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Sunday, 22 June 2025

Poem, by Parnia Abassi

 Parnia Abassi was an Iranian poet, reported killed at the age of in the bombing of Tehran.

.
I cried for both of them
for you
and for me
blows
to the stars my tears
in your world
the freedom of light
in my
the pursuit of shadows
you and I will arrive in the end
at some where
the most beautiful poem in the world
is stopping
you begin
at some where
to complain about the murmur of life
but I will finish
and
i will be that dying star
in your sky
like smoke

Translated by Veronica Jimenez

Saturday, 7 June 2025

Problems of time travel, by Peter Shilston

 Agent F2X had been trained always to obey without question orders from the Time Lords, so when he was ordered to travel into the past and blow up a certain designated building, he set his co-ordinates to an appropriate time and place and set out. 

  On arriving there, however, he was surprised to find merely a shallow crater, which was already being colonised by a few weeds. Clearly, the building had already been destroyed, probably some weeks or months earlier. While he was standing there in puzzlement, a man approaching him, and after a few casual comments about the desolation before them asked, "Haven't I seen you here before?" Covered in confusion, Agent F2X recalibrated his return to his own space/time location and made his report to a Time Lord.

   "The mistake was yours," came the reply. "Your co-ordinates were set wrong. You arrived at your destination fifty earthdays later than you should have done, after the building had been destroyed. So now you must return there, but at the correct date, and carry out your task as instructed."

   "But," replied F2X in confusion, "surely the task has been done? I saw with my own eyes that the building had been destroyed!"

  "In that timeline, yes; but only because you returned. So proceed with your orders."

  "But the building might have been destroyed by someone else!  And why do I have to return now? Surely the task can be done by anyone, and at any time in the future?"

  There was no reply.  

Monday, 2 June 2025

Rote, by Annabelle Jane Palling.

 ROTE

There are no words but words
And lightning-shattered skies
And torrents crashing by.
There are no sounds but these
A secret whispering wind
And howling gales of joy
And earthquakes thundering.
This is more than just more
And never quite enough
My pleasure in surfeit
My skin that sings your touch.
There are no words but words
And lips and tongues and eyes
And gifts that cost us naught
And you between my thighs.
But.
Clichés are all around
Some hide a whit of truth
And even when they don’t

We tell ourselves they do.

Saturday, 10 May 2025

Broken rap, by Stephanie Spiers

 Broken Rap

When it's weird on the ward, waiting for the locum.
Keep fingers crossed, 'cause everything is broken.
Phone-box all messed up, some old biddy with a token.
Life slips away, bleeding, 'cause everything is broken.
Blues and twos took too long, not a word was spoken.
Kids carry blades, 'cause everything is broken.
Slicing and dicing, mouths full of hokum
Turn your face away, 'cause everything is broken.
Sisters staying safe in packs, keeping wide eyes open
Remember y' never saw nothing, 'cause everything is broken.
Nowt paramedics could do, another momma heartbroken.
Don't say a word, 'cause everything is broken

Tuesday, 6 May 2025

Bridges, by Peter Morford

 .I can be impressed by a noble building; a cathedral, a pyramid or a monument. I admire the skill of its design and construction and its aesthetic beauty. In this secular age, I ask – “What practical use were they, other than to enable the clergy to secure their place in their imaginary heaven?” Nowadays we are more down to earth. We want to spend our money on things that work for their living. I confess that I’m more interested in beautiful structures which do something useful. Like bridges.




This unlikely structure is the Arkadina Bridge in Greece. It looks like a hole in a wall but it’s a real bridge, built around 1300 BC to carry charioteers to war. This dry-stone masterpiece is Europe’s oldest working bridge for pedestrians and cars still furtively cross it.

Bridges are different. Can there be any artefact which is as useful from the start? Or, to put it another way, imagine the world if there were no bridges. Where can we ford the river? Where’s the ferry?

I remember the first time I went to Skye. It was Saturday evening and we knew if we missed the ferry we’d be stuck because, at that time, everything stopped for Sunday. What we needed was a bridge. After an anxious wait a shaky little car- ferry. we persuaded a reluctant old salt to take one more trip. We arrived in time for dinner.

A few years later, there WAS a nice new toll-bridge. Of course, the community was divided on the matter. The ferry folk were redundant. The islands feared the invasion and the Sabbath was defiled as shops and pubs opened. Sassenachs like me admired its sleek lines and revelled at the new freedom.

Just think of the wonderful variety of bridges. It might be few tree-trunks across a narrow stream or a slab of rock resting like a table on two mounds. From these simple things have emerged some of the most impressive objects in the world. Ironbridge; the overgrown Meccano set of The Forth Bridge; suspension bridges of steel and concrete crossing the Severn; the Chesapeake Bridge-Tunnel.

Then in France, the Millau Viaduct standing on legs as tall as the Eiffel Tower. You ask yourself “Does the music of the spheres play in the wires on a windy day?”

There’s also a majesty in the more prosaic. Where several ways meet there is an excuse to weave a three-D pattern of roads. I’m thinking of Spaghetti Junction. Look at it objectively. Forget for a moment your worries about pollution. Remember how easily you navigate what would have been an almost impossible confusion before there were overpasses.

Thursday, 24 April 2025

How to write, by John Steinbeck

 I really don't see how this advice can be bettered. It no doubt applicable to other fields too

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