SHOWCASE March 2015

Here we have a selection of work from our members – poems, stories, drawings, photographs, craft items, etc. These will be drawn from our archives and the selection will be rotated periodically so come back regularly to browse.

(All items are copyright of the creators and used here with permission.)

The items in the current (March 2015) selection can be viewed by scrolling down this page.


Kenwood in January - Terry Stoten

Kenwood in January – Terry Stoten


On the Subject of Falling Down

I didn’t have a fall, I merely fell,
it’s not the onset of senility.
No need to shout: I hear you very well.

OK, my knee and shoulder hurt like hell
but they will mend. Please set my good arm free –
I didn’t have a fall, I merely fell.

I’m not about to bid my wits farewell,
it was a slippery step that vanquished me.
You needn’t shout: I hear you very well –

you might try using one less decibel.
My eyesight’s fine, I see you perfectly
and that was not a fall, I merely fell –

I often do in fact – I’m no gazelle
but I still run. Stop patronising me
and please don’t shout: I hear you very well.

Against this labelling I must rebel –
it will be “having falls” next, probably.
I didn’t have a fall, I merely fell.
For the last time: don’t shout, I hear quite well.

Anne Ballard


Georgia O’Keeffe Sketch

Alfred my husband has captured me again
Working with oils, water colour or pen
I don’t really mind – see the tiny smile
Just as my passion is painting
I’ve been his all this while
His photographs uncover
A strength of which I’m unaware
Though I know I’m brave and willing
In my creativity I dare
To depict what evolves
From deep within myself
And this perception through his lens
Taps a new intrinsic wealth
This sketch of a garden or piece of land
With nasturtiums emerging from the sand
Not a tended or sophisticated scene
But growth of species is the elemental theme
For anything that emanates from the soil
Fills me with wonder for the toil
Involved in growing, perpetuating and finally death
Sometimes as fleeting as an expiring breath
There is life in the fragility of a sun- bleached skull
As new growth from the aperture renders death null
And each of us has played our part
Surpassing our lifespan, through our art.

Rosalie Ajzensztejn © March 2015


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