Poetry Press – April ’24

If you would like to submit a poem, please send to the editor at sophie@tomorrowalgarve.com

The Fiesta of Spring Flowers by Lorraine DeSousa

Harbinger of Spring, dusts the ground with pepper and salt

As Grand Master Crocus taps his baton, to bring a halt,

To the symphony’s chatter, so he can get underway

And show off Bluestar’s talent, beckoning him to play.

The Foamflower opens with the start of the timpani.

Whilst the Purple Violas start to strum Spring’s symphony.

Golden Trumpet Daffodils, raise their heads toward the sun,

Whilst the Harmony Iris waits for the sign it has begun.

The Coral bells form clouds, waiting for the ring.

Scarlet Bugler listens for the hummingbirds to sing.

Double Rock Rose only wants to jive,

The Wolfsbane howls that it is once again alive.

Grape Hyacinth takes a sip of a honeyed wine,

Tulips place a kiss upon the honeysuckle vine.

Throwing colours and scents into a huge melting pot,

The Fiesta of spring flowers says never, Forget-me-not.


This poem was written in response to #the365poetrypromptchallenge on Facebook.

Prompt/If I Were A Poem

Love Hidden In The Margins by  M J Mallon

If I were a poem

I’d grace a beautiful notebook

Its cover bright sunflowers

Inside a ray of sunshine.

Beautiful calligraphy to highlight

Tiny ink splodges to add character

Tear drops to remind me of sad days

Poems of sunshine and sadness

Grief and joy. Life and loves.

Funny poems. nonsense poems.

All manner of poems.

Torn pages, folded memories,

Crisp, pristine fragments

Forgotten dreams

Edges filled with notes

Synonyms and rhyme schemes.

If I were a poem

I’d close my eyes, meditate,

Light a candle,

And write one just for you.

On the last page you’ll find it.

Hidden in the margins,

In our secret language

Saying how much I love you.

MJ loves to write magical and poetic stories, sprinkling them with a liberal dollop of extraordinarily imaginative magic!

MJ’s writing credits include Bloodstone –The Curse of Time and the second in the series, Golden Healer – The Curse of Time. She writes YA fantasy/paranormal novels, horror/ghost short stories, and multi-genre flash fiction, as well as micro poetry – haiku and Tanka. Her poetry/flash collections include Lockdown Innit, Mr. Sagittarius Poetry & Prose, The Hedge Witch And The Musical Poet, and Do What You Love!

Her eclectic blog shares her love of reading, reviewing, writing, poetry, photography and travel.


2001, Brunei 

HEARTACHE by Nick Darker

The young and fit give not a thought

To health: it’s free, abundant, like the air

Not factored into life’s great plans

Assumed forever to be there.

For me I loved my hectic sports

I played my games of squash with dash;

Though knees and back could slow me down

I never dreamed my heart would crash.

It happened in the Niah Caves

Where hanging bats and swiftlets nest

I’d raced up tiers of slippery steps

Then felt sharp pains within my chest.

This took place half a dozen times

When simple movements caused dull pain –

The doctor sought a specialist;

“Angina” was their set refrain.

All other worries fade away

When one reflects that all could end:

Promotion, jobs – they all are dust

The only question: will it mend?

And so in haste to Singapore

To see Professor Arthur Tan.

Distinguished Asians wait their turn;

Heart specialist guru, he’s the man!

The angiogram is set for 3

But first my body’s shaved quite bare:

I feel like Samson, neutered, weak,

A chicken stripped for Easter fare!

The theatre’s modern, stuffed with gear;

The nurse assures that all is fine:

I’m on the table, draped in sheets,

TV screens lock their eyes on mine.

The X-ray story tells it clear

A coronary tube is squashed and bent

He first ballooned it into shape

Then propped it open with a ‘stent’.

The micro-navigation’s great;

To do all this INSIDE the heart!

Those fiddly bits of platinum

Are gently placed to play their part.

At once the pressure-pain is gone,

Its shadow lifted from my brow;

My heart is flush with blood again

My dreams can dwell on futures now.

Treasure By Sáor-Íde Dolan 

In gardens lush, where springtime blooms,

A joyous hunt begins anew,

Where children’s laughter fills the air,

And hearts are light, without a care.

Amongst the grass, where secrets hide,

The search for eggs takes us far and wide.

With baskets clasped in eager hands,

We traverse this playful wonderland.

An egg, like treasure, waits unseen,

A rainbow’s hue, a vibrant dream.

Camouflaged amidst petals bright,

It tests our skill, challenges our sight.

Oh, the thrill of anticipation,

As we navigate this grand sensation.

A symphony of colors, oh so rare,

Ignites the spirit, banishes despair.

Through leafy nooks and verdant trails,

We venture forth, to unravel tales.

Each hidden gem, a prize untold,

Unveiling memories, stories unfold.

Eyes scanning every blade of green,

Hunting for treasures yet unseen.

Each step a dance, a whispered quest,

In nature’s playground, we feel blessed.

For as we seek and explore with glee,

We discover more than mere frivolity.

The hunt unearths a timeless truth,

Of love and joy, eternal youth.

And when at last our baskets swell,

With painted eggs, we know them well.

A celebration of life’s sweet embrace,

A triumph found with each egg’s chase.

So let us revel, let us explore,

In this quest for eggs we adore.

For in this hunt, we find our bliss,

A gentle reminder, love exists.


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