Poetry and Creative Writing for All

Mary Goodchild

I have lived most of my life in Aylesbury, a busy market town, except for 4 happy years living in Northampton, where I made many friends.

Aylesbury is surrounded by lovely countryside with plenty of sights and sounds to store in the memory. It has made many changes over the last 30 years, but I would not want to live anywhere else.

My hobbies have been dancing, walking, visiting places of interest and, of course, writing poetry, one I shared with my late husband, who was my listening ear. I think he missed me when I needed to write, but was always ready to approve or not. I have hundreds of poems and I like to read them back to myself for many of them remind me of things that have happened in my life.

The winning of the award has brought the pen back to hand again and I hope to send more to Forward Press in the future. I believe everyone can write poetry, so perhaps more readers will try to, and to see your work in print is really gratifying.

Who Cares

The garden gate was open, unusual to be sure.
I felt a little anxious as I headed for the door.
The milk, delivered daily, was collecting in the crate
And the usually neat and tidy porch was in neglected state.
The letterbox was open, newspapers on the ground
The key she used to leave for me was nowhere to be found.
I panicked then, became afraid, and full of deep concern
Not without good reason, as I was soon to learn.
I thought I might gain entry through the doorway at the rear,
It opened very easily, I walked in filled with fear.
I called her name, then listened, but there was no reply
I didn’t have to wait too long, to learn the reason why.
I peered into the room where usually she’d be
Then stopped short, horrified, at the sight that greeted me.
For I could see quite clearly in the morning’s pale sunlight
She was lying by her favourite chair, so still and oh so white.
The hearth rug creased and crumpled, told the reason for her fall
I felt her pulse and realised, she slept beyond recall.
This sweet old lady left alone, and no one seemed to care
Things could have been so different
The blame is ours to share.