|
Stephanie
Chamberlain |
|
The Great gathering
When
time was first born it was so small and frail, fragments of moments,
caught gently by Earth when they would fall from the heavens.
But, somewhere along the line came terrifying downpours that
flooded the earth and ‘we’, as humankind, are now
feeling that we are absorbing too much at once, finding it overwhelming.
A
multitude of lifetimes, all catching up with themselves, filtering
through our generation as the planets settle down and ease smoothly
into new times.
We
are so lucky; all our patience in digesting global experience
leads to the fantastic rewards of understanding, acceptance,
harmony and love.
There
is shaking underfoot, the foundations seeming rocky, but, we’re
still standing tall, and we are strong in our shared vulnerability.
This is not poison to the soul, this is holistic, healing medicine
Ð the only medicine that can ease the pain which fear creates,
and we are healing well.
I
see splendid times lifting us high in collective celebrationÉeuphoric
unison, and a great global gathering of graceÉamen!!
|
| Roy Day |
|
When
is he going to come home?
Cathy’s
husband, Trevor, went to the pub to watch football.
That
was at seven o’ clock. It’s now twenty past eleven.
He’s been out for four hours. Cathy’s wondering
how the match ended. Trevor told her he’d be home as
soon as the match finished. She is very angry. She is also
wondering how much alcohol Trevor has drunk. This is the longest
Trevor’s been out since they married three years ago.
Cathy gets up and goes upstairs.
Trevor,
meanwhile, is at a friend’s house. The match ended in
victory for Trevor’s club.
Cathy
looks with disdain at her and Trevor’s wedding photos.
She holds them in her hands. She lies on the bed she shares
with Trevor thinking when he’s going to come home.
______________________________________________________
Trevor
comes home from his friend’s house at 3.30am. Cathy is
in bed. He walks upstairs and knocks on the bedroom door but
Cathy doesn’t answer. He knocks again Ð same result.
Trevor goes into the room next door and collapses on the floor.
Cathy
looks at the clock. She gets up and goes next door.
“You
lied to me Trevor.” She snaps.
Trevor
stirs from his slumber. “Cathy, is that you?”
Cathy
replies sharply, “Yes.” She goes out of the bedroom
and closes the door.
Trevor
opens it. “How dare you close the door in my face!” he
shouts.
Cathy
goes into the bedroom and puts on her trainers. Trevor marches
into the bedroom and sits Cathy down on the bed.
“You’re
drunk, Trev!” snaps Cathy.
Trevor
looks at Cathy and then goes into the bathroom. He lifts the
seat up and proceeds to chat with the pottery elephant.
“Talking
to the elephant are we?” asks Cathy, trying not to laugh.
Trevor
replies, “Shut up Cathy!”
She
chuckles, much to Trevor’s annoyance.
“Cathy,
did you hear me?” asks Trevor.
Cathy
gets up and goes downstairs. Trevor follows her, a bit the
worse for wear. “Come here, poppet,” he says, beckoning
Cathy.
Cathy
walks over to Trevor who then hugs her. Trevor then kisses
his wife.
They
apologise to each other.
|
Morgan
Day |
What
is a hero?
What
is a hero?
A
hero is brave
What
is brave?
Brave
is the opposite of cowardice, fear
What
is fear?
Dread
What
is dread?
Going
into battle
What
is battle?
A
clash between two armies
What
are armies?
Bodies
of soldiers
What
is a soldier?
Some
one who fights
What
is some one who fights?
A
hero
|
| Shirley Cowan |
A frightening
dream
The
most frightening dream I ever had was when I was about thirteen.
I’ve never forgot it.
I
dreamt I was waiting on a platform of the underground station,
it was for a special train, because my mother, who I hadn’t
seen for many years would be on it. Lots of trains came in,
and went off again. I was worried, had I missed the one she
would be on? I had never lived with my mother since I was two.
Suddenly a train came in, there was my mother smiling and waving,
but the door wouldn’t open. I could see her saying something,
then blowing me a kiss as the train went on it’s way.
I had lost her once again. I was screaming mummy, mummy, don’t
go, come back, come back.
I
must have been screaming really loud for my aunt who I was
staying with came and asked me what was wrong. I must have
been crying also, she said I had had a nightmare and that I
should try to go back to sleep as it was only very early in
the morning, but I couldn’t, I just could not get the
dream out of my head. I wondered why I had had such a dream.
In
the morning I asked my aunt if she thought there was some reason
I had dreamt such a dream.
My
aunt said yes, there was a reason. “Your mother and her
new husband were going to live out in South Africa, but they
were not taking me with them. I had to stay in England, and
mother had found me a living-in position on a farm in Somerset.
I would be well looked after and learn the life on a farm.
Later
in the year my mother and stepfather went to South Africa,
to a place called Port Elizabeth. I didn’t see her again
till I was thirty-six, twenty-four years later.
|
Stephanie
Chamberlain |
ON
THE PLATFORM OF CHOICE
Words
of reassurance,
That
may take rootÉ
Interrupted
By
the freight train of thought
Carriage
after carriage,
Dashing
byÉ
It’s
fake lights,
Capturing
my attention,
As
they come,
Flashing
by.
Just
by looking,
I’m
on the rideÉ
Words
of peace,
Patiently
wait,
By
the sideÉ
No
rushingÉ
No
pressureÉ
Waiting
for meÉ
Only
me.
They
see my worth,
My
beautiful soulÉ
And
gaze,
At
their leisureÉ
For
I’ll be some time,
Before
I’m able to see,
The
person others know me to beÉ
And
that rhythmÉ
Those
bright lightsÉ
The
speed of the trainÉ
Mesmerises
meÉ
Lures
me awayÉ
AwayÉ
Again
and again.
|
| Shirley Cowan |
My
name
S Soft-hearted,
like an egg
H Handy
(when anyone wants anything done)
I Idiotic
(in my writing, sometimes)
R Restive
(Don’t like to be inactive)
L Lazy
(In my writing, at times)
E Energetic
(try to be always on the go)
Y Yearning
(To have my stories in print)
|
Stephanie
Chamberlain |
QUILT
CLASS
This
life of mine,
It
may be short,
But,
it’s bigger,
Than
any life I’ve known.
A
hundred lifetimes,
All
entwinedÉ
Like
patchwork pieces,
They
have been sown.
Old
favourites,
Not
discarded, but,
Their
very fabric,
Saved
and cut.
Painstaking
stitches,
Bring
them togetherÉ
Handcrafted
comfort,
Against
ill weather.
An
heirloom,
A
hand-me-downÉ
As
precious though,
As
a crushed-silk wedding gown
Complete,
Though
not quite finishedÉ
Whole,
But
not yet doneÉ
For
now I am saved fabric,
And
a template shall be madeÉ
Needles
and thread shall again be gatheredÉ
The
quilt making has just begun.
|
| Morgan
Day |
Eric’s
tooth
He
takes his hand from over his mouth and then he looks down at
the small white object sitting in his palm. It looks remarkably
like a tooth Ð no one else’s tooth, and not just any
old tooth we’re talking about here Ð oh no! Far from
it! Ð This particular tooth is Eric’s favourite one,
Upper Right 5, oh yes, good old Upper Right 5. It was the jewel
in his crown of dentures Ð oh yes, the pearliest of pearly
whites. Gone forever, and Eric’s mouth will never be
the same again.
Shame
really! It was to him the best part of the human body and meant
he could speak and give orders to the other people on the spaceship
with authority. Those days are clearly over now. Every time
he gives out a verbal command, they’ll notice the gap
in his mouth, the gap where good old Upper Right 5 used to
hold residence. It’ll be an embarrassment for him and
a source of great amusement for them. None of them liked him
at all, not even remotely. In fact, no one liked Eric Smelt!
|
| Shirley Cowan |
|
A poem
for Rememberance Day
Will
we remember them?
A
shower of poppies, floating through the silent air
Thousands
falling, here and there
For
everyone, someone died
Comrades
fighting side by side
Those
brave men who went to war
We shall remember
them
Where
have those poppies, now all gone?
For
those who died, alone
But
not on some foreign shore
The
mums, grandparents, aunts, and uncles
And
little children by the score
We must remember
them
A
spray of poppies, worn with pride
As
together, we march side by side
We
honour them all
With
a silent prayer
Through
the poppy that we wear
For
those who bought us peace once more
We will remember
them
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