Nature Diary : Fiona Russell
Lines in the Sky
Cirrus graffiti, scrambled white on blue,
delineates air too cold for flight lines,
so the geese make black tacking stitches
in darts across the fabric of the lower skies.
Their song is a non-song, a signal too mobile
for form, too urgent for melody, it summons
strays towards the outside edge of the darthead,
the beats repeating ‘we’ not ‘I.’
We, who note their patterns, throw lines
around their habitual places, lines in the sky
that promise sanctuary, the geese oblivious
to atonement for voracious humanity.
Vivien Jones
Robin : Tom Langlands
Magpies
Magpies scavenge from the past
Steal our futures, fly in pairs
Appear in ones, bring poor luck than judgement
‘I can’t do with Magpies’
he said. Unsmiling. Deciding
something must be done
about the pair nesting in the
bottom meadow in the Elm
by the road. So he took his gun
down from the shelf
in the kitchen and two
cartridges, their dull orange
and brass shining caps, from the
box he kept in the dresser. I was eager to see
what would be done.
I’m left now with nagging
confused images. Sound
and colour, yellow, green
and the scudding clouds white
against the summer blue sky
A tantalising glimpse
Of bare flesh, nipple, stomach, thigh.
Lovers belly to belly, thrashing
Like beached fish, their gasping
Soundtracking the carnage
Each memory, a ripple
Like silver in the current
Strips of torn foil cascading
From the Magpies nest, blown apart
chicks and all. Silver foil
Crumpled like the reverberating air. `
Geoff Smith
Absence prompt
Absence.
I remember how the fiddler reeled notes higher than the buzz of voices swinging in waves around the walls of the barn, enveloping the dancers in a hug that wove endlessly through the evening, leaving me; bloated, tired, partnerless, outside its shelter. Not that I minded; I left the place long ago, never a thought to return. But then stirrings to see home again led me a merry dance until I found myself responding to Mair's invitation. She never knew I was coming. I left as the iceflows crackled and creaked their way to the mouth of the St. Lawrence. Then eastwards, a chill wind to our backs, bellying our sails as my lost baby had bellied me.
Steph Newham
Apples with Lacewing : Hazel Lowther
Dancing Prompt
Steph Whizzo the Magician looked very pleased with himself as he whisked the invisible trick table cloth away and revealed that Cynthia was not in fact leaning on the bar, but rather on nothing at all. Fortunately for Cynthia she was wearing her new head butting hat which, as she toppled over, was just at the right height to exact vengeance on Whizzo's magic wand.
Chik Duncan
Layers Prompt
Pack up Your Troubles
Layers
(Centenary)
Mud melds and reforms to crumbly
fertile land
Trenches knit together
when barbed wire stitches are removed
Bones grind down to dust and air
with every ploughing
Gas disperses into a haze of mustard
coloured memory
When the monolithic memorials
are fallen
covered in layer on layer of skeleton grit
will a pack of lucifers
still be waiting to ignite the stupidity
of mankind?
Jane Fuller
Seasons prompt
Calendar
The days are short and cold. I can see my breath in the cool morning air.
Still cold. Although, I've seen the odd bumble bee buzz past me, sure.
The daffodils are starting to rise up and say hello to the earlier mornings of sun.
Lambs grace the fields surrounding the town and nestle under their mums.
Summer arrives along with hay fever, running noses and streaming eyes.
Now all seasons seem to make an appearance just to mess with our minds and accuse Scottish weather.
The days stand tall, the sun is high and bright, burning a hole in the sky.
Fire in the sky, day by day getting put out with the lashings of rain.
Summer is fading off into the horizon leaving nothing but rain. It's colder, colder.
A witch has come and taken over giving out sweets, apples and nuts in exchange for jokes.
It's getting cold out there. Days are shorter, nights are longer.
Dark when I wake, dark when I work, dark when I get home, it's dark, dark, dark for goodness sake.
Daniel Gillespie
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