1. The Grimwades

   By Beatrice Hussain

   Where lug worms of rancour cast about

   And leaps of faith were dashed by doubt;

   Lord Grimwade dived for mother of pearl like 

   Moonlight on a gambolling fox, and brought 

   A fragment to his girl; as being broody had made 

   Her soft.  With any doubts outgrown and sloughed,

   They made their heronry in a concrete strut, 

   Beneath a jut of ocean road. 

   Where ropes of foam swung in and out

   Their leggy fledglings skipped about.

   While Lady Grimwade, with one wing doffed,

   Like a weeping ash,

   Shaded a gravel path for eels, 

   To scoff the lot with a splash.

2. Battles

   By Marie-Louise McGuinness

   The mistrust emanating from her darkened stare made my skin prickle. Though guilty, I stood unyielding, I had too much to lose.

   Excruciating moments followed. Ragged sighs gusted from cheeks pink with accusation; delicate jaw gurning, chewing on emotional cud.

   I met her eyes, unblinking, and repeated the lie.

   An exaggerated nod and half-hearted door-slam marked her resignation. 

   She had no proof.

   The last chocolate bar, spongy from sticky body heat, remained victoriously sequestered within my waistband.

   I would not surrender it to my toddler. Her tantrums were escalating and I needed the sugar hit more than she did.

3. Sleight of Hand

   By Kim Russell

   November sun slants low, cold, 

   white gold,

   casts flickering shadows across 

   fields of frost,

   prettifying furrows and hedges

   around the edges

   where icy fingers have bejewelled

   weeds with icy dew.

   A sleight of hand - a hare appears 

   with backlit ears,

   zig-zagging its way home, not slowing,

   ears pink and glowing.

   Nature is a magician, 

   no mad hatter,

   weaving spells with equinoctial scatter

   on the season’s horizon.

   She flies the hare in the autumn moon,

   a silver balloon

   bobbing above trees in déshabillé,

   except for the silvery

   tangles of moonbeams –

   or so it seems.

4. The Feet

   By Dominique Gracia

   They weren’t finished. First, Prometheus didn’t notice, and then he thought it was funny.

   They emerged from the kiln like alabaster twins and took their first breaths together. Then Prometheus’ statue walked away with her maker, and Dolos’ stared at him, stuck.

   Whenever Aletheia was still, he sketched her ivory toes, moulded high arches. From the kiln they came, beautiful and fresh, to stand beside Dolos’ statue on her pedestal. For hours each day, he stroked and coaxed, but could not make them fit.

   And that is how the god Deception came to worship the feet of the goddess Truth.

5. Foraging

   By Becky Gregory

   Mary had been sent to forage, 

   for their tea she went. 

   To find a plant so pungent 

   and distinctive in its scent. 

   She trudged deep into the forest,

   up t’ rundown mill.

   Searching for that speck of white,

   o’er rock and tree and hill.

   At last she spotted its clear flower,

   whiter than the snow.

   So gathered it in handfuls,

   tasting on the go.

   Soon young Mary felt unwell;

   she had been deceived.

   For lily of the valley

   looks like wild garlic indeed.

6. Spring’s Promise

   By Bean Sawyer

   She pushed her way through soil. Past fossil, bone and worm; remembering the way, guided by a promise. Her birth was as swift as her previous death; a life once measured by golden petals and the rhymic turning of the sky.

   She was right on time. Greeted by birdsong, boxing hares and barking fox; the signposts for her to unfold. 

   She lifted her yellow trumpet to the sky. Untamed, it still wore a winter cloak with lungs as deep as pockets- breath as cold as steel. 

   Her neck bent with its touch, her brief life crushed by spring’s broken promise.

7. The Venus Fly Trap

   By Helen Dudley

   Dionaea Muscipula, damsel of deceit.

   Maleficence sonambular, her lures so bittersweet.

   With doilied petal bonnet, poised on graceful spine,

   Her serenity belies a secret, beauty undermined.

    

   Tiny hairs on nectared tongue, in yawning, needled maws,

   Spring waiting to be sprung to death in emerald jaws.

    

   The unsuspecting housefly, or errant worker ant,

   Unaware of what will lie within this temptress plant:

   Nectar sweet, beneath their feet, hair-triggered fatal trap;

   In seeking out a tasty treat, they became her midday snack!

The group chose ‘Battles’ as their favourite. Congratulations to Marie-Louise McGuinness!