The Rose by Michael Healy

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Oh rose how lovely are thy flowers
Almost any colour, shape and smell
Is to be found within your petals.
Single flowers sparkle in the sun, or
Multi bunches of florabunda shade the ground.
From bush to climbers and dwarf to giant
The range of plants is quite outstanding.

Compare the rose to almost any other garden flower. Most are of fixed colour
But choose a rose to complement the flowers around.
No English garden can be complete without the presence of the rose.
And placed around your front door
The scent is most welcoming.

The rose is God’s own flower

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‘I Remember’ by Pete Brammer

I remember what they said,
At the outbreak of the war,
‘It will be all over come Christmas’
Yet I can recall with such horror,
How our lads were slaughtered,
Thousands and thousands, en mass.

I remember signing on, with workmates,
All eager to do our bit.
“Your country needs you.” old Kitchener said.
I remember we proudly marched through town,
People cheered, waving Union flags,
For they could not envisage, most would end up dead.

I remember the years in sludgy trenches,
As we struggled, to keep our sanity,
Suffering trench foot, fleas and mites,
Waiting for the shout, “Over the top.”
With the accompanying shrilled whistles,
Instantly obeying, we set off to fight.

I remember too, mustard gas clouds,
Drifting across ‘No Man’s Land’
Donning the life saving gas masks,
As shells whistled over our heads,
All wondering where they would land,
To be followed, by deafening blasts.

I remember the mud, changing colour,
As it clung to out boots and putties,
A nerve tingling scarlet red,
Skin and bone flying everywhere,
With life blood from innocent lads,
Some wounded, but most of them dead.

I remember thinking, about my wife,
Upset, to be missing my child,
You see, I had walked away from the conflict,
Now I stand before the firing squad,
Their rifles, pointing at my heart,

Please God, forgive me…

‘Blue Chair’ by Angela O’Connor

The unloved armchair still rests on the verge.
Discarded. Left at a rusty farmyard gate.

Mock velvet once a proud cornflower blue
faded to a dulled unfashionable hue.

Torn back exposes wooden bones and polyester muscle.
Unsullied yet worn human rubble.

Who now sits disengaged gazing east?
Ghosts of your former self watching Morecambe n’ Wise
or London Palladium with its revolving stage?

A raven perches on the arm. Blue black feathers
complementing forsaken charm.

I Forget by Michael Healy

I Forget by Michael Healy

I forget image - specs

So what was it I had a mind to do?
So why is that shoe not fastened?
So what day is it, I wonder,
What month, what year?
It’s clear,
I forget

And yet I had so much in mind,
Amo, amas, amat, tan, cos and sine,
The formula for brine, a bouquet of fine wine,
Three times three makes…?
Three times three?
Three times three, it’s gone
Why is that shoe undone?
Where is my coat?

I must make a note to remind…
What was it I came to find?
So what day is it, I wonder?
Is it summer yet?
I forget.
I FORGET!!!

Michael Healy