A Network of Writing and Community Publishers


May 2010

06 May 2012

Christmas cake

I baked a Christmas cake on Christmas Eve Day. I woke up at five o'clock morning to make a dough. I followed up instructions from the cookbook and it wasn't first time when I made this cake. East reacted the way how it supposed to react - it rised nicely. The dough also rised the way how it supposed to rise. Humidity wasn't high, but something happened and the Christmas cake didn't turn right. The family took one polite bite and there was a big piece left only for me, so I decided to treat wild animals and threw the cake out of the kitchen window to the snow on the backyard. I was hoping for the birds to show up. They might be so hungry they will eat it.

Then I went to wash dishes. When I wash the dishes I look out of the window from time to time to see what is going on the backyard. There is a little piece of the garden, little bigger than a handkerchief, maybe the size of four bedsheets. I can see the neighbors house, their lean on, my fence and behind the neighbor's fence there is a tall cyprus. On the cyprus tree I can see my Christmas cake rising. So I dry my hands and go to get my glasses. The cake is still on cyprus, only this time little bit higher. So I watch Christmas cake rising slowly, climbing higher and higher on cyprus. After a while I can see a grey squirrel caring the cake for its tonight dinner.

Marie Neumann


It was a very early summers morning. The warm sun was just rising in the sky. I lay in my bed allowing the summer sunlight to stream in through my bedroom window. Somehow getting up early isn't quite so bad when it's warm. My alarm goes off at 7.30am and I rise from my bed. I look out of the window and can see the dew glistening in the sunlight. I stretch out, tired but happy now that I am rising early and I'm warm not cold. I love summer.

Debbie Feltz

For Carlos

When the bread is rising in my kitchen
I am reminded of you and your true heart
and all your golden words stirred with passion
and honey to taste.
I have seen the bread rising in your eyes
as you watch the world turning
yearning with love and tears
for the great bridge of freedom
to rise up and never fall again.
In my kitchen I am kneading my bread
with sunbeams and a song of peace.
A rainbow shines between us
and upon the bread
as it rises.

Lucia Birch
Stevenage Survivors

Blue Moon

An arc of scarlet lace
Peeps over the horizon
Sitting on the beach
We cheer and applaud
Encouraged, she rises
To take triumphant
Possession of the sky
Flushed crimson.
As her confidence
Grows, she fades
To dusky rose,
Then apricot
And finally pale yellow
With just a hint of peach.
We start to beat our drums
And someone plays guitar
While we take it in turns to sing
And the moon reaches down to us
Her arm stretching across the sea,
And caressing us, bathing us
In her mother-light of love
Peace and understanding
The conversation flows
Oiled by Sangria and Baileys
And the constellations
Are reflected in the inky sea
That swells in response
To her stately lunar glide
Along the celestial route

Ashley Jordan


We watch the sun rise through the ash cloud
and smell the sulphur fumes.
We walk the high streets and see the prices rise above our spending level.
We watch all the uprisings in African countries
and know that innocence will die.
We see religious leaders raise their arms
in hope to their Gods and hear no answer.
We raise our children in the hope
that they have not been given false hope.
We charge forward to Armageddon
with our arms raised in submission;
begging for mercy.
There is none.

Jim White

Flight of Two Worlds

Freedom thus unfurled
In flight of outstretched pinions
Trapped in earthly sky
Till only death delivers,
The key that opens heaven.

Jan Hedger


Six shoulders bare the coffins' weight
Twelve hands connect with natural wood
Sixty fingers curl round tight.

Six heads carry a sense of disbelief
Twelve eyes keep front with tears subdued
Reflective without rhyme.

Six saddened hearts share a family's grief
Twelve feet step with a measured tread
Sixty toes clench in time.

Six hands are ordered for an equal salute
Twelve ears deafened as the engines fed
Rising to cruising height.

Six soldiers stand down at ease
Twelve eyes allow a tears release
Sixty fingers, pray for peace.

Jan Hedger

The death toll is rising

The oceans voided of their yield
Our chains of food have broken links
Nutrients leached from every field
Production run on nods and winks
And the death toll is rising...

Esurient, grabbing with both hands
Then, having seized it, let it rot
Rather fill the bloated lands
Than the starving's empty pots
And the death toll is rising...

Draw new lines upon old maps
Preach division, hate and fear
One small world breached by giant gaps
The planet quakes, judgement is here
And the death toll is still rising...

Ashley Jordan

A new poem for my 'Dream collection'

Pipe dreams spiral aromatically
Intoxicating false hopes; but
When brought into reality
They are tampered; into
Mind numbing predictability
Foresight abandoned.

Jan Hedger


I suspect that fiction at its best
is scribbled on the edge of sleep,
where sheets and bedside table meet,
where the oddly closed notebook rests;
if the pen were a rod, it would break
with the weight of the one that got away.

Bruce Barnes


I slip into sleep
then snap into consciousness.
Light through the curtains
tells me it's morning.
Time to get up.
I look through the window;
the world bathed in sunlight;
a new day of hope.
There's noise in the street
after darkness and silence.
From a night full of dreams
to a day full of schemes.
But by evening I feel
quite unsure which was real.

Andrew Diamond
Newham Writers (Monday Group)

Aspire to Dream/White Lace

Climb the mountain of hope
To reach your cloud of dreams
Traverse the clear blue sky
To tread your chosen path
Shoot as a shooting star
To aspire as to who to be
Do not fall as cold wet rain
That washes away your soul
But drift as pure white snow
Touching lives with your grace
Then shine out as strong as the sun
A reflection upon yourself

I dreamt I saw an angel
Dressed in pure white lace
Her wings they did a flutter
As she beckoned from above
I wanted now to join her
To find freedom from the pain
But there was a hand that held me
From my man of forty year
I turned and met his tired eyes
And asked of him one last thing
My hand he then let slip away
You'll always be my angel, my friend

Jan Hedger


(May 28, 10) Jim White Grimsby said:

Hi, Jim White here, thanks for including me in your e mails, I made a lot of friends at the FED and it's good to see some are still holding things together. Can't get anyone interested up here. I only belong to the Jim White poetry group now. Only member is me and I never fall out with me.  Some great poetry on the site. Power to your elbow. My e address is jim.white1@ntlworld.com if anyone wants to get in touch.  Tata

(May 27, 10) Ashley Jordan said:
Well done Debbie :-) Keen observation and appreciation.

(May 12, 10) Ashley Jordan said:
Excellent writing Jim and a powerful indictment.

(May 10, 10) Jan Hedger said:
Wise words you speak Andrew!
Ashley - a stunning perception - great punchy repeated line. Deep message.
Rising - so many things to so many - Siring different responses!

(May 10, 10) Ashley Jordan said:
What a fantastic of variety of subjects and thoughts we have this month! It's fascinating to see how many different interpretations can come from a single word...
Bruce - I can so identify with yours - I often wake up knowing I had the greatest line ever - but that it didn't survive the night :-(
Andrew - Now you have me pondering the nature of reality - lol where will it all end?
Jan - a lovely piece of writing - very serene and comforting...

(May 06, 10) Andrew Diamond said:
You're a true writer, Bruce. A lot of the best stuff is writtrn at three in the morning. I've even woken my wife up to ask her for a pencil. I don't advise it!

(May 03, 10) Andrew Diamond said:
To answer you Jan, perhaps the only thing that's real is self and that all we do is in pursuit of happiness, satisfaction, personal protection and a quiet life. I once wrote:
They say that every man's a world and many worlds are here in one
But all I know is that I am and as for worlds there may be none.

(May 03, 10) Jan Hedger said:
Quite profound your few words Andrew and is there an answer to the question 'what is real?'


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