Poets’ Corner – the list grows……

This poem from Christina Lynn is rather topical

Compare when this was written to where we are now……




For that year of twenty-twenty

In the future we’ll have plenty

Stories which I’m sure we’ll tell

Of the horror that befell

When spreading all around the world

Coronavirus it took hold

Where it started, not quite sure

But put a blight on our future!


At the start we were too late

And being slow determined fate

Of those who were most vulnerable

From this virus diabolical.


Boris listened to the men scientific

Sure, their advice was most prolific,

“Herd Immunity” they hoped we’d get

And so few targets we had set.

Our hands to wash in “special way”,

While singing twice Happy Birthday.

Two metres distance we should stand

From other people in the land.

They hoped these things would stop the spread

Of virus which on contact fed.


Now “Lockdown” should have come much sooner,

In waiting, Boris made a bloomer.

This delay came at a cost.

As many were the lives we list.

Boris too was then laid low,

In hospital t’was touch and go,

But nurses helped to pull him through

This virus so much worse than ‘flu.


Soon our lives turned upside down,

And many things now made us frown,

Some were big and some were small

We wondered just what would befall

Us, if we lived, or if we died?

There was no place where we could hide.


Those in care homes were neglected

No P.P.E. for them provided.

Many there would lose their lives

However hard the staff might strive.

“Immune systems”, did they function?

If not must stay in isolation.

For those who lived in cramped conditions

This would cause them many problems.


The “poor” who had so little money

For them and children ’twas not funny.

But “Food Banks” to their rescue came

(We as a nation should feel shame!)

Then we thought we’d “track and trace”

To get this running was a race.

You might have guessed, yes, many hitches

And oh so many, many glitches.


On Thursdays then at 8 o’clock,

In streets we stood with hands to clap

Those doctors, nurses in the NHS

With key-workers they’re the best.


Technology it was a boon

Many could connect with “Zoom”.

Industrious people worked from home

Long calls were made on telephone.


However things were not all bad

‘Cos other benefits we had

When we worked all those long hours

There was no time to tend the flowers!

Now every bed looked pristine, weeded

Every flower was dead-headed,

That old shed repaired and tidy

All tools there were oiled and ready.

Rooms which many years had waited

Now were fresh and decorated!


Air was clean without pollution

Less cars now, new resolution.

Electric cycles now the rage

These useful were for those of age

When pedalling vigorously up a hill

No longer seems to fit the bill!

But there’s one problem we all shared

What could we do about our hair?

Men with long white hair we saw

Looking like Methuselah

Pig-tails, pony-tails, hair like rats

Some people covered heads with hats.

Hair now grown, but not same colour

‘Cos now was grey and looking duller.

Of dear me we were so worried,

But Government would not be hurried.

Hairdressers they were in a race

Protection had to be in place

Before the scissors out could come

And snip, snip, snip the job be done.

Now the future’s in our hands

We should not bury heads in sand.

In days to come we must remember

People, the services they rendered

To our country much in need.

For their own safety paid no heed!

Some lost their lives in helping others,

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers.

And when all this is at an end,

I hope the message that we’ll send

“Key-workers” all must have reward

There is no other way forward.


By Christina Lynn

Poets’ Corner 27 September 2020 – continued

Hello again all – here we have a poem from our Committee Member, Marilyn Nolan.  It was inspired by Marilyn’s niece, who loved the band, “The Style Council”  – an English band formed by Paul Weller (singer, songwriter and guitarist formerly from “The Jam”, and keyboard player Mick Talbot, in 1982.


She’s reached the age of seventeen, and still not seen the light.

She thinks Paul Weller’s fabulous, he’s really out of sight.


Is it the legs, no cannot be, for they’re like bits of string

So thin and white, bereft of hair, I feel so sad for him.


Must be the nose attracting her, just like a skiing slope.

So straight and long and pointed too, he’s really got no hope!


His crowning glory, his barnet fair, it accentuates his beak,

Having it cut so short and cropped, like Samson, has made him weak.


His taste in clothes is something else; they hang just like a sack,

But without a doubt my favourite gear, is his sexy, dirty mac.


One day she’ll see the light, I’m sure, cause if he could take his pick,

He’d not give her a second look, for he’s friendlier with Mick!

Poets’ Corner 27 September 2020

Hello all – sorry for the hiccup, but I have so many poems to choose from, it’s taking me some time to select them!
Here’s the first one I’ve selected – from Christina Lynn’s booklet “Verses Written Some Before But Most During Lockdown”  These booklets are being sold if anyone is interested – in aid of the Wannock Village Hall and the Vickie Vowles Memorial Fund For Safer Childbirth” – cost £5 each or two for £8.  Contact me if you are interested and I’ll put you in touch with Christina.



In this time of isolation

My cat has been my consolation.

From break of day ’till dusk at night

She’s always there to set me right.

Stroking her, it keeps me calm

Her soothing purr it is a balm,

When tickled underneath her chin,

It’s better far than medicine.

“Jazzie” is my pussy’s name,

I do not know from whence she came.

Handed in to “Cats Protection”, skin and bone

Her kittens whereabouts unknown.

Though lean at first she has grown bigger

And now displays a portly figure.

She’s paws and vest and tum of white,

Striped pantaloons a funny sight!

Her body’s glossy tortoishell

Which with the white contrasts so well.

Her eyes are green and beautiful,

She stares at you, she is no fool,

She weighs you up and with that look

Your soul’s laid bare, an open book,

That tells here if you’re friend or foe

She’s canny and will always know.

That is why at our first meeting

She rubbed round me and miaowed a greeting

That told me we’d be friends forever,

I think that shows that she is clever!

Her ears are soft and feel like velvet,

Their position on her head well set.

Whiskers long and white and straight

Size of gap to estimate.

The markings on her face suggest an owl

And like that hunter she goes to prowl.

Her hunting skills are quite prodigious

Voles and mice she finds delicious.

What’s left behind does not look pleasant,

I’m glad she hasn’t caught a pheasant.

Though there’s always some that get away

Or she leaves then for another day.

Sometimes they die and leave a whiff

The only time we have a tiff!

She has a routine quite precise

No bad thing for both of us.

Her breakfast’s served at seven-thirty

Which means I have to get up early.

She needs to have a special diet

To keep her waterworks just right.

In personal hygiene she’s fastidious

There never was a cleaner puss.

She reaches places others can’t

With legs right-angled at a slant.

She is a living ornament,

This cat to me from heaven sent.

To those alone I recommend

You get a cat to be your friend.

They do not need to have a walk

And with you they like to talk.

You will not argue or have rows,

They’ll give you pleasure hours and hours.


Poets’ Corner – 24 September 2020

For your delectation and delight, we are offering two, yes 2 poems today, as they are related.

One of our Committee members (Marilyn Nolan) admitted that she had written a few poems “in the style of Pam Ayres”, and she has recently sent them through to me.  I am starting with 2 related ones – here goes…..


(An ode written for my husband’s friend)

A mouse should be a tiny creature, as timid as can be,

A man should be big and strong, a real man just like me.

A male of my acquaintance looks dominant and tough

But listen to him squeaking, fleas are made of stronger stuff!

I phone him up and ask him, “Can you come out to play?”

This little voice starts squeaking “I can’t come out today”

My wife has gone out shopping, more money I must pay,

And so I can’t spend any, she took my car away!

I can’t believe I’m hearing this; I’m master in my house,

I thought he was a real man, but he’s just a …kin’ mouse!!

PS  I promised my beloved, I wouldn’t go out tonight,

       And I squeaked for half an hour, till this poem did she write!!



(An ode written for my husband’s friend’s wife)

A woman’s place is in the home, cooking for her spouse

Even if “him indoors” is just a …kin’ mouse!!

You cannot go out shopping and do just as you like

If you really must go out at all, make sure you use your bike!!

It’s not as if he eats much, after all he’s just a mouse

No need to shop for food, so, stay indoors and clean the house!

Ne needs his car each day you see, your gadding out must stop,

Without it we have no transport to travel to our “shop”.

So leave his bloody car alone, it isn’t pink, it’s red,

Let him be a real man, have this chocolate car instead!!

PS  To get my wife to write this, I really had to pay,

I’ve got to do the ironing for ever and a day!!


By Marilyn Nolan

Poets’ Corner – our collection grows!

Last week I was contacted by one of our members who had read our newsletter and the “Ageing Well in East Sussex” booklet, and had seen our “on-line” event!  This lady just happened to have recently published a booklet called “Verses Written Some Before But Most During Lockdown”  This booklet is being sold in aid of two good causes:  Wannock Village Hall and the Vickie Vowles Memorial Fund for Safer Childbirth.

If anyone wishes to purchase the booklet, please contact me on 01273 583213/07866 301908 and I will put you in touch with the author and give you more details.


I will put one of Christina Lynn’s poems on today, and more will appear soon after



Our feathered friends enjoy a bath

But oh for you it was no laugh

That morning when ablutions done

To remove yourself you had begun


Your back gave way and when you tried

It was so difficult you cried

No good shouting, no one could hear

Even neighbours who were near

There was a way to summon aid

But naked in the bath you laid!

“Oh dear me, what shall I do?”

Should I ring for rescue, but by who?


For firemen it is nothing new

Bodies in the buff, they’ve seen a few!

When people in their baths get stuck

But oh, “Hooray, I’m out – what luck!”

With towel I took my modesty to cover

I’ll dry myself and then recover


But now, at last the time has come

I know t’will cost but must be done.

The bath must go, and in its place

A shower new the space will grace

And though I know a ‘soak’ I’ll miss

To sit in comfort will be bliss!

Author: Christina Lynn




Poets’ Corner – more for our collection!

We have been really lucky this time – three (yes, 3!) poems for the price of one!

One of our members, Lyn Davies, is in touch with two lovely ladies from New Zealand who enjoy creative writing and take it in turns to set a topic each month.  Unsurprisingly, Covid-19 has been a “hot topic” recently.  Enjoy these humorous verses from Lyn!


It’s different


In the garden, no weeds.

In the house, no dust.

In the garage, no rubbish.

On the railings, no rust.

In the sky, no planes.

On the street, no feet.

Far less traffic,

People can’t meet.

But the air is pure.

Nature can thrive.

I’ve learnt new crafts.

Guess I’ll survive



The Big Shut Down


A one-eyed Teddy Bear,

High on a toy shop shelf,

Sat with his two companions,

A fairy and an elf.

The owner was clairvoyant

And in his tea-leaves saw,

A virus fast approaching

Closing every store.

The Big Shut Down Sale was planned.

They did it pretty quick

Before the town got wind of things

And made them worried sick.

Festooned with balloons and banners

The door flung open wide.

Shoppers with over-filled purses

Bargain-hunted inside.

Puzzles, books and Barbies,

Techno games galore

Flew from the shelves of the toy shop

Soon to be no more.

Christmas and birthday presents

Rang through the tills all day.

The three companions tried their best

But no-one looked their way.

When shoppers and staff departed

No-one gave a care

For a sad little fairy and an elf

And a one-eyed Teddy Bear.


……and finally……like many people I suspect, we had a huge clear out of unwanted items which lead to this one…


The Man Drawer


In the man drawer

He hides everything…

Batteries, dead

Books, unread

Instructions, torn

Cufflinks, unworn

Pencils, broken

Out of date token

Glasses, deceased

Photographs, creased

Scissors for nails

Adverts for sales

Coins in a jar

From countries afar

Mobile charger

One small, one larger

All defunked

Load of junk

But it might be useful

One day.

LYN DAVIES (Newhaven)

Thank you so much Lyn – these poems certainly made me smile and giggle a little to myself – and how true is the “Man Drawer”!!!



Meridian Mature Citizens Forum Newsletter – Autumn 2020

Good morning all – we have pleasure in publishing the latest Meridian Mature Citizens Forum Autumn 2020 Newsletter, which includes a short article on Pension Credit.  Since 1 August 2020, the free TV licence that those over 75 years of age have previously enjoyed, is no longer automatically free any more as I’m sure many of you are discovering already.  Please take the time to read the newsletter attached AND the short pamphlet from Independent Age which explains Pension Credit and its benefits.

Of course, you can also contact the Citizens Advice Bureau if you have any queries regarding the Pension Credit.  Sadly the Newhaven branch of CAB is closed to visitors, but you can phone them on 01273 007557 or 03444111444 – or you can email them at info@lewesca.onmicrosoft.com.

We hope that you enjoy the newsletter, and that you find the Pension Credit booklet helpful.  Do remember to let us know if you have any success with Pension Credit!  The links to both the newsletter and the Pension Credit leaflet are below (in the underlined titles after my phone numbers!)  Alternatively if you want a hard copy of the Pension Credit booklet, please call Independent Age on 0800 319 6789 or visit indepentage.org/publications.


Best wishes

Christine Bowman

Membership Secretary

Meridian Mature Citizens Forum

email: meridianseniorsforum@gmail.com

Phone:  01273 583213/07866 301908


Meridian Newsletter – Autumn 2020


Poets’ Corner – Poem No 4

Good morning all – please find another of our member’s poem – just to remind you that the Christmas Season will soon be upon us (hopefully with some better news about the Coronavirus pandemic!)




Cinderella isn’t a fella

As all you good people must know

Her ugly sisters are a couple of Misters

But when dressed for the ball it don’t show

They were rotten to Cinders

Said “get on and clean them winders

To the ball you are not going to go”

Footman Buttons did luv ‘er

Just like a bruvver

Said “Cinders you’ll go to the ball”

And while they were dreaming

An old lady was scheming

To be a fairy and come through the wall

From rags, pumpkin and mice

With her wand in a trice

Changed to carriage and all brand new clothes

She said “now then deary, although I’m a fairy

At midnight the magic all goes”

She met her Prince Charming

But ain’t this alarming

He fell for that woman that night

But the Prince in his splendour

Is the opposite gender

Cor, isn’t she in for a fright!

Soon midnight was chiming

(And is this still rhyming)

As she ran her shoe fell on the stairs

The Prince picked up her slipper

Said “I’ll marry this stripper”

So both sisters said it was theirs

With hairy legs showing

They just got one toe in

Then Buttons appeared on the scene

Siad “Cinders must try it

You cannot deny it”

It fitted and now she’s his queen

Boom boom!


Written and submitted by one of our members, Jill Fry – thank you Jill!

Poets’ Corner – Poem No 3!


It was past midnight, the guests were asleep,

Silently they moved, the fridge door gave a squeak.


Silently they hungered, in both pleasure and pain

Eyes looked longingly, hands reached out in vain.


Thoughts turned to times when food was real

A taste in your mouth that you could feel.


The old hotel was quiet but all the walls knew

All of the guests and who passed through.


Names in reception, brollies in the hall

Just one member of staff on call.


Cheese in the fridge, mature not old

Tea leaves in the pot, the future foretold.


Who was it who opened the fridge door at night

Who was it who hungered with eyes alight.


Milk in the fridge fresh from the store

Bacon and hams and pastries and more.


These midnight walkers could not touch

Sad at heart they knew too much.


The old hotel settled down for the night

Reliving the cries, the suffering and plight.


The fridge door closed, they shuffled away

Back to darkness on another new day.


The hotel guests had started to wake

To a hotel breakfast fit to partake.


Silently they drifted into the night

As the old hotel turned its face to the light.


The day was beginning the hotel relaxed

Tonight again it would remember its past.


Guests on the staircase, taxi to the station

The hotel looked splendid with its fresh decoration


No longer the workhouse where lost souls cried

No permanent residents who starved and died.


Carol Starkey 


Many thanks Carol- certainly kept me in suspense……


Poets’ Corner – another poem!


September was a gentle month.  The crab-apples needed picking.
Coral, berry-bright, they brimmed my early basin.
The neat knife chopped, cut down through hard little hearts;
Stirred, simmered, stewed for hours till soft.
(Tomorrow is the funeral of my father.)
All night in the quiet larder bloody-water drops collected
Till morning-prudent hands wrung the last from the muslin.
The markings on the jug said just enough, no more.
(Today is the funeral of my father.)
Scales swung.  Bleached crystals grated in the pan, dissolved to pink.
Juice bubbled, seethed and reached its setting point.
(Today was the funeral of my father.)
September is a gentle month.  The crab-apples need picking.
A single jar, one small tree’s harvest, glimmers on the highest shelf
Pale sunset-red between the ranks of marmalade and chutney.
Uneaten.  Uneatable.
Written in 1991 on the death of the author’s father – by Meridian Mature Citizens Forum member:
Jan Newbury 
Thank you Jan for the seasonable and reflective poem