The Linnet's Wings :Take All My Loves, My Love - Page 99

The Linnet´s Wings The Memorial Park. A bed of tulips, laughter and forget-me-nots shine their brightest in the long twilight of a dream. Mingled milling smells of dusty wheat, jute sacks. Hot chocolate, wafts of Old Spice aftershave. Shades shift shape and escape, childhood memories. Voices long cold recaptured warm and homely as bannock. The poet wakes; hammers out the infrared of words to illuminate what you could never see; the inner mind, hooded in dark where all that world exists. Oonah Joslin Everything changes. Nothing is lost. We hope that, along with our wonderful images, these poems will add colour to your life and bring peace to your heart. Are you a poet? If so our next issue is looking to the Moon for it’s magic. 50 years ago Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin took us there on Apollo 11. Maybe like me, you are old enough to remember the world of 1969. Maybe not. Maybe you have other things to tell us about the Moon. We’d like to read them. Please send us something by April. *** 99