Heartlines

One late summer evening
In the autumn of our lives
As we often do these days
We talked about death

These were our good times
The old feuds, bitter arguments
Cutting insults, biting sarcasms
All lay behind us

We agreed, life is too short
And getting shorter
We resolved to see our days out
In a companionable truce

We no longer rose to the bait
That could disturb the surface of our lives
The wounds were healing
Though some scars remained

I’d like a woodland burial she said
Beneath a rowan tree
To give passers-by pleasure
After I am gone

I will find a suitable location
To bury her ashes and plant the tree
Somewhere to remind me of her,
Somewhere awkward and irritating.

Three decades Dad’s volunteered at Oxfam,
sorting the books, pricing them, putting them out,
taking longer each year to walk the quarter mile,
summer and winter, tapping his stick along streets
shifting like oceans under his feet.
Knocked over once by a gust of wind, picked up
by passersby, making poor progress through snow, rain, sleet.

He went deaf in that shop, grew cancerous,
became a great grandfather five times over,
reached the unlooked-for age of 95,
finally acquired his own chair – till other helpers stole it
to ease their aching knees; he never said a word.

I think I’ll die if I stop, he’s often said.
Once he was four days in hospital, being inconveniently sick.
Went straight back to his books the following week.

Liz McPherson
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

This poem and others also appear in Shivering in the Wind published by Yaffle Press.

This year you would have been sixty

your friends would have thrown you a ‘do’ and you,
all of 5 foot 3, would have been a little shy.

Your children would have been here, your cake
would be pale green, home-made,
tulips or narcissi on the table and your oldest son

would have made a speech about how you’d never
forgotten the time you were ill, missed starting school,
spent a year in hospital hoping for a miracle.

There’s a photo of us on the front step
of the house in Blackburn, eyes screwed up
against the sunshine.

On and off I’ve imagined that birthday too;
if you had ever been five, there would have been
banana sandwiches, Hoola Hoops, butterfly buns.

Liz McPherson
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

This poem and others also appear in Shivering in the Wind published by Yaffle Press

The people of Ethiopia glory in
a calendar that’s not Gregorian.
With 12 months of 30 days and one of five
it makes you think you could connive
to invent a calendar yourself
that would be better for your health.
So May and June would last 12 weeks
and when the year’s due one of those leaps
it would be in June, the extra day
not February when you don’t want that month to stay
any longer than is necessary –
the same it must be said, of January
10 days each would do for them.
November and March we could condemn
to the same decrease in days
and send Ethiopia all bouquets
and thanks and messages of praise
for their inspiration of our conniving
to have a fresh dawn now arriving.
Our calendar new, unique, would smash it,
forget Pope Gregory, for he is past it.

Rosie Cantrell 2024
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

There’s no accounting for taste,
as the man said when he kissed the cow,
was a favourite saying of my mother.
I counted it highly among my many
memories of childhood.
But there’s no accounting for my mother’s
quirky sayings. These days, however,
I count my blessings – chief among them
is the love I have for you. As Elvis sang
so memorably “ I’m counting on you, Dear,
from the dawn of each day. To always come
true, Dear, in your kind loving way.
If you knew just how deeply I feel the things
you do, then you’d know how completely
I’m counting on you.”

Bill Fitzsimons 2024
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

♫ Da Da Da DaDaDa Da Da Da ♫
And in at number 10, it’s Peter and Gordon’s World without Love
But do not lose hope pop pickers
Because at number 9 John Lennon tells us All We Need is Love
If you are lucky at No. 8 someone may well Light Your Fire
and Doors may open to
No 7 where you can Come Together with the help of that popular beat combo, The Beatles.
If your relationship is a bit rocky don’t despair because I’m a Believer at No 6, hope you are, too?
Come out of your shell, Monkee around and be
Happy Together at No. 5 by The Turtles

♫ Da Da Da DaDaDa Da Da Da ♫

In time you could be told, at No. 4, to Hit the Road, Jack by an unfeeling Ray Charles.
At Number 3 you might respond, please, please, please Love Me Do by those cheeky
chappies, those mop tops, the fab four, the immaculately garbed John, Paul, George and
Ringo.
But the answer at number 2 is I Can’t Get No Satisfaction by those loveable rebellious
scruffs The Stones.
It’s a tie at Number One with Nancy Sinatra studying your footwear and suggesting
your Boots are made for Walking.
More bluntly The Moody Blues give you short shrift and say Go Now.

Join me again next week. I predict, no not a riot – that’s 40 years in the future but that the
new 45 by Simon and Garfunkel will enter the charts at Number One with The Sound of
Silence. Good advice for this talkative pseudo-poetic DJ.

Malcolm Henshall 2024
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

Their eyes met across the roses, Ethel could not believe it.
She, a dinner lady, in the garden of Buckingham Palace.
He could believe it. He, a Count from the House of Lords,
in his element.
He wandered round the circumference of the flower bed,
“Hello,” he purred, “you are A1, A plus.”
“Can I have your number”?
Ethel was thinking the situation did not add up.
The Count saw the doubt in her eyes.
He was not used to a negative reaction.
“You can count on me” he said laughing at his own joke.
Multiple times he had used this chat up line.
nine times out of ten it was successful.
But Ethel was a wary old soul,
and whilst fantasising about using the Count’s body as an abacus,
she believed, in this case,
two plus two might well equal five.
And anyway, he must be 5 plus three score and 10.
She was a sprightly six times eleven.
She did not wish to be mean but age was a factor.
He pointed his digit at her but before he could say a fraction of what he wanted to say
Numero one, the King approached.
“Up to your old tricks, Count,” he said with an obtuse wink
“Well Charlie me old mate
You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?
One was not enough for you, was it?”
“Be careful what you say, Count
or else you will find yourself minus a head.”
“Oh, sire forgive me for overstepping the norm
and in addition, I am 110% behind you.”
Ethel made her exit figuring this was the best way to square the circle.
On average she felt much more in control when confronted by a butterscotch tart.

Malcolm Henshall 2024
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection

The night is cloudless
My path through the forest
is lit by the moon

Above is the pole star
below, the ground still warm from the sun

Somewhere out in the universe
Stars are crossing, spinning and merging,
powerful collisions that no one hears
and new stars are being born

Here on Earth I wake from my sleep
waiting for the dawn, to continue
the never ending spiral

Jackie Parsons September 2024
From the National Poetry Day 2024 collection