Poem Of The Month

Poems of the Month, May 2015

                                                                                     Will Horspool

Typical Capricorn

There's an MP for Hinckley & Bosworth,
And every time he's in the news,
Its not for a scandal, or even good works,
Its for his rather radical views,
He's got an idea to help the NHS,
He firmly believes, that Astrology,
Can be a doctors tool, a diagnostic test,
But this notion's abhorrent to me.

He said "I foresee, that astrology,
Will have a role to play in healthcare."
But to use horoscopes this way horrifies me,
And I believe its good cause to beware.
An Astrologer told him his "6th house is strong,
Which is linked with public service."
I say to David, I think you are wrong,
That Practitioner was taking the piss!
You're in the public eye, which means that guy,
knew your job role before you went near!
You sat with him in your suit and tie,
He told you what you wanted to hear!

Educated, at Eton, (The best way to get your feet in)
The door, to the corridors of power,
He thinks he knows what’s best for us,
He's preaching at us from his tower.
Maybe you think its fine, to be a little superstitious
But this man is a dangerous loon!
He warned surgeons to be careful,
saying "Blood doesn't clot at full moon!"
During the MPs expenses scandal,
He paid back over seven hundred quid.
For Horoscope software, I'm not kidding,
My opinion, is its time we got rid!

Mr David Tredinnick, Stop being a dick!
You're not representing your voters!
The last thing we want in the Health Select Committee,
Is “alternative” medicine promoters.

William Jeffrey February 2015

For more, Google: “William MakesBeer”

See Will perform his POM here:

Will Horspool

Raised in Wales, now living in Leicester, I performed poetry for the first time in December 2014. It felt great to get a response from the audience! The feedback gives me the impetus to write more every day! Google "William MakesBeer" to find me!

Should I explain here,
My pun on Shakespeare?
Its not that hard,

I'm a bearded Bard!

Poems of the Month April 2015

Bubble & Squeak

I am at large!
The sun revolves
not around The Hague,
but instead 
my mirage.
No interference from quangos
spouting continental jargon.
Did I hear correctly?
I beg your pardon?!
This is our sacred garden!
Our hard fought soil!

You turn if you want to.
Charge your Prosecco
and Gran Gala
to the EU.
I’ll raise my pint of mild,
flat as grey rain
drizzling down 
on Shoeburyness
and Salisbury Plain.
And I will know
I have remained
British by decree!
My Sterling worth 
its weight in gold
to me
and to the world!

You kip if you wish.
But I will stay alert 
and equipped!
And I will not cease 
till time I reverse!
For our common wealth…
Long before this great nation 
became but sorely cursed.
Where’s the fight in you?


The Poem:
We are to imagine this poem is lovingly crafted by a mystery politician. With characteristic fervour, this celebrated individual informs us of his undying love for his country and relays his deep-seated mistrust of Europe. He also takes the opportunity to underscore his part in choreographing Great Britain’s imminent resurrection as a global superpower. 
The poem is called ‘Bubble & Squeak’ as it is a quintessentially British artefact. It was a toss-up between that and ‘Spotted Dick’…

The Writer:
By day, Aysar Ghassan teaches Design. By night, he masquerades as a poet, reading his material at gatherings in the midlands and in London. Aysar’s odes are character-driven and reflect his continued fascination with people and other furry animals. Recently, Aysar was commissioned to write and read a poem for Birmingham Central Library’s Burns Night Supper. In April he will be hosting Earlsdon Festival’s inaugural Poetry Fringe event. No pressure.


              Dopey Bird from Leicester

               Using a single sentence letter,
                  from another national paper,
                  a Daily Mail writer
                  constructed a woman.
                  Drew from his pantechnicon
                  of prejudice and shaped
                  her into a ‘dopey bird’.
                  This woman became an 
                  ornithological impossibility.
                  a construct of his hatred
                  of all he saw as liberality;
                  then twisted into fascism.
                  This flighty fledgling
                  was me, real woman.
                  Aged woman, a lifetime
                  of political activity behind.
                  Woman, who as a child 
                  the fascists didn’t get
                  with their fire bombs,
                  their flying bombs.
                  Who, when the writer
                  was in short pants,
                  marched off to Aldermaston
                  against nuclear weapons.                 
                  This woman from Leicester,
                  has no desire to be admired
                  by a Daily Mail writer who calls 
                  women ‘birds’. We are flesh,
                  blood, brain, females of the
                  human race. Strong women.
                  However, does something
                  trouble this man? Perhaps ‘Little’ 
                  before ‘John’, a source of anxiety?
                  Teasing at school?  Should he be
                  giving thanks to his parents who
                  chose ‘Richard’  not ‘Thomas’?
                  Anna Cheetham

We're scouting for YOUR work at WORD!  - next one May!

Poem of the Month February 2015

Death in a humanist family: a ballad

When Mother died six years ago we took her to the crem
Without a priest or leader, for we had no need of them.
My father chose the music and we spoke but did not cry;
Our family is humanist, and knows all things must die.

We talked about our mother and we took her ashes home;
After sixty years of marriage, Father carried on alone.
He didn’t like his different life, but as we watched him try
We knew he hoped that shortly it would be his turn to die.

It took six years of slow decline; he died at ninety-two.
We went back to the crem, with “such a lovely country view”.
I chose his favourite music, and one thing I do not buy:
There is no fancy afterlife. All things have got to die.

My Gran was buried years ago; we went back to her grave
And so I chaired a third event, but don’t see that as brave.
Two sets of ashes in the ground now side by side they lie;
I put them there myself because all loved ones have to die.

Some earth from my back garden and some more I took from theirs
We scattered on the caskets of the very best of pairs.
Their atoms now are ashes, but until my end is nigh
I’ll strive to live a good life till my own time comes to die.

David Pollak is a half-Welsh, partly Jewish Czech retired academic from Leicester. He has been a primary school teacher, translator, counsellor and singing teacher, and has performed in many operas. In the past, he often gave song recitals of other people's work, but now enjoys reading his own compositions at open mikes. Having published two books on dyslexia, he has a secret ambition to bring out one of poems.

We're scouting for YOUR work at WORD!  - next one March!

Poem of the Month January 2015

Why did you go? 

Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

Did you believe all the hype?
‘Your country needs you!’
‘It’ll all be over by Christmas!’
Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

I’ve seen your postcard home.
You loved your wife, you loved your baby son.
Yet you left them both alone.
Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

Did you love your God and your King
your country and your Duty more?
You left them both alone
Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

Did she lie to you? Or did you lie to her?
Did you lie to each other?
“Don’t worry, my dear, don’t worry!”
Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

You changed their lives
You changed mine too
One hundred years on
Why did you go?
What were you thinking?

You didn’t have to – did you?

In memory of my grandfather, George Ernest Corrie, killed in France, May 1917

- Christine Rivers

After a lifetime of reading only a few poems – John Donne as a lovelorn teenager, and Marge Piercy as a developing feminist – I am a recent convert to writing poetry. I considered myself creative in other ways – a background in art, enjoying music and dance, one-time morris dancer and now a regular caller for a ceilidh band. But even as an English teacher of adults, my focus has been primarily on the practicalities of communication – not the imagination. Of course, I am now enjoying reading and hearing so much more. For me, the ‘personal is political’ in that I write about what touches me in my life, hoping for a resonance in my audience. I particularly enjoy reading my work aloud. I am a member of Tangent Poets and a regular attender of Westcotes Words writing workshops.

We're scouting for YOUR work at WORD!  - next one February!