Only

By Michelle McLean

Only by Michelle McLean

“Kids cost too much,” Mum said.
Our house was a two bed,
Barely room for me to tread,
But I’d have loved a sibling.
Cousins came to stay,
Classmates stopped by to play,
But who’d show me the way,
When I didn’t have a sister?
I had a lot of friends,
Always someone’s ear to bend,
But no guardian to fend
Because I didn’t have a brother.
I longed that I would see,
What it felt to be a ‘we’,
But there was only me
Because they never had another.
Just me.

©Michelle McLean 2016

The Lady Pool

By Angela L. Garratt

(Inspired by Dante’s Inferno)
Book One of the Divine Comedy.

The Lady Pool, published in the Black Country Bugle last year. Also a song produced Com-postioned and Sang by Niven Smith (Chorus written by Tony Smith) and is set to go on a charity compilation CD by Black Country Radio FM put together by Dr Bryan Dakin, otherwise known as Billy Spakeman.

The Lady Pool - by Angela L. Garratt

Lights of stars cover the lake,
The moon sits on its reflective water.
A lady beckons for old time sake,
The moon shines right through her.

Her delicate frame is still in the wind,
Glides on the water’s edge.
Her invitation one can’t rescind
For with just one glance she has your pledge.

You’ll follow her to the murky side,
She’ll point her finger through the eerie air,
Showing you just where she died,
Sucked into the old mines lair.

On the water her spirit roams,
Trying to tell what happened to her
And underneath lies her bones,
The eternal prison that trapped her.

©Angela L. Garratt

The Ferryman

By Angela L. Garratt

The Ferryman, which is now the lyrics of a song produced, com-positioned and sang by Niven Smith.

The Ferryman - by Angela L. Garratt

Cold is the night that the ferryman brings
Cold is the water where the lost souls sing.
Sailing under starless skies,
The ferryman travels with fire in his eyes.

Tirelessly he pushes with his oar,
To sail across those dead shores.
Ignoring all the souls that are deprived,
For the ferryman, they’ve been denied.

Words of pain and in angry tone,
Is what these souls would sing and moan.
They cannot die or move on,
All these souls will sing alone.

With each cruel word souls gnashed their teeth,
Water swamps their sins and they’re dragged beneath.
But the ferryman he carries on,
Taking these souls from Acheron.

Here the ferryman pays the toll,
Of never passing a good soul.
A dismal place the ferryman goes,
Of heat and frost and eternal woes.

©Angela L. Garratt