August Poets

The August Poets for the month of August


Jean Wearn Wllace 


As the crow sat on my tongue

I rubbed it with oats, which

It tolerated, while answering the ‘phone.


The burbling balloon laid an egg

While it was sitting to attention;

It was going to go for a bus ride

But it had to nip to the loo instead.


The axe was hungry, but it didn’t want

Spaghetti, or porridge, nor bread and cheese;

It wanted peas stuffed with caviar.


I’m going to pretend it wasn’t mine

It was the Ning Nang Nong’s – so

I am going back to bed and sleep.


Brian Ring


Where do you go when you are dead?

Surely you go down some form of plughole

And get  washed down some sort of sink,

Through the faucet,

Round the bowl,

Down the pipes,

All the way to the sewage works.

Where you end up as a termite.

(Don’t take this literally or seriously-

It is just a fanciful fantasy)

Into an ant-heap full of other bugs and stuff-

That’s what might happen when you die,

Don’t ask for the reason why or how.

We’ll all go through some manner of metaphorical plug-hole,

And the so-called Karmic Overlords

Will persuade us that whatever fate is deemed right,

Is so by some kind of cosmic poetic justice

If we do suffer it is because we made others suffer just as badly.

Swoosh! Down the ‘plug-hole’ of the bathroom…

Into a totally different dimension,

Where the laws of physics no longer apply

And through the gates of the sky on high,

The annonited and appointed queue in line ;

The purgatorial ‘plughole’ knows of no distinctions.

We must all needs must descend into it

And meet those overlords so-called

Who always manage to make the ostensible punishment if any

Seem merited, just and self-chosen,

But we all fear that so-called ‘plug’

As  it swishes,swells and swoops through

To a nether world in an a never world.

Full of untold, unsuspected joys, thrills and delights    


Sasha Dee

Place of Cool Happiness


Place of Cool Happiness




The Sunrise and the Moon light

On the dirty waters of Thames

Made a place of cool happiness

By the incredible art of Turner


The smile on the faces of flowers,

The silence of the unopened buds,

The fleeting chirping of a passing bird

All make the dawning morning momentous


The clean blueness and a lonesome cloud

The tall trees, steeples, rising architectures

From bright to the dim all shades of lights

Make the sky-space a painterly landscape art


The walk in the morning in the nature’s sight

Washes out the worries of the previous night 





Peter Cox

WAITING ON THE PHONE TO TALK TO B.T.I ring a number which at least is free,
but have to choose an option 1,2,or 3,
and then another option 1 to 4.
I hope I do not have to wait much more.
“We monitor all calls.” I’m sure they do,
but still, they cannot seem to put you through.
The Robot Lady says “You’re in a queue.”
I have to wait, for what else can I do?This Robot aims to keep me entertained,
but soon I find my patience rather strained.
“If you are billed online, well, then B.T.
because of paper saved will plant a tree.
We’d like to ask some questions, if we may
on how you think we’ve treated you today.
We’re VERY busy. You are in a queue.”
I keep on waiting. Nothing else to do.

“You could have used our website, gone online.
Prize draws. Who knows, you might win loads of wine
or else a crate of high juice orange squash
or scented soap to make it fun to wash.
Another super prize is ginger beer
and vouchers you can spend on Brighton pier,
and you could ring AUSTRALIA for FREE
if you select our Option 43.

It’s not my lucky day. All down to fate.
I wait and wait, and wait and wait.
“Hello?”. They’ve cut me off. Oh what a shame!
They monitor all calls. I’m sure they do,
although they cannot seem to put you through,
and then you maybe find the line goes dead.
By now, of course, I’m angry and “see red”.

Again I ring that number which is free.
Again I choose my options 1,2,3.
Again I choose my options 1 to 4.
Again I think “This really is a bore.”
Again I’m told that I am in a queue
because B.T just cannot put me through.
They also serve who only stand and wait
and wait and wait, and wait and wait and wait.



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