September 2015 Sings Differing Tunes

All the Leaves are Brown

Brian Ring

Brian Ring

I’m gathering leaves from the fields.

And woods and lanes,

I clear them all up into little piles,

And try to make compost for the new season,

Harvesting these blades for latter

Most of the leaves are brown now,

As we’re about due for the autumn chill.

That meant gathering in before the winter decimates.

Yes, all the greenery’s gone brown,

And now are the days declining fast,

And I’ve far to go with little time.

The carts are filling up,

And I must lash the horses to make up piles,

In places hard to find.

With cartloads more in the offing,

Digging, scooping, delving and shifting,

Tedious work this, even for us labourers,

Gathering the fruits of earth before they wither,

And hither and thither we dig and delve,

Not knowing why we do all this

In the bigger scheme of things.

Why are we messing about with leaves,

These blessed blades we sweep away

And stack away for new mown hay.

All I know is that the leaves have browned,

Not to what use are they even in the haystacks.

But continue I must to work on hard.

Hard work is what we labourers are for,

Not to argue the merits of the hour.




Howard Luke

 I am a soul clothed in a

Slowly decaying unique carcass

Drifting 1000 metres between

Birth and Death


Waiting for meaning for purpose

For euphoria for that leap into solid abstraction

I am a soul longing for definition and for

Life to take hold for more, more and more

Looking searching for my Id

Dominated by my super ego the family

Plastic surgery of the mind body and soul

Rolls of cobwebs and monthly injections

A feast for a shape changer

What’s left is a stranger


Emilia Lanier the Alpha Feminist

Samantha Simon

Emilia, Emilia, the Dark Lady of the Sonnets
One time dear “incuba” the bed

Lanier Bed

On which Elizabethan men lied freely

What poems you wrote?

That even Shakespeare was upset

One of your many lovers, who

Angrily used foul language

In one of the Sonnets he wrote

And you made that famous jousting

Only survived as those Elizabethan

Destroyed your poetry-

“Evil disposed men who- forgetting

That they were born of women,

Nourished of women and that

If it were not by means of women

They would be quiet extinguished and,

Out of the world, a final end of them all!!”

“Bravo” ” Bravo” and thrice “Bravo” for you.

Those Elizabethan might have destroyed

Your poems and shame on Shakespeare

But not your mighty spirit! You are Immortal!

Note: Emilia Lanier born 1570 and died in 1654. She achieved respect in the court of Elizabeth I. She wrote poems to challenge Shakespeare’s Sonnets. They were supposedly very feminist in attack that Elizabethan publishers were told to destroy her manuscript. In the Sonnets of Shakespeare numbering 127 to 154 sonnets are addressed to the “Dark Lady” believed to be Emilia Lanier where she has been mentioned by the bard as – “my female evil” and “my bad angel”.


A Horse, a Horse or a Paint-brush

Sasha Dee

The two Queens of England

Rule the Empire they inherited

And enhanced and made popular

And made themselves popular

On which once the sun never set

But while Elizabeth ruled

The Empire dissolved

Faster than a flower that

Bloomed in the morning

And wilted in the evening

Victoria rode her horse rarely

But settled for a paintbrush

Princess Louise pinted by Queen Victoria

(Painting done by the Queen Victoria)

And played with colours and shapes

And left many paintings for us to see

While Elizabeth did more sittings

On her horses and watched races

Spent more time in stables and

Eventually looked like a horsey woman

As good as her daughter Anne

She also did more sittings

For the artists doing her portraits

And hardly used her paint-box

But left a gallery full of paintings

Recording her passing images

Two Queens of England

One with a paint-box

The other on a horse back

Queen II

Both are the layers of time

In the layers of paintbrush!


The Dolls’ House

Dolls House

Sally Thomas

A little girl

Always nagged

To have her a Dolls’ House

Or a Wendy House

For her to play

Her mother smoked

Cigarettes after cigarettes

And talked to her neighbour

Over the fence

And when she was on shopping

She talked on her mobile

She had not time

For the needs of her little girl

Her father was always

In or out of the pub

Or when he was in

He watched the repeats

Of the Football matches

He had no time

For the needs of his little girl

Her older brother

Saved his pocket money

And bought a broken worn out

Dolls’ House from a charity shop

The girl was soul-happy

And played with it in the

Clattered rear garden

She had imaginary father and mummy

Her imaginary sister she always wanted

But her real brother as the real character

In her play morning, noon and evening

But her parents got annoyed with her play

And yelled her to stop her playing

Then she prayed and wished

That her parents should be dolls

In her Dolls’ House and lo it happened


Her parents turned into rag dolls

In her Dolls’ House

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