Father’s Day
-V M A Gaskill
the good scout
jupiter and saturn in the southern sky
son and father each the other
now mute glowworms
late gas giants
courted by the stars
in their silent perspectives
on my back on the hard ground
of a barren mountain field
listening to my father
as we lay encamped
as he named the astral bodies
in their myriads
earlier that day he sent me to the village
to buy bread in a language not my own
he supplied me with a word in the arabic
khubz that the baker understood
and i returned with enough for ten
thus we make men of our sons
now comes the goddess with her golden lamp
now comes the reckoning of merit
much have i heard about illusions
much have i learned about deception
long will i remember the good scout
who named the morning stars to me
-W V Sutra
My Father as a Zephyr
Lightest of all things,
he blows in light of a perpetual spring,
scatters the salty Clyde with early summer breezes,
with seaweed fronds on soft foam,
fruit of our childhood holidays.
His soft stirring smile greets aquamarine.
His wind-song dances on fiddle strings, sotto.
The west wind restores dear ones
with a tease, a coorie-in, a purr.
-Maggie Mackay (from her collection ‘A West Coast Psalter’)
Their Father’s Business
Their father in an important mood
would roll up two starched shirts
and a pair of grey flannel trousers
all the time saying how tight
in those capsules he designed
for spacemen.
He shined and buffed
his black shoes, discussed the heat
on Mars, livable planets,
claiming he went just to watch,
to feel the rush of air
along his neck, the lift off.
But as the soft cloth carefully
worked his shoes
in single glossy motions
under the bright lamp,
his children thought that given a chance
his very own hands could force
a rocket from the launch pad,
cradle of fire.
-Moira J. Saucer
-Jim the Poet
-Kitty Donnelly (from her collection “The Impact of Limited Time”
I will never forget
The first time
You skimmed a pebble
Across the sea.
You reassured me
Stones could bounce
I listened disbelievingly
But as I watched
The sleeping rocks
Come to life
Riding the waves
I fell in love with the
Timeless sea
I’m still in love today.
-Jill Webb
-William Thirsk-Gaskill from his collection “Throwing Mother In The Skip”
-Tristan Moss
-Tristan Moss
-Tim Fellows
A TRIOLET TRIPTYCH : Halloween Revisited
In memory of my much-loved father Edmund Joseph Browning
Ready or not, dark memories take me there,
To that bay-windowed room where he would play
His old piano, perched on a cushioned chair.
Ready or not, dark memories take me there.
I hear him sing that hymn, I cannot bear
Reliving the slow film spool of that day.
Ready or not, dark memories take me there
To that bay-windowed room where he would play.
I see the double rainbow in the sky,
Seek to make peace with Fate, caught so off guard.
Dead at the wheel, on Halloween, but why?
I see the double rainbow in the sky,
Mop up October’s tears, resolve to try
And come to terms with this, but life is hard!
I see the double rainbow in the sky,
Seek to make peace with Fate, caught so off guard.
Relieved, I find his hymnal on the stand,
So clearly highlighted with words of hope.
‘I feel the promise is not vain’, his plan!
Relieved, I find his hymnal on the stand.
I realise he’s here, he holds my hand.
I know that somehow I’ll find strength to cope.
Relieved, I find his hymnal on the stand,
So clearly highlighted with words of hope.
-©️ Margaret Royall
From her poetry pamphlet ‘Earth Magicke”
-Neal Zetter
-Neal Zetter
-Kola Tobuson
-Simon Zec
-Neal Zetter
Grandad. Incomplete by my dad
portrait of my grandad by my dad
Never Only Considers Most
relevant part of a map.
When he gets lost, he stops,
at the entrance to the busiest junction,
sometimes, before a roundabout,
and unfolds a view of the world
to its fullest extent to find his way.
Perhaps, at work when he changes
one tiny part of the system he traces
its effect on a detailed drafted whole diagram
of council offices, hospitals
or nuclear subs where he has installed
new heating waste management services.
And I at work or home cursed with the same
need for thorough deliberation,
find bosses, wives and workmates sigh
at my slow, detailed examination
of an issue, that had I rushed,
as when angry, only find confusion.
My dad and I bring the whole going on
to a brief stop as others
who wish to get on, hoot, cringe,
whistle and toot their dismay.
We ignore them all to, quietly,
stubbornly, slowly map our way.
-Paul Brookes
Bios and Links
-Moira J Saucer
is a disabled poet living in the Alabama Wiregrass. She holds an MFA from the University of Arkansas, (Fayetteville) Creative Writing Program and an MA in English from the University of Delaware. Her poems have been published by Fevers of the Mind, Floodlight Editions, Burning House Press, Visual Verse, Mookychick, Fly on the Wall Poetry Press, and Ice Floe Press. Her debut – a full length poetry collection – is forthcoming in 2021-22 from Ice Floe Press
The Wombwell Rainbow 