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Mam made a cone

from newspaper and put sugar in it.

Then she’d give each of us a stick

of rhubarb, to dip.

I loved the green-apple tartness

of the rhubarb against the sweet

sugar granules. Tongues curling

and saliva swirling, like a tap

turned on. Lips pursed

and tongues licking, again and again

‘til it was gone. Mouth and hands

stuck up to glory. Faces beaming

with the aftermath of it,

as we pick the strings

from pink stained teeth. Good

as a bag of sweets any day.

Sweet and Sour by C J Richardson

Poetry

Read more . . .

The Old School by C J Richardson

I hear the clang of the bell and I see myself

running on cold concrete across the school playground,

Read more . . .

Home is where the Hearth by C J Richardson

Why do you use me, abuse me so badly?

Screwing up paper and squashing it madly;

nestling the throwaway news in my innards.

Read more . . .

What a Hoot by C J Richardson

“Too whit my dear husband, please hurry, make haste

All three eggs have hatched, there is no time to waste.

The table is empty, not a bite in the house.

Read more . . .

A Race to the Sea by C J Richardson

We’re on the train that’s racing to the seaside for the day

I’ve got my towel and costume, my bucket and my spade

Outside I get a fleeting look at cows in fields of green

Read more . . .

Sweet and Sour by C J Richardson

Mam made a cone

from newspaper and put sugar in it.

Then she’d give each of us a stick

of rhubarb, to dip.

Read more . . .

Elephant Breath by C J Richardson

A gloss white basin set in dark loam wood

With shiny taps that sparkle when they flow.

The walls, half-panelled, are not the colour of mud;

@2021 CJ RICHARDSON, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, POWERED BY DISLO

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