The Write Out Loud little Big weekend is over, and on the final day for those who lingered, there was Renga. each one of the remaining poets contributed to this one and, there should be several more being posted over the next few days. Have a squint at the photos in Galleries to see up to what we got.

They don't always have to scan, do they?

Two hours to Chorley

And the weather’s bad.

To Mankinholes came

the sane and the mad.

Them bi-polar poets

smiling as they write

about their dead dads.

Convivial, primeval, aural and rural,

That is Mankinholes with the sun.

I’d like to thank you for this

weekend, all is one, is one.

The sanity and vanity

Were washed away with brevity

And loony lines were all that stayed behind

But some will have a ticker-tape vision

Dance along the road and across the horizon

I found a child’s red macintosh

Draped over a stone sheep

Matter out of place, I took it to keep.

Take this paper from me,

it’s such a trouble,

my memory though, won’t

prick the bubble

I’m in.