If I were interested in the history of the wireless

I’d  make the effort to visit the Orkney Wireless Museum.
I’d marvel at the early crystal sets and cats’ whiskers
and admire the styling of the radios from the 1930s.

I’d applaud  the early ones made from Bakelite 
and laugh aloud at the novelty transistor radios
saved for posterity from the 1960s. 

If I were interested,  I’d  look in awe 
at the WW2 radio-in-a-suitcase and the one 
from the cockpit of a Spitfire aeroplane.

Oh, I love the radio, I listen almost every day,  
BBC’s radio 4 is my very favourite station. 
But I honestly can’t say I’ve ever have the yen, 

when visiting Kirkwall to see the sights 
or  go Tesco and and the butchers shop,
to spend any time at all in the OWM.

Tonnie Richmond has, since she retired from working in Local Government, spent her time either doing archeology in Orkney or writing poems. As the digging gets harder, she finds writing a slightly easier choice. She has had several poems published and is currently working on a collection of poems about Orkney.

SUTRA
 
I’ve never had casual sex.
No, it’s always been frantic –
in the pantry, in the kitchen,
up in the attic.
 
But frankly, those antics
had to stop when I reached 60.
Nothing nifty or athletically
tricksy fitted the bill.
 
The new drill involved 
a bucket of pills, creams, 
an ocean of lotion just to 
get a semblance of motion.
 
Then I discovered the art
of Tantra. That long-sought-after
calmer sutra.

Goodbye to hectic, hello to Tantric-
two weeks to prepare for a kiss?

Bliss


Eddie Gibbons has six published poetry collections. 'What They Say About You' was shortlisted for the 'Scottish Poetry Book of the Year', 2011. He was a prize winner in the inaugural 'Edwin Morgan International Poetry Competition', 2008. His latest collection is available here-Roughly Speaking (leamingtonbooks.com)
Twitter- @1Eddie_Gibbons

I wish I lived in a bungalow

I wish I lived in a bungalow
One floor is enough for me.
Mooching round in my bungalow,
Now what shall I have for my tea?
People would call
They’d stand in the hall
They’d look around
And say, ‘Is that all?’
I wish I lived in a bungalow
One floor is enough for me.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
I’d go from room to room.
I’d only need one plug you see
When I use the vacuum.
It’s ever so static
I’d feel so ecstatic
And going upstairs
Only leads to the attic
I wish I lived in a bungalow
Or possibly a chalet.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
My god it would be such a laugh.
People would visit my bungalow
And ask, ‘Where’s the other half?’
I’d have no cares
I’d ignore their stares
There is no cupboard
Under the stairs
I wish I lived in a bungalow
Or perhaps a ground floor flat.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
My bedroom down the hall.
Would I get bored of my bungalow?
No, not a chance, not at all.
It’s what I adore
I’d be thrilled to the core
My plan only has
One major floor
I wish I lived in a bungalow
And be closer to planet earth.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
Imagine the plaudits and glory
Like the Star Wars franchise the place
Only has the one storey.
It’s what I’d do
Without much ado
The downstairs loo
Is just called the loo
I wish I lived in a bungalow
Also, I’m ever so lonely.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
You try it, you can’t go back.
I wish I lived in a bungalow
Perhaps in a cul-de-sac.
It’s made out of brick
I get such a kick
You can keep your stairs
They’re making me sick
I wish I lived in a bungalow
With Darren from the coffee shop.

I wish I lived in a bungalow
It’s something I’ll always regret.
Nothing better than a bungalow,
You can keep your maisonette.
That’s my intent
The hours I’ve spent
It’s one step away
From being a tent.
It wouldn’t be far
You can visit by car
You can come right in
The door is ajar.
I’d make my stamp
Buy a standard lamp
You’ll have to admit
It’s kind of camp
I wish I lived in a bungalow
I wish I lived in a bungalow
I wish I lived in a bungalow
One floor is enough for me.

Robert Garnham has been performing LGBT comedy poetry around the UK for ten years at various fringes and festivals, and has had three collections published by Burning Eye. He has won slams in places such as London, Edinburgh and Swindon and headlined or featured at events such as Bang Said the Gun, Raise the Bar, and Milk and in 2019 was the Hammer and Tongue featured artist for a tour of the UK. He has supported artists such as John Hegley, Arthur Smith and Paul Sinha. He is the editor of Spilling Cocoa magazine and his website is https://professorofwhimsy.com

Super Spreader

Super Spreader
Covid's gonna find me
But I won't be ill
Vaccines working too
As long as I don't infect you

I was sick and tired of everything
When I called you last night on WhatsApp
All I do is eat and sleep and sing
Wishing isolating weren't so crap
(Wishing isolating weren't so crap)
So imagine I was glad to hear you're staying (Glad to hear you're staying)
Staying right the f**k away
(Stay right the f**k away from me)
And it's gonna be so different
In my little room today

I am a Super Spreader
Covid's gonna find me
Teaching in Tipton (Su-p-per Spread-d-der)
Nursery through Year One (Su-p-per Spread-d-der)
I'm infecting everyone
I am a Super Spreader
Covid's gone and found me
But I won't be ill
Vaccines working too
As long as I don't infect you 

Facing twenty children in a class
'So, how many are off with Covid?'
Doing my job gives me a free pass
Working everywhere makes me worried
There are moments when I think I've been infected
But it's gonna be okay
Because on Days 6 and 7
I'll be negative
Hooray!

(Chorus)

When I emerge into the light
My isolation done, I'm free! I fought the fight
And when you take me in your arms
And hold me tight
I'm gonna take my mask off, it's alright

(Chorus)

Saboteurs

The mice knew they were lucky, or did they. It’s one thing to infest a windmill, another thing ripping the piss by getting the elves to tailor them clogs. Maybe they’d caught wind of the Pied Piper from the rats, made contingency plans to save their children. Maybe they were blind, and were adapting to echo location. I thought they’d seen the horses at the mill and wanted to be fashionable. That’s what happened with me, anyway. I’d heard about the mice in Amsterdam, thought they sounded fun. I wanted to clip clippitty clop like them, like the grown-up women going to work in a skirt and cloppy shoes. I found some little clogs for my fingers in my Grandma’s thimble collection, and I’d drive them along flat, wooden surfaces, wear a thimble on my thumb like a fez, sing clip clippitty clop. My fingers got too big after a while. I upgraded to my mum’s rank, cloppy-cloggy shoes. I wore them to school fancy dress, remember clopping to collect my first prize. I wore them out on the concrete in the rain, remember clippittying water back into clouds. I pretended they were tap shoes, and tried to become the first clog dancer/tap dancer/ Irish dancer hybrid. Maybe that’s what the mice were doing, dancing, whilst they could, because there’s only so long the world will let you wear clogs for, before they start grinding.

Holly is a mature student, studying at the University of Leeds. She likes sarcasm and silliness. Her poems have appeared with Ink, Sweat & Tears, Anti-Heroin Chic, Dreich and more.