Conscious of the fact that poems don’t get to stay too long on the home page, because of the increasing popularity of the site, I’m going to use this editorial slot to occasionally showcase some of our new talent.
No favouritism is intended. Just a chance for newcomers to shine a little longer.
This week, a warm welcome to Sally Newland and also to Rosie B.
Football at school
The day was glum,
And the clouds rolled in,
But we all would come,
To the school within.
We all would learn,
Or sit alone,
Knowing the teacher wasn’t stern,
But we couldn’t go home.
But the day soon passed,
And lunch time came,
We all would cuss,
And call them names.
We then came out,
To have some fun,
Without a doubt,
The exercise done.
We’d run around,
And shoot the goals,
We wern’t bound,
By field, nor poles.
A simple game,
Brightened the day,
And made life seem,
A better way.
© Sally Newland
Bitter Sweet Victory
a fortress between life and death, simmering
undercurrents of bitter, raw emotion
anxious crowds on edge, not even daring
to draw breath. Soldiers enter the war zone
gritted teeth and clenched fists, robots
cold and bloodless penetrate enemy lines
spectators chant solemn rites under the guise
of praying for some kind of divine
intervention. Earthquake, pestilence or flood
even death is better than the dishonour
of defeat. The spillage of enemy blood
foreseen in this war of attrition. The saviour
finally rejoices, the defences stunned,
the Highbury gladiators have been out-gunned
© Rosie B