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The Hogarth Experiment Part 4

Professor Robert Hogarth sat
and looked out the window,
what he saw each day amazed him.
Where the remnants of his burnt out laboratory,
he watch each day the quickness of the new growth there.
Tiny shrubs were the next day mature plants.
He noted in his journal,
which kept hidden, everything he saw.
Each day the remains of his laboratory
slowly disappeared from sight under a sea of green foliage.
It was not only the plants
that were growing out of proportion.
Other things much more scary had begun to appear.
These made him order that none of his staff
go out during the day under any circumstance.

It was almost dusk when the empty battery was found.
The police notified the Army,
but couldn’t give them no explanation
as to why the soldiers had disappeared,
other than all three men were gone
leaving behind their belongs and their guns.
The Army’s reply was that they would send
their own investigation team down in the morning.

The reports of animal deaths and human disappearances
were mounting and the police were mystified.
They went to the unusual step
of arming their officers on the beat.
Each had to sign for a weapon
and ten round of ammunition
before leaving the station.
Not knowing the threat that had come to the valley,
they were not taking chances.
It was felt that just a truncheon was not enough protection
from what ever was doing the killings adductions.

The night was quiet and no new incidents were reported.
However as the dawn broke
a humming sound broke the stillness of the morning.
John Fairchild and his son Peter
came out of the barn
as several shadows passed over them.
John told his son to get back indoors
as he ran into the barn and grabbed a pitchfork.
Peter ran as fast as he could
to the farmhouse without looking back.
Getting inside he closed the door
and raced to the window to look outside.
He saw his father fighting a giant insect with the pitchfork.
Peter went to the living room
and grabbed his father’s shotgun from the wall,
then went to the drawer where the shotgun shells were kept.
He shoved as many as he could
in his pockets and loaded two into the gun.
He opened the door
to see one of the insects
had knocked his father to the ground
and had its stinger poised.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 5

Peter levelled the shotgun
at the insect as big as a sheep
and pulled the trigger and again.
The blast knocked
the beast away from his father.
He quickly reloaded
as another giant insect
came close to his father.
The creature spun sideways
as the shot hit it.
Both creatures rose to their feet.
His father picked up the pitchfork
and jammed it deep
into the first insects head.
The insect wobbled on its legs
before collapsing dead.
The other moved giant insect
towards the fallen insect.
Peter had reloaded the shotgun
and fired both barrels at the head
of the advancing insect.
The head of it seemed to explode.
Peter reloaded the shotgun again.
His father ran towards him
pushing out of the way
of another giant insect.
They scrambled to their feet
and ran to the farmhouse.
They bolted the door
and moved to the window.
What they saw astonished them.
More and more giant insects landed
and seem to examine the fallen ones.
They then lifted them into the air and flew off.
John looked at his son.
Their battle was over.
All the giant insects disappeared
along with the two they had killed.
John went across to the phone
and telephoned the police.
He told them what had happened,
half expecting them to laugh.
They asked for his address
and said they would be sending
some people out to him.
They told him to remain inside with his family
and keep the windows and doors
locked until they arrived.
An hour passed and several armoured personnel carriers
stopped in the farmyard.
A dozen or more troops
emerged from the vehicles.
The Officer in charge
deployed them around the vehicles
before he and a short spectacled man
came to the door of the farmhouse.
John Fairchild let them in.
The short spectacled man introduced himself
as Raymond Constantine from Cambridge University
where he taught about insects.
The reason why they took so long to get there
was that he had to be flown down from Cambridge.
He asked if they could describe the insects
that they had battled with.
As they old him, Constantine frowned.
He then asked how many did they see?
John wasn’t sure,
but he estimated over twenty.
Constantine face grew paler.
He knew what kind of insects
had attacked them
and that very thought of that worried him.
He then asked what size they were.
John’s answer frightened Constantine even more
when he told him they were as large as sheep.
Constantine turned to the Captain
and said they must get back to HQ.
He then turned to John
and warned him
that he must not go out in the daytime.
Evenings and at night were Ok,
but not during the day.
Constantine and the Captain then left.

On he journey back to HQ
Constantine kept his eyes on the skies.
The insect John Fairchild had told him about
were social insects
and lived in nests of up to ten thousand workers.
Their nests were in a hole the ground.
The problem was going to be to locate the nest
and kill all the occupants,
but mainly the queen.
She would have to be destroyed.
Several times, he thought he saw something,
but they were merely birds.
As the continued, deeper into the valley
a humming sound arose around them,
slowly getting louder and louder.
Constantine turned to the driver
and shouted at him to stop.
The sky turned from blue to black
as a mass of insects flew overhead.
Constantine’s face turned ashen
with horror at what he saw.
Several of the insects seemed
to be carrying human bodies.
Others had small animals.
Several of the soldiers left the armoured vehicles
and were firing at the insects.
Sudden they swarmed them.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Casebook Of Oliver Cyriax - Case 1# The Burning Bush (Part 1)

I knocked on his front door
half expecting a weary face
when it opened to greet me.
Instead, Oliver smiled
with a small twinkle in his eyes.
He guided me through to his study,
cluttered in the corners with artefacts
kept as souvenirs from previous cases.
He gestured me to have a seat,
then lifted his briar pipe off the mantle piece,
lit it and then made himself comfortable
in the armchair by the fire.
He looked at me through a cloud of smoke
that billowed from his pipe.
Now Mr Rogers I guess you have read in the newspapers
about the Burning Bush at Little Pebblebury.
Some think it is a religious phenomenon,
while others say it is a warning
and that we should all take heed.
Upon reading the story,
I decided to investigate the Burning Bush myself.

I telephone The Saintly Sovereign Inn at Little Pebblebury
enquiring about a room for the week.
They told me they had one left
because of the interest in their Burning Bush.
I said I would take it
and would travel down that very day.
I arrived at the village
just as the sun was beginning to set.
After settling in my room,
I came down the bar for a meal.
I got to talking to one of the locals
and was quite surprised to learn
that there had been several other ghost fires,
in and around the village the last couple of years.
The first was about two years ago
on a farm about two miles from the village.

It started about dusk as the farmer
was bringing his cattle in from the fields for the night.
As he got closer, he noticed a light
in the barn where he stored his winter hay.
At first, he though his wife
might have left a lamp lit in there,
but as he got closer, he could see the flames.
Leaving the animals in the field,
he ran into the farmhouse
and yelled to his wife to telephone the fire brigade.
He shouted that there was a fire in the barn.
The farmer grabbed a wooden pail
and rushed back out the door.
He dipped it in the animal drinking trough,
scooping out as much water he could get,
then rushed into the barn
and threw the water on the flames.
Back and forward, he ran
with as much water as he could carry.
The more water he threw on it,
the less the fire seemed to go out.

The fire brigade arrived and aimed their hoses
on the flames to douse them out.
Still the fire raged on.
Nothing it seemed could douse the flames.
Deep into the night they battled it,
then just before the dawn a
nd as suddenly as it appeared the fire disappeared.
Everyone by this time was exhausted;
still an investigation had to be made
to ensure there were no smouldering ambers that would start to blaze.
As they entered,
they found that none of the barn interior,
nor any of the hay was burnt or scorched in anyway.
It was as if there was never a fire there at all,
yet dozens of people had seen it and fought it.
Oliver stopped for a moment to rekindle his pipe.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 3

Police Constable Broadworth
was sent from the station
to go to see if he could locate Joe Harper
after a frantic phone call from his surgery.
It would seem as if he had missed
several of his appointments,
which was not like Joe at all.
He cycled down the same lane
where Joe Harper’s car was parked.
He could hear his car still running.
The scene that greeted him
was not he had expected.
The car was in the lane,
but Joe Harper was no where about.
Broadworth shouted out his name,
but got no reply.
Broadworth dismounted from his bike.
He felt it strange that Jo Harper
would have left his car running.
Broadworth searched the area
after turning off the engine of the car.
Joe Harper was nowhere to be found.
It was as if he had vanished into thin air.
He put his bike in the back of the car,
then drove it to the nearest farm
and telephoned the station
to inform them what he had found.

Even though the war was over
the battery near the town
was still occupied by three men.
It was about a half a mile from the hamlet.
The three privates there
were brewing themselves a cup of tea.
A humming sound unlike anything
they had ever heard grew louder.
They stood up and grabbed their rifles.
They gazed around,
but nothing could they see.
Suddenly shadows passed over them.
Each felt a chill run down their spine.
They loaded theirs rifles and fired
as the shadows came overhead again.
They reloaded and fired a second volley.
The humming sound got louder
as if it was amplified a thousand times.
After they fired each volley
one of the soldiers fell.
There seemed no defence
from these shadows from the sky.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saturday Night In Blue

Saturday Night in Blue.

The house key was on the same ring as my car key, couldn’t find
them I had locked myself out. Car neatly parked I never drink drive,
the bar is nearby. I broke a window in the back, got in. Blinking light
outside: police telling me to open the door, I did, was wrestled to
the ground. At the station they came to their senses, let me go,
but refused to drive me back, since I smelled of booze and only had
myself to blame. Long walk home, bars had shut. Climbed through,
the same broken window, the keys, on the kitchen table. I uncorked
a bottle of wine, opened the front door, just in case, no one came,
I went to bed at dawn.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Kissing Carol Ann

Back in 1957
kissing Carol Ann
behind the barn
in the middle of
a windswept field
of Goldenrod
with a sudden deer
watching was
something special,
let me tell you.
Back then, bobby sox
and big barrettes
and ponytails
were everywhere.

Like many farmers,
Carol Ann's father
had a console radio
in the living room,
and every Saturday night
the family would gather 'round
with bowls of ice cream
and listen to the Grand Ole Opry.
It was beamed 'all the way'
from Nashville I was told
more than once since
I was from Chicago
and sometimes wore a tie
so how could I know.

On my first visit,
I asked Carol Ann
if the Grand Ole Opry was
the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
of country music and she said
not to say that to her father.
She suggested I just tap
my foot to the music
and let him watch me.
Otherwise I'd best be
quiet and say 'Yup, '
'Nope' or 'Maybe'
if asked any questions
which she didn't think
would happen.
No need to say
much more, she said,
and after a few visits,
I understood why.

Over time, I learned
to tap my foot pretty good
to the music because
when I'd come to visit,
her father would insist
I have a bowl of ice cream
with the family.
I liked the ice cream
but not so much
the Grand Ole Opry.
I'd been weaned
on Sinatra in the city.
Big difference,
let me tell you.

But back in 1957
kissing Carol Ann
behind the barn
was something special
since we couldn't do
much more until
I found employment.
Only then, her father said,
could we get married.
I found no jobs
in town, however,
for a bespectacled man
with degrees in English.

Still, I always found
the weekend drives
from Chicago worth
the gas my Rambler drank
because kissing Carol Ann
brought a bit of heaven
down behind that barn,
especially on summer nights
when fireflies were
the only stars we saw
when our eyes
popped open.
It was like
the Fourth of July
with tiny sparklers
twinkling everywhere.

Now,55 years later,
Carol Ann sometimes mentions
fireflies at dusk as we
dance behind the cows
to coax them into the barn
for the night.
I'm still not too good
with cows despite
my John Deere cap,
plaid shirt and overalls
which proves, she says,
that all that kissing
behind the barn in 1957
took the boy out of the city
but not the city out of the boy.

'Hee Haw' is all I ever
say in response because
I know why I'm there.
It's to keep tapping
the cows on the rump
till we get them
back in the barn
so we can go back
in the house
and start with
a kiss and later on
come back downstairs
for two big bowls
of ice cream.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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The Manger Mouses Story

john john the story telling mouse
sat high on a toadstool house
telling the story as it was told to him
and at the children he did grin.
he started to tell the story of peter mouse
and how story telling came about.
this was the story as it was told to me
and been passed down throughout our history.
when the angels came down to bless
the child in the barn, they did not see.
a distant relative of you and me.
he was peter mouse who would
crawl into the barnyard house.
he was there putting away his goodies
at that time, and everything that night was going fine.
when entered the human couple
with all their belongings on the donkeys back.
the man human started piling up the hay
where his wife would now stay.
from his hiding place he could see
that her stomach was as big as can be.
he laid his wife down upon the hay
and to the lord he did pray.
he said: ' this is the only place
that we could find, and it's just about that time.'
soon afterwards she felt the pains
and prepared herself for what was to come
our GODS first born son.
this manchild was as beautiful as can be
and above the barn a star shone so brightly.
he saw a choir of angels come down
'and praised the child on the ground.'
then he saw the shepherd boy
and soon three kings from afar
who followed this shining star.
the angels blessed all that was within
and he felt a chill begin.
they stayed until she felt fine
then through the mountains they did climb.
peter mouse was right in back
never stopping or letting up slack.
he saw this child grow up to be a man
and preached GODS words throughout the lands.
he followed every step of the way
and witnessed all that JESUS had done
from dawn to setting sun.
JESUS had seen him many years back
and from that day forward
carried him in his pack.
he lived to be a hundred and ten years old
and told the story to all his fold.
since then its been passed on
from generation to generation
for he has been our salvation.

poem by Louis Rams
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 2

The fire raged out of control
and into the night.
Its glow coloured the sky.
Chemicals exploded
as they warmed to boiling point.
Hogarth’s assistant Adam Wright
pulled Hogarth from the flames
and across the lawn.
The clanging of bells
from the Fire Brigade and Ambulance
were soon to be heard.
Hogarth was rushed to hospital
where he would stay for just over a month.
His makeshift laboratory laid
a charred skeleton on his return.
All his work was gone,
destroyed in the fire.
He was a broken man.
He became a recluse in his home.
His hair turned white overnight.
He just sat everyday in his chair
and looked out the window
from dawn to dusk.
No one could reach him;
it was as if his will to live was gone.

Three years later and Hogarth hadn’t changed.
He would get up every morning
and in his chair would sit.
The war in Europe was over
and celebrations now had begun.
The mighty Germany had fallen;
its leader Hitler was now dead.
Soon the troops would be coming home.
The VE day celebrations were getting well into swing.
While on a farm not far from the valley
something strange was happening.
Ernest Rotherham went out to bring in his cattle
from grazing for milking time.
The sight that greeted his eyes made him cry.
There spread across the field
his cattle lay dead everywhere.
He ran back to his farm
and telephoned for the Vet.
The Vet was on call at the moment,
but on his return, they would send him out.

About twenty miles away
Joe Harper the local Vet
was driving down a county lane.
Bushes grew tall on either side
and from behind them;
he could hear a loud hum.
He stopped the car,
but left the engine running.
He opened the door,
got out and peered through the bushes.
A sharp pain like a knife pierced his back.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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American Soldier

His face against the window the boy starts to cry,
Out of all days on his birthday the 9th of July,
His father had just left to go back to Iraq,
And the boy didn't know if he'd ever come back,

This wasn't the first time his father went away,
But everytime he did the boy would pray,
That his father would return,
Without even a burn,

It was realy hard to have faith,
That his father would be safe,
When everyday on TV,
He'd hear about another injury,

The boy would lose hope everytime he heard a knock on the door,
And it wasn't his father coming back from the war,
Every night before going to sleep the boy thought about the war,
How his dream to be like his father in the army was not anymore,

One morning the boy woke up and he went to eat his breakfast,
And when he did he saw the one that for a long time he missed,
He tried but couldn't hold in his tears,
After realizing that God had heard his prayers,

Never again will I leave his father then said,
I have realized now all the tears I have caused to be shed,
Wether it be to family or to a friend,
This is THE END!

poem by Motti Dahan
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A Girl From Nowhere

The electric blue of a lightning sky
lit up the country lane momentarily.
She walked alone
with her scarf blowing in the wind
and her clothes soaked from the light rain.
But who was she and where was she?
She did not know.
Her eyes scanned everything
looking for something she recognised.
There was nothing there and she kept walking.

A crack of thunder startled her.
She jumped and looked around.
Lights of a car lit up the hedgerows
as it raced towards her.
She moved to one side
to allow it to pass.
The driver braked abruptly
along side of her.
The passenger window
wound itself down.
The driver smiled
out from the interior of the car.

“Are you all right miss? ”
The voice was low and warm.
She felt immediately
that she could trust it.
She looked in with large innocent eyes.
“Can you help me?
I cannot remember who I am or where I am.
The passenger door swung open.
“I think you had better get in.”

Cautiously she moved towards the car.
She climbed onto the passenger seat
and closed the door.
She glanced across
at her Good Samaritan.
“Thank you.” She whispered
as the car purred and moved forwards.
“There is a Police Station
about five miles ahead.
I will take you there;
they should be able to help you.”

She looked at him
as the car raced through
the quickly darkening lane.
“Haven’t you got a handbag? ”
He asked glancing across at her.
“Handbag? What is that? ”
“Where you keep your personal possessions in.”
She looked at him with a questioning look;
it was as if he was talking a strange language.
“My name is Jim Middleton.”
He said in his low warm voice.

She looked at him again
as the hedge rows disappeared
and streetlights and buildings
began to appear.
Scattered at first,
then more and more
as they moved into the town.
He stopped outside the Police Station.
He smiled. “We are here.”
Switching off the engine, he opened the door
and walked around the car.
He opened the door
to escort her into the station.
He stood mouth opened.
She was not there.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father

Father, blessed father,
Its morning again.
I give you, father, myself, father,
Continue your plan.
I know together we can climb mountains in the sky.
No one can stop us when Im standing by your side.
Troubles knocking here again;
Ill tell him jesus has me by his hand.
Hell walk me through.
Father, loving father,
Create in me
A pure love, father, your love, father,
Instill it in me.
I remember the nights Ive cried for you;
Now I only have to die for you;
Thank you, lord, youve made it clear just for me.
I see the light;
Its burning out the night.
Oh, father,
Its morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 6

It is strongly recommended you read Parts 1- 5 before reading this.

Professor Hogarth watched in horror,
at the returning insects
and what they were carrying.
He questioned himself
about what he had done.
His experiment had gone
well beyond what he dreamt.
It had created a horror unimaginable.
Somehow, they had to be stopped
before it went too far,
if it had not happened all ready.
He had to inform the authorities
and tell them everything.
The monstrous creations
had to be destroyed
or the world would be in peril.
Hogarth picked up the telephone,
telephoned the police station,
and explained to the Inspector in charge
everything that had happened.
He said he needed to talk
to someone from the Government,
as these monsters had to be destroyed.
The Inspector said that he would
report everything to the Army
as they were in charge of the situation.
They would be around to see him that night.
Hogarth replaced the telephone
and sat down to wait for the night to call.

Raymond Constantine sat beside the driver
and watched in horror at what was going on.
If the soldiers had not fired upon the swarm
they would have merely passed overhead.
Having killed one the release
of pheromone from its body
acted as an alarm
causing the rest to become more aggressive
and stinging anything near.
All they could do
was to wait and sit it out.
To venture outside of the vehicle
would be certain death.

Hogarth waited and waited.
Slowly the sun began to set.
He could see their silhouetted form
in the moon light returning to the nest.
The forms that they were carrying
made him shudder with despair.
He watched the time
as the hours ticked by.
He felt like telephoning back to the station
and asking where his visitors were.
A knock on the front door
answered his question.
He answered it and let
Captain Alex Walker and Raymond Constantine in.
They explained why they were late.
That they had been attacked and had to wait.
Hogarth explained to them, his experiment
and how he had suffered a heart attack three years previous.
Then how this year things had been growing larger
than normal including the wasps.
He could only guess that there was a nest
under his shed when it was destroyed
and that the experimental serum had leaked into it.
That it had taken three generations of wasps
before it altered their genetic structure
to make them grow as large as they have.
He could only speculate
that they could even grow larger
in future generation.
Constantine nodded
as Hogarth spoke.
His theory sounded wild and imaginative.
He would have taken it as a flight of fancy
had he not seen it for himself.
They had to be destroyed
and quickly before the new queens
had a chance of escaping
and starting new nests.
As they knew where the nest was located,
preparations had to be made
to eradicate completely.
Hogarth and everyone who lived within the house
would have to be evacuated
while this was done.
Evacuation would have to take place tonight.
At HQ Constantine explained
the situation to the chief of staffs
that had gathered.
The RAF would be able to shoot them
out of the skies
as they emerged from the nest in the morning.
On the ground, the Army
would gather flamethrowers
to ensure that the nest was burnt.
It would take a couple of days to prepare.

Over the next couple of days,
the Army gathered a unit of armoured flamethrowers
into the valley
and positioned them around
the opening of the nest.
As the nest would be made of paper,
it should burn quickly.
The only worry they would have
is those within the nest
would come out and swarm.
When this happened,
the flamethrowers would concentrate
on the swarm.
The RAF fighters would shoot
as many as they could down.
The operation would commence
the following morning.

To be concluded…

5 November 2007

poem by David Harris
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A Memory Of Love

I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.

The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.

Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.

The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Angry Young Man

He had so much anger, so much hate
To lash out at someone he couldn’t wait
An innocent bystander walking down the street
This was the one that he would beat.

If she had suspected what lied ahead
She would have turned her back and fled.
With fists flaring he knocked her to the ground
Her jaw broken - she couldn’t make a sound
They say they don’t know how she survived
With the extent of her injuries
they was sure she would die.

She gave a description of what he looked like
And before blacking out she started to fight
They caught him with the description she gave
They saw that he was full of anger and rage.

They say from his step father he had been abused
And fighting back was of no use.
His mother did not believe what he had said
And she turned - and sent him to bed.

He now blamed his mother for what
His step father had done
no one to turn to, no where to run.
She should have - defended her son.

He and his step father are both in jail
Because his mother had truly failed
To hold a man she did not watch her son
Now look at what he has gone and done.

(child abuse can create stories such as this)

poem by Louis Rams
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Who Stole Our Outhouse? (Fun Poem, But True)

Several drunken revellers were walking home late Saturday night
When they passed McDougal’s farm and they spied a sight
There behind the farmhouse was an old wooden shack
The outhouse stood tall and noble out back
One had a good idea for a jolly spoof
‘Lets lift the outhouse and put it the up on the roof.’
‘But which roof, there are several there? ’
The others looked and grinned ear to ear
‘Lets stick it on the barn, there is a ladder over there.’
So at two o’clock in the morning they went to work full of glee
But they had to be as quiet as could be

Tipping the outhouse on its side
They carried it to the barn
Then got the ladders from along side the farm house
They leant them against the wooden wall
Then pushed and pulled the outhouse to the roof
Placing it on the top, watched it dangle there
Someone found some wood
To wedge under it, to secure it there.
The drunken revellers made their retreat
They hide behind a hedge, and as they were beat
They fell asleep there before the fun began

McDougal awoke at five that morning
Out to the outhouse he went for a sit
He always said it helped with his concentration
Half asleep he wandered out to the back
Out to the little old wooden shack
As he went to open the door
He suddenly realised the outhouse wasn’t there anymore
‘EE Gads! ! ’ He shouted as he had nowhere to sit
He ran to tell his wife the lovely Mabel-Pitt
‘Someone has stolen our little old wooden shack
The one we love to sit in out back.’

Mabel-Pitt put on her dressing gown
And came down to the door
‘McDougal what are you shouting for? ’
‘Someone has stolen our outhouse and left us with only the pit.’
‘You mean our double seated place where we love to sit? ’
‘Yes my dear, it is really gone,
all that is left is a hole in the ground.’
‘There is no alternative McDougal, dear.’
‘What is that my honey beer? ’
‘You’ll have to sit behind the hedge.’
Unbeknown the revellers were fast asleep there.

As McDougal started to walk to the hedge
He spotted the shadow from the barn
There seemed to be something wrong there
Turning he gasped at the sight
There on the roof the outhouse stood out against the morning light
‘I have found it my Mabel-Pitt. It is up there.’
Pointing his finger skyward in the air.
‘Where? ’ she asked running in her dressing gown.
Then looked around and gave such a frown.
‘We can’t go up there for a sit,
there isn’t anything under it, not even a pit.’

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 1

The year was 1942 and the war in Europe
raged on relentlessly.
Each day men were killed
in battlefields far away.
In a sleepy little hamlet
tucked deep in the Wye Valley,
in a converted shed behind his home
Professor Robert Hogarth worked
in his makeshift laboratory.
His hope was to develop a stimulant
to make plants grow larger and quicker,
thus helping with the food shortage.

Outside the storm clouds gathered
extinguishing the light of the sun.
In the distance, there were rumbles
as the thunder began to roar.
Hogarth worked feverishly
on his latest experiment
as it was almost done.
A pain shot through him,
he gasped and gave out a short cry.
As he fell, he knocked his experiment
across the wooden floor.
The container holding his latest experiment
shattered and its contents leaked
through the floor spilling over everything beneath.
The flame from his Bunsen burner
began a fire that raced out of control.
Flames licked around the building
charring everything in sight.

To be continued…

poem by David Harris
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Father Told

Father Told

i

Father told, ink filled pen causes writing
I poured ink into pen and started to write.

ii

Father told, the door if knocked
Some one or other will open that
I knocked at the door
From other side the door opened.

iii

Father advised me to walk carefully
I proceeded step by step
But I stumbled on the walking way
Father told, this is ornaments of walking path.

iv

Father asked to return back at practical world
From the world at poetic imagination
I returned back at practical world
And started to proceed
That walking path of mine followed me.

v

Father advised to read and learn
I read book and learnt
Also informed the neighbors
They learnt, taught and informed
Their surroundings.

vi

Father advised me to behave gently with all
I behaved gently with all, but
Some persons misbehaved with me
Father told me to be forgiving
So, I forgave them.

vii

Father told, open your incite, you will
Find everything is easy- straight and charming
No sooner I opened my incite
Infinite butterfly built their dwelling there.

viii

Through eye that you see
That is only present
Through mind that you see is past, present and future
I closed my eye and spread
I spread mind at wings of butterfly.

ix

Father told, every moment is under control of creature.
Even a leaf moves at his direction.
I listened, flying at sky as cloud
Falling in dropp as rain- bloomed as flower
And I extended over the air as aroma.

x

Father told, physique of creature dies, not soul
I close eye and become the king
Of far unknown kingdom.

xi

Father told, sun rises in the east
And sun sets in the west
I heard, saw and believed.

poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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A Long Car Journey

The journeywas too long,
As long as the dawn,
From morning to evening.
The car was jurcing
The car was shurfing
But when the car was in speed
It was the best indeed
But after my father
Told me ratherto close window.
I closed it.
And aaing opened quietly.
Father scold me
And retold me
To close the window.

poem by MOHAMMED Zuhair
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I Finally Found Forever

i finally found forever...
in the laughter of a small child,
in a raindropp rolling down the window.
in a flower that opened and closed
in one fleeting day.
in the embers of a fire going out.
in the door latch opened,
the shadow walking across the room.
in the old woman dying,
her face peaceful and calm.
in the smile of the young boy cuffed
in the back of the police van...
in the revolver unloaded,
and put back in the drawer.
in the box of clothes
left on the doorstep.
in the cup of coffee shared,
the plate, the fork, and the smoke.
in the moment of eyes engaged,
and talking without words...
in the given without thinking,
the breathe that was felt!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Murder in Chatham

St. Patrick’s Church was sparsely filled
For Friday morning mass
The seniors getting restless-
the clock read a quarter past.

It wasn’t like the pastor
to leave them waiting there.
Father Hinds was not the kind
to miss the call to prayer.

The usher and the janitor
Together went next door
They both recoiled in horror
at the blood upon the Floor.

The police came with the coroner
To the Parrish rectory door
And saw Jose the Janitor
Try CPR once more.

Chatham is a quiet town
A place when families thrive
And father was the Sheppard
to guide them through their lives.

It didn’t take police much time
to find who did the deed
as Jose’s cell phone records
had placed him at the scene.

The murder knife recovered
The crime confessed at last
The priest had caught him in a lie
about crimes in his past.

The people came together
And filled St. Patrick’s seats
To send the Father to his rest
And give their hearts some peace.

A narrative poem about the murder of Father Ed Hinds, Pastor of St. Patrick's church in Chatham on Thursday 10/21/2009

poem by John F. McCullagh
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An Alien In My Back Passage

There's an alien in my back passage
I never saw him coming
One night in june under a full moon
I heard a distant humming
At first I thought it was the girl next door,
who sang off key in the night
But she had gone to her bed at noon
And had turned off all her lights
Then a girgle followed the hum

Until a green light glowed from my tum
And out of the darkness a small green man sprung
Wearing a stetson and chewing some gum
'Take me to your leader' I cried
But he carried on chewing, strutting his stuff like J.R Ewing

He was 5cm heigh and 2.5cm wide
Before I could catch him, he rushed back inside
Leaving a stench without making a scene
Turning the room a dark shade of green
Sitting in silence inside of the bowel
Plotting and planning something quite foul
I imagined with dread an army of ten
Tiny and gruesome 'little green men'
The suspense was driving me insane
The I heard a tapping in my brain
It was the Alien humming trying to get in
I could see him crawling under the skin
Then from the back passage he suddenly shot
Like thunderbolt lightening into the pot
Flushed then forgotten
At last he was gone
But the sound of his humming still lingers on
And from where or from when the alien came
Remains a mystery still, to this day

Tumm tumm didi dum durm dum toodle loo be do be do

poem by Yvette Smith
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