blue long enough to get a walk by the sea. It’s become a way of life this summer, wearing my green jeans, wearing a matching sweatshirt to keep the wind out, wearing green wherever possible to match my green cagoule in case I need it. It’s becoming a way of life, it’s true, this life of uncertainty which nags at the back of your mind and keeps you constantly looking up the weather on your phone. It’s a way of life, this anxiety which sends me scurrying for help when it mushrooms out of control in the middle of the night. Julia
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Woven and Unspoken

Every thought a chain Every time an inconsideration Incomprehensible yet alert. The sleet slate sky Pouring and temperamental Reaching the vastness. Vivid speaks overwhelming Brushing the cast Of reason. Inconsistently oppressed Overloaded attitudes Simplicity touches revealed. Downcast of mindset A clouded judgement Uproar of unknown. Sam  
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Ready to Spring

Like the gnarly springtime bulbs, dormant in the ground Your demons crouch under the skin, waiting to be found Waiting for their moment, to break through and be seen The pale face of snowdrops, in a vibrant sea of green Emmalene Taylor
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Insect Playground

Hidey holes and pockets of flowers Silhouetted with a lonely crow, watchful of artists. A jumble sale of geology, thoughts, and passers by; A granulated sugar platform Of sandy grains and apple pie. Abbey Tales Group  Poem
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River Linnet

River Linnet, A chalk stream In Bury. Rubbish, Let’s bin it Instead of Filling it. Edith St-King
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River Stour, Sudbury

Mirror of ripples, floating tangles and bubbly foam. Swans racing The togetherness Of aqua. Sallow splashes Poplars tremble And minds drift. Jungle of reeds On vertical plane Moorhen hideout. Anon.
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Seasons

To each a season: the planets Turn in Kepler's gyre, Swelling the mental weather, Fattening the wealth Of light and dark I weekly Feel in my own solitude. To each a season: a death Of what was hard and cold: A burst of sun to break My hoary sadness And gild the shining tower I build around your smile. But let's not talk of sun But speak instead of life And all the things I feel When living through mortality. The lovely times We feast and meagre times We only feed on memories. I have my seasons. Tim Holt-Wilson
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