Cockroach

by BERYL YEOMANS, Bicton

There are some things I suffer in silence

though these are becoming more rare

since I learned to become quite assertive

and realised that people do care.

I’m loathe to make false accusations

but I’ve got some suspicions, alright,

is somebody stealing my cockroach

by stealth, in the dead of the night?

Snuggly wrapped in my great weekly paper

I was once quite assured that there’d be

a huge, handsome, fat, flying cockroach

lying in wait for me.

Is it theft, or a policy change now?

I’m writing this note to protest

‘cos I’m met with a great big fat nothing

when I search for my weekly pest.

I don’t mind you filling the paper

with news of events that abound

but there’s no joy like finding a cockroach

and stomping it into the ground.

The Seaside

by LACHLAN MAYWOOD

The waves sing in dulcet tones to the shore

The sand plays a melody of luxury in the warmth of the sun

The wind plays an orchestral track worthy of kings and emperors to all who listen

The gulls circle overhead, discussing every crotchet and quaver they hear in squawks

The fish leap to better catch the symphony being played

I hear it all, eavesdropping in the summer heat