The Phantom
By Derek Gregson, Accrington

She slid along the pavement like a phantom,
Her flowing hair the colour of the night,
Her piercing eyes reflected in the street lamps,
Awash with tears that scattered in her flight.

She bowed her head to hide her face from others,
Sweeping back her hair with trembling hand,
A sob escaped her lips and plucked at heartstrings,
Too dolorous for any soul to stand.

She lurched against the wall inhaling deeply,
Her maiden’s bosom rising with each breath
A sense of tragic circumstance prevailing,
An omen tainted with the scent of death.

She staggered on, her firmness sorely tested,
Each halting step an effort to enact,
Until at last she tumbled to the pavement,
A groan of pain emitted on impact.

She scrambled to her knees, fighting exhaustion,
Sheer terror in her eyes, her breathing pained,
Her gaze locked on the entrance to the graveyard,
Whose rusting gates were stoutly locked and chained.

She crawled up to the gates and struggled upright,
A keening laugh exploding from her lips,
And all at once the chains about her shattered,
Obeisant to her pallid finger tips.

She turned to face the crowd in fluid movement,
The terror in her eyes replaced by fire,
No more the timid creature born of nature,
But more the very crux of man’s desire.

She hastened through the gateway as the moon rose,
Her haunting presence given to the night,
A marble tombstone soon her destination,
With epitaph displayed in ghostly light:

She Strode God’s earth until the age of twenty,
An orphan raised in service to the rich,
A happy child until her master used her,
And woke in her the powers of a witch!

Me and You
By Mrs Elsie Whittaker, Burnley.

I may not be able to read or write,
Drive a car, a two wheeled bike.
Go shopping at will, or catch a bus,
Just look around there are many of us.
I may need help, for that simple task,
A shoe lace tied, not to proud to ask.
But one things the same between me and you,
Hey, guess what, I have a heart to.
My feelings hurt just the same,
But as I am, I don’t complain.
I have aspirations in life too,
We’re just the same, me and you.
But when yours happen, materialise,
Mine never will, and a part of me dies.
But I accept my lot, I have no guile,
I’m happy you see, with my childlike smile.
And if we should meet, please remember it’s true,
There is no difference between me and you.

Remembered
By Gail Perkins

Remembering the wars and hand me down clothes,
There’s tears and laughs in black and white photographs,
Underground shelters, to nursing aids
Before or after bombing raids,
Vera, George or even Bob Hope,
Gave laughter. And will to cope,
Springfield nursing home
Many a child was born
Seven days of rest
Is always best.
New lives to carry us through,
They bring a sparkle of joy,
HOPE and the NEW.
Remembering the wars and me down clothes

I Wish
By Mollie Brown

The bible says your sell by date is three score years and ten.
Although I’ve got well past that date, I’m not ready to say ‘when’.
There are loads of things I haven’t done and places I’ve not seen.
For instance, I have not been asked to appear before the queen.

I haven’t climbed Mount Everest or sailed the Spanish Maine,
I haven’t abseiled down big Ben, done a free fall from a plane,
Nobody’s ever asked me to duet with P. Domingo
(Though perhaps I’d find that difficult- I haven’t learned the lingo!)

I would have liked to have a go at dancing with Gene Kelly
But, due to my arthritis, my old knees have turned to jelly,
I could have made it into films, romanced by Errol Flynn
But that was oh so long ago when I was young and thin.

I could have played the female lead in good old ‘south pacific
’ Eat your heart out Mitzi Gaynor; I’d have been terrific,
I might have led the suffragettes, been tied up to a railing,
Or done the world in eighty days with Mr Michael Palin.

I really wouldn’t change my life but a daydream can be fun
I’ve just one more ambition that would benefit everyone.
As Chancellor of the Exchequer I’d have sorted the reserve
And made sure senior citizens got the pension they deserve.

Life's Balance
By Graham Twist, Colne

If only we could keep life’s balance right,
Perhaps our goals wouldn’t seem out of sight.
We pay for our goods when we get the bill,
Balanced with cash when we get to the till.
For the food we eat we use weights and measures
Enhancing our health, those delicious pleasures.
But if we break the law we are brought to book,
When the scales of justice take a look.
If we tip the balance we could go to jail,
On the other hand the law may fail.
So in loving appreciation of our fellow man,
We should show our feelings as best as we can.
So to all God’s creatures great and small,
If we keep life’s balance, we will not fail.

Janet's Corner
by Francis Forrest

Janet’s corner started so small
Just a tiny box against the wall
So as she grew and grew and grew
That box it multiplied by two
Then boxes torn, oh such eye sore
We graduated to a drawer
This resting place of tumble out toys
Bursts at the seams with faded joys
It over spills, encroaches more
Her corner now becomes the floor.
A doll’s house here, a small pram there
Some tattered books on an easy chair
Our tidy thoughts, just useless dreams
Could never quell our young ones schemes
A prim straight home! Twas not to be
But we’ll not change it, no siree
For the happiness glowing in our bundle of vim
Is worth more to us than a home neat and trim.

Sculptures in the Sand
By Dorothy Mapley, Preston

I saw them in the morning,
The tide was out
And there they were -
Magnificently carved in sand,

Horses that would never run,
But every sinew, every muscle
Poised as if
To spring to life.

And through the sunlit day they rested,
How their perfect beauty
Drew the crowds!
The sea returned

Bringing horses of a different kind,
White foam to bear away
Those silent friends,
And as the tide receded,

They were gone.

Walking Day
Mrs. D. Clitheroe(nee Alker)Preston

When I was a child, growing up in Wigan,
The walking day was always a big ‘un.
Aunties, uncles, cousins and grannies too,
All in their Sunday best for a bit of a do.
The sun always shone I remember it well,
The man standing shouting, flags to sell.
The banners blowing, glinting in the sun,
The brass band playing, see the big drum.
Children cheering, crowds waving their flags,
Ladies with perms, matching shoes and handbags.
And after the walking, it’s party time,
Trestle tables full of food sublime.
Sandwiches, trifles, jelly and ice cream,
All these goodies, a little kiddie’s dream.
Everybody had fun, those were the days,
Yesterday’s memories of those wonderful walking days

This Girl
by Karen Stewart, Cleveleys

This girl
Hiding deep inside
Always felt denied.

But this girl
Hiding deep inside –
Knows that it wouldn’t be the same,
If she could live her life again.

For this girl
Who feels so much inside;
Who wants to be alive -
Would be recognised.

A Baker's Tale
By Pauline Gaffney

Old Ma Clegg from Malthouse Way
Did little else but bake all day,
But no-one flocked to eat her pies,
Her sponges always failed to rise,

Her bread was leaden to the core,
A biscuit, dropped, would crack the floor
. Her relatives, though kind and good,
Refused to eat such rock-like food.

So poor Ma Clegg, who couldn’t stop,
Whose baking was a total flop,
Was by confectionery surrounded,
In fact she was completely grounded.

The pies and cakes took all the space,
Yet still she baked at growing pace.
Meals were handed through the skylight,
But only in the misty twilight.

By loyal daughters, quite embarrassed,
And fast becoming very harassed.
Still on she baked, to their amazement,
From stores she’d hidden in the basement.

It seemed that there was no solution,
In spite of daughters’ resolution.
Till one day through the letter-box,
Ma flung a pie at barking dogs.

By chance a gent, just passing by,
The pie forlorn he did espy,
Ran to the Council, straight and true,
To show off his discovery new.

Now old Ma Clegg’s abode is free,
From all kinds of confectionery.
The Council took the lot away,
To build a modern motorway.