South Chingford Poetry

The bio for Frank L Ashen appears with the poem "What a difference a year makes ". I am grateful to my cousin Gillian in Australia for sending me a copy of this one. EIGHTY FIVE To be alive at eighty five, must be Wonderful!  Some may say. To me it seems it’s not a dream, It’s just another day. Four score and five – and still alive! With congratulations freely flowing, The fact remains at eighty five It’s the tablets keep you going!   The nimbleness of yesteryear, Oh, the joie de vivre! More likely now to be just a touch of fever. The easy movement, smoothness and agility Gives way (ha ha) I have to say, to “Ouch! My bloomin’ knee!”   My poor old car is ageing too But we’ve managed to get around. With eyes on the blink causes me to think Whether motoring is quite sound. So if my eyes won’t help me see Is it I who needs the M.O.T.?   Even the garden, all neatness and splendour, With grass well cut and beds well made! Now a case o

  Please see the poem "Strawberries" for a bio of Martina.                       Autumnal I slurp away, darkness as a black canvas in a cup of tea I drink every morning. Grey dots of rain soak into a first draft of today and leave behind papier maché of footprints in leaf laden puddles. Vivid splashes on sparse trees are frozen dancers of a dance macabre. I believe in the open fire, pungent smell of burning wood, collapsing into fragments. Scarlet sparks like droplets aim down on the stone, when I shed my thoughts into a glass of Autumn wine. When residue dissipates and metal spikes of an evening chill bite into my bones,  I fiercely close my eyes to preserve, in this ever-changing field, a sense of body print in space.                              Martina Gritzova (2017) There follows artwork which accompanied the original work on the poem:                               RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

A bio for Glenys Barton appears with the poem "The Tenrec". About this poem, Glenys says 'I searched every drawer, cupboard, etc. and this really happened'.                            Pinning the Devil I mislaid my purse but knew not where, it simply vanished into air. I searched and prayed 'cause full of cash for clothes to shop and make a splash. Several days passed of fret and worry, vaguely thought I'd hidden the money. Lack of concentration, such upheaval, resort to witchcraft and pin the devil. So pushing the needle into a chair I dreamt of my purse, please tell me where ... Would you believe, five minutes later I would find my purse. Praises to the devil!                                Glenys Barton               RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

  A bio for Glenys Barton appears with the poem "The Tenrec"                          A Katzenjammer Have you a katzenjammer, like a head hit with a hammer? You drank too much wine, now is that a crime? The result a katzenjammer. Spare me the details last night, surely I wasn't a fright? You say I got into a fight, though usually I'm so polite. The result of a katzenjammer. How did I finish in A. & E. remembering a muzzy brain see? I'm called to the quack, sympathy he really does lack Has he never had a katzenjammer? So once again it's Saturday night, I must decline your offer - that's right! I'm really a good girl, I will knit and I'll purl No more to suffer a katzenjammer!                                        Glenys Barton                     RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

  William Cratchley is a grandson of Chris who runs the Saturday morning shifts at SCCL in a most orderly and efficient manner. At the time, William was 12 years old, and the poem was written as part of a school poetry project at Roding Valley School, Buckhurst Hill. The challenge was to write a recipe to do with your family. I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I do.                          Life- Serves 7,530,103,737 First pour Mum and Dad into a bowl, then stir in a few years, add birth, then leave to cool. Remove the infants after 4-5 years. Soon add school, teachers, and friends, laughter, fun, teamwork, and education, and leave to settle. Mix family holidays, days out, and birthdays, plus a pinch of Christmas, and a touch of Easter. Add some drama, responsibility, and pain. Add some tears and change. Pour a tablespoon of new school. Sprinkle some fear, joy, and sadness. Heat it up and blend some friends and new faces. Add a 7, then replace it with an 8. Pour a Summer, then place

Jackie is a friend of long-standing who I first met while working in Harlow in the 80's.    This series of Limericks details the delights of home-made preserves.    There was a young lass called Georgina Who wouldn’t be beat by Corona We all trooped to her door Knowing what was in store Jam or marmalade made ever finer.   Jam and chutney first time were in favour Then Georgina got bored with those savours So to marmalade moved Second time around proved Spicy Ginger was much the best flavour. Now Georgina preserves things with Love Boils and pickles with help from her stove She stirs, beats and chops Even prays, sings and bops But her love is what makes us all move. Jackie Edwards                         RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

Glenys Barton is one of my cousins. Her husband Peter was a lecturer in mechanical engineering and taught abroad, mainly in Africa I believe. They spent some time in Mauritius. Glenys had one of these in her garden. Slugs and snails the tenrec eats a diet for hedgehogs, perfect treats. At night he plods on delicate feet, a tailless wonder patrolling the beat. A nasty shock because of his meat Madagascans delight, whenever they meet. Into the pot, stewed at gently heat part of the food chain man should delete. Glenys Barton                         RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

 Martina from the Czech Republic was a former volunteer at South Chingford Community Library, joining at the beginning, at the same time as I did. In her own words: "First writing attempts in early teenage years in the mother tongue continued after a long pause while living in London, first poems in English. Travelling to Asia and Australia later on inspired a few travel poems. Currently living in Paris, a regular attendee of  a writing anglophone workshop for the first few years, first stories in English. Inspired by French language studies, first poems and a flash fiction in French. Hoping to publish a collection of poems or stories accompanied by  her own illustrations." See also  a link to the school blog where there are a few French texts by me  https://obloch8.wixsite.com/confiblog/post/aeb49514                                       Strawberries I've always loved red. Berry dresses, Bordeaux scarves, maroon coats When strawberry droplets caressed my cheeks I touch

  Poems appear in the strangest places. This one was written on a piece of paper found tucked inside a book returned to South Chingford Community Library. There was a citation which read: "Helena Hope you like Lots   of love always from Margo xxx" Who am I? I am the depth of the ocean I am the light of the sun I am the darkness of the cave I am the beauty of the flower I am the delicate butterfly wing I am the strength of the mountain I am the courage of the warrior I am afraid I am the gentle soft breeze I am the rage of the storm I am the trusting new born I am the suspicious victim I am the growing seed I am the evergreen I am the changing leaves I am infinity I am limited I am love I am different and travel alone I am the same and travel in company I am me and I am you                                   RETURN TO LIST OF POEMS

  A bio for Frank L Ashen appears before his poem "What a difference a year makes". BEING NINETY --- IF ONLY ... I give thanks for having reached this day After some hiccups on the way. When the excitement (?) has come and gone Back to normal I'll carry on. Sometimes it seems I'm doing well, at others it is hard to tell. Some things I did without a thought Now become problems, somewhat fraught. If only I could pack a holiday bag just as others do. Some pants and vests and shirts and socks, some trousers and some woollies, too. But first there comes the meditation, working out the medication. Tablets, capsules and the like, creams, salves, something for the night. It's not so much what you are 'on', but allowing for what might go wrong. No one to consult with as of yore. Play for safety, take rather more. If only I could walk a line; one that is moderately straight. Instead of stumbling as if to mime one who's had one over the eight. Would aerobics, I w

Frank L Ashen   was one of my father's younger brothers, and the one who I saw most often as he lived just around the corner when I was young. Later he moved a little further away to Buckhurst Hill, before spending the last years of his life in Holt, Norfolk. He was a wonderful uncle,  with a delightful sense of humour,  who always seemed to manage or handle everything, . My father suffered from Parkinson's disease for many years, and Uncle Frank was always a source of support. When he was around, you knew that things would be OK. At some point, he was involved with the film industry which flourished for a time early in the 20th century in the Wood Street area of Walthamstow. When the Walthamstow Amateur Cine Video Club  made a video about this, entitled "Hollywood E17", they interviewed Frank in his back garden in Buckhurst Hill. The video is posted on YouTube , but unfortunately mostly without sound for copyright reasons. He appears at instant 8-40. A DVD is now lik