Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  My name is Holly and I have a secret, don’t tell anyone, but I don’t LOVE Christmas.  I realise I am in a very small minority, but it started out with my parents being very inconsiderate, and choosing to have their first child around December. I popped out 12 days late, on Christmas Eve. And who the hell cares about a birthday on the Eve of the most anticipated day of the year? I particularly don’t like it this year, my 50 th birthday. I know that celebrating my 50th will be at the very end of my family and friend’s Christmas list, if on there at all. But it’s not just that, it’s the fact that Christmas was getting earlier each year anyway, and then in 2020, whilst looking for any kind of cheer in the middle of a pandemic, many people in their wisdom decided to start decorating trees and homes as soon as possible, like that would make it all better? This year, Christmas trees have been outside the Co-op for weeks, along with carefully constructed towers of mince pies insid

  The teenage witch was filled with rage Her emerald eyes shimmering fire. How DARE they say she was under age! The entire clan would feel her ire.   She stormed and slammed the whole day through, Magical lightning in her wake. “You can’t do this, you can’t, not YOU!” And through her tears the idea did break.   Her eyes had fallen on the books Belonging to the baby witch. She picked on out, and on some hooks She held it firm, began to stitch…   Random pages, muddled beasts, Now permanently joined with thread. What fearful schemes and wicked feasts Would follow soon with this dreams of dread!   She muttered curses, fumbled spells, Waggled fingers and poured her dust. She didn’t hear the laughs, the bells, “I’m going to do this, I must, I MUST!”   She falls asleep, in deep despair, And dreams of chaos, dark and sweet - She must be free, life’s so unfair, There’s ALWAYS a baby under her feet!   The morning comes, blue skies and s

Another late night at Ye Old Cross Inn, the innkeeper's wife turfed out the crowd while he took stock of the ale left within and rattled the necks of bottles of stout.    Together they watched their patrons stagger up the slope from Alnwick's Narrowgate, following lamps with glints thin as daggers to cold doorsteps where angry wives wait.    And as the innkeeper reached for three bottles that sat by the window on a blackening wall,  his wife glanced up, clearing pipes of their dottle and saw him land hard from an unlikely fall.    Clutching his body, the wife felt a chill: those three dirty bottles were frightfully still... This poem was inspired by Ye Olde Cross Inn of Alnwick, Northumberland. The mythic bottles can be found inside.  For more details:  https://www.thedirtybottles.co.uk/about/

She walked past the grey-white memorial, draped now with flags. Soon it would be surrounded by a field of poppy wreaths. The cenotaph, the empty tomb for lost boys who have no known burial place, nowhere for their family to tend over the lonely years. Millions of red poppies laid only to be swept up in the rubbish and discarded like the lives they represented. Then on down Parliament Street, turning left towards Big Ben and Westminster Bridge. It was cold, now, clouds gathering together in mourning colours, throwing shadows onto the surrounding buildings. She looked down into the dark swirling waters, where someone had already thrown a wreath. It swept past like a strange sea creature riding the waves, bumping into the arches and twisting onwards. Dad had often talked of Uncle Will. ‘On the minesweepers, he was. Dangerous job. He’d had three ships went down with him on board. He never could understand why he’d survived so many times, when so many were lost. And then the l

Quite a do we are at string quartet groom in top hat pretty people nice ‘n’ neat wedding people flash not sweet Stunning bride smiles sweetly looks around leaves discreetly calls a friend coz she’s a cheat wedding people flash not sweet Top table champagne flows boring speeches everyone knows she’s up the duff by a guy in Crete wedding people flash not sweet Food arrives on silver trays decanted wine that will amaze she don’t care she took his meat wedding people flash not sweet The DJ starts plays some hits guys dancing looking like tits bridesmaid off hers sweat in the heat wedding people flash not sweet New husband looks for his bride she ain’t there she’s gone to hide with that guy the one from Crete wedding people flash not sweet Him from Crete steps into the room all chat stops to look at the groom but he don’t know the guy from Crete wedding people flash not sweet She’s mine says the guy from Crete what the f*** is this says the