In Praise of Silver by Pat Greetham A few mornings ago I found myself quietly reciting one of my favourite poems, Silver by Walter de la Mare. It reminded me of the many happy years I spent teaching at Llanrumney High School in Cardiff. One afternoon I read Silver to my class of[…]
by Madeline Phillips Our family Mark, Simon I am I can be Me here Time! Time to fly Let’s fly!
by Sara Warshawski We, that is me and a friend, are taking Mum to the garden centre, to get some bulbs and winter colour to plant in the garden outside Mum’s window. Until the summer Mum could still with help manage to walk a bit but now, she needs to use a[…]
by Madeline Phillips Now Now Now Do it now! Remember it now Write it down now In case I forget. In case I forget Live for today Make the most of today ITS A WONDERFUL WORLD
by Madeline Phillipps Its a disease – not old age – that will come – we hope. Be joyful – enjoy the world and its people. People there for us Yes,yes,Yes Cheers to all of them Hey there! Time – Maybe not much time Never mind. Use it for others Use it[…]
by Madeline Phillips Concentrate……………. Cups in the cupboard where cups go Washing in the washer Oops! Socks on the floor Walk slowly Don’t bang into the doors There! That was good wasn’t it! Now what shall we do?
by Sharon Brewer, from the Chepstow creative writing group We meet every Wednesday be it sunny or dreary And however we arrive we leave feeling cheery We start with a cuppa as friends reunite To share the week’s gossip, woes and delights Some of us have trouble remembering who’s who So we[…]
by Sara Warshawski She sits holding the baby. Her eyes are bright as she smiles and coos. Plants small kisses on face and head and eyelids, Her baby, nameless for the moment. ‘Cup of coffee Jen? A biscuit?’ The nurse brings around the trolley, ‘Put the baby down’ she says ‘Put the[…]
by Douglas (Dwyfor & Meirionydd DEEP United) ‘My dear old Granny, full of hope To clean her floor with carbolic soap. She’d scrub and polish for hours on end, Carbolic soap was her god-send! Shiny clean Ruabon tiles, A certain route to Granny’s smiles. Memories from a by-gone age, When dirty boots cause[…]
by Patrick Jones especially the afternoons, my mother, ironing listening to the radio, the archers omnibus or football steamed up windows fragments of security stored, delicately supremely safety framed in the freshly folded jumper waiting for the panic of morose monday mornings and the drumming dread of double maths and simultaneous[…]