Looking back, we remark upon another year

crammed with readings,

poetry festivals, am dram rehearsals.

The illustrations? Jaunty railway

posters, preferably from the 1930s,

views of promenade and coast for you,

moors and uplands for me,

awash with confident colours.

Life begins at 60? Too true!

Looking forward, an older woman,

us before too long,  

checks her ...

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I hope these help to keep you safe.

Are you lonely at the front?

You have your pals, along the trenches.

And we have ours, inside the factory.

The laughs we have, us girls.

I didn’t mean, that kind of lonely.

That’s why I’m slipping my note

inside this box of ammo,

which, I hope, protects you.

It’s funny. Though we’ve never met

and maybe never will, I often

th...

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You mourn old photographs:

‘I was pretty then, and I never knew it.’

I’ve just filled an album

with our last pieces of paper

before digital took over:

It includes my mother’s 80th birthday

(she just missed out on 90).

A fabulous, tearful, joyous Sikh wedding,

dancing to the bhangra boy’s beat,

the marriage lasting little more

than a year. That holiday in Sorrento...

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By Frank Jaye

You’ll get no Valentine from me; I’m not the type,

Pallid daffodils prematurely delivered – all that transatlantic hype.

I am not easy with love, be it concept, verb or noun,

My sentiments are more mundane and wear a plainer crown,

Embellished with affection, encouragement, respect not least,

You moderate my temper, rising still like yeast.

Maturity has...

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