LUTON POETRY SOCIETY - "Bringing Poetry To Life"

Founder - Mary Emeji (Luton Poet Laureate)

Some poems written by our members

MY TOWN - Theresa Gazard

Sitting in the Arndale an old lady said to me
Look around it's not the town it used to be
Too many people, too much noise
And groups of loud teenage boys.

I listened while she complained at all she could see
Then I shook my head and said " I don't agree "
I love Luton it's the place I call home
Yes it's changed it's prospered and grown.

Think of the good things that happen in this place
We have the biggest carnival, a marathon race,
Green open spaces we still have a few.
A big swimming pool sparkling and new.

Places to eat and pubs for a drink,
A welcoming library to study and think.
A very handy airport when we go away.
A fast train to London for work and play.

A stroll in Stockwood Park, coffee at the Hoo
On a sunny day a lovely thing to do.
Schools, colleges and a university for all
Let's not forget the game of football.

Lots of sports centres and gyms around
Plans for the Hatters to have a new ground.
I could say more my list is so long.
The good outweighs the things that are wrong.

If you don't like Luton, here's what I say:
Pack your bags and move away.
ASSIGNMENT - Samantha Newbury

Write twelve lines of blank verse and underline

changes in metre so that you may prove

you have completely grasped the lesson set

and can define the difference between

iambs, trochees, dactyls and anapests,

whilst ensuring that a solid theme runs through

the poem’s length.  I am a bit unsure;

Accented / unaccented syllables

are difficult to fathom at first glance.

I think I’ll understand them given time;

Blank verse though, is much harder than it seems

(pentameter falls naturally to rhyme).



Bright enough to burn

Into a bleakly urban Tuesday morning -

Vase of yellow sunshine on my window sill.

Brewery sketched greyly behind

Is not redeemed, however.


Opened during the night,

Their faces now crane upwards

Towards Mother Sun

As she peers downwards

Through concrete fingers.


Charm and pathos mixed.

What price such effort

When beauty is already

Severed from purpose?


Theirs is a brief moment

Without perpetuity.

Now is given up

In favour of a posterity

Already gone.


Purposefully purposeless,

They earn a certain dignity

And in cauterising today's pain

Who is to say

That they lack meaning.


(From the poetry collection Cats and Other Myths)





                                              The soft note of the piano is playing 

In alternate sequence with the violin,

Creating a soothing sound of relaxation

That captivates my mind with serene intoxication.

The strings of the guitar blend into the symphony

As the orchestra intermingle the tunes in harmony,

Producing a flowing resonance in the atmosphere;

Whilst the sonic reverberations of the flute cohere.

My mind swirls into the dance of mental elation

As the music tingles every string of my emotion.

The waves of tranquility infiltrate my senses,

Elevating my spirit to heavenly places.


I’m simply lost in the moment of musical romance,

Relishing the sweetness of this melody - like in a trance.

This classic song is indeed the music of my soul--

‘Concierto de Aranjuez’ by Joaquin Rodrigo.


                                            (From the book 'Royal Luminosity' 2011)






The hidden power that moves mankind to dream,

To search beyond earthly realms to things unseen,

To aspire to highest peaks of holy mountains,

To cedar forests, celestial palaces and fountains.


This zest for life and love, beauty and truth

That kindles the hearts and gives meaning for youth,

That shines in glory on every human face

When all is well and all is in the right place.


This hidden spirit, full of joy and sadness,

Knows full well the righteous path of gladness.

It searches for the deepest secrets of heaven:

The holy bread which rises with the leaven.


No distance is too far, infinity is but a moment.

The whole universe sings His glorious praise.

All the stars, and moon and sun’s rays

Join in harmony: the whole orchestra of life plays.


The spirit seeks its single path to fame,

Not earthly, but in understanding the name

That gives glory to each living thing,

That enchants the soul  and makes it sing.





JAZZ - Patricia J. Morris


a blue sun rose above my window

that seemed to cast my day in doubt

and piercing through the lurid sunshine

the yellow blue birds seemed to shout

‘stay to slumber

sleep to die

tell your heart no reasons why’

but i have not yet been defeated

i am not yet cast away

stop the yellow mist from falling

let lovers cry for yesterday


a blood red path beneath my footsteps

leads me to a place unknown

yet i have followed bleaker rainbows

to find that which i can call my own

from jagged hilltops

ravaged pride

there’s no where left for me to hid

for i will not be shut in silence

i have not help hope at bay

it pulls me from the miry shadows

let lovers cry for yesterday.




MEMORIES - Theresa Rhodes


 The pictures in the album
might make you shed some tears,
as you look back with memory
on all those happy years.
Sweet memories will please you
as you see those photographs,  
The times that you remember
will give you many laughs.
But never will these days return
so this is what I'll say,
"Be happy, love for ever more
Remembering Today"
Look forward to tomorrow
Don't look back, my friend;
For life goes on from day to day
until the very end.






Poet One,

William Shakespeare:

Four-hundred and fifty years

Have passed

Since his birth.


Poet Two,

Michael Drayton:

Who lived 15 years longer

Before he departed

This Earth.


William – can I call him Bill?

Was a contemporary of

Michael Drayton

Who is commemorated

at Hartshill.


At Michaels’ memorial

The bus shelter sign reads

‘To Nuneaton’.


At Bill’s memorial

The tourist signs

point to the various shrines

In Stratford-Upon-Avon


Bill and Michael

Or should that be

Michael and Bill?

Separated by 25 miles

One forgotten, one famous

Yet both possessed

a well-trimmed quill.






SAMPLER - Mark Niel


Read me in threads.

See me in precise stitches.

Take in the text

lovingly woven

and specially chosen.


Find comfort in patterns,

decipher the colours

and look for the deliberate blemish

that is

my trademark.


Turn me over,

See how neatly worked I am.

Hold me in your hands

and see if you know me

or what is meant by craft.





Haneefah Muhammad - WHAT IF?


WHAT IF you could just be you

No defences, no games just you, living your truth?

What do you think people would really see

If you showed your true identity?


WHAT IF we could be like babies again?

With the freedom we feel when we don’t pretend?

Not deliberately being hurtful or setting out to offend

Or feeling excluded for not following the latest trends?


WHAT IF we accepted ourselves and others for who we are

Not for playing a role or for being a so-called ‘super star’?

But just for being our real and natural selves

With our curiosity, our vulnerability and our own story to tell.

Copyright© 11.08.19

Haneefah Muhammad





Once the doorbell rang whilst cooking our meal

An alien stood there sniffing with zeal

Not wanting to offend, we let it in

It’s vibrating legs made an awful din

But other than that it was very nice

And sat down quietly with its legs bent thrice


We served it roast beef with every trimming

And it bared its fangs whilst also grinning

It ate all its peas and slurped all its wine

Then rolled its eyes with a gurgle divine


The parsnips went down with all the butter

The roast beef promptly made its eyes flutter

The spuds and carrots went down in some beers

Then after the gravy it twirled its ears


When pudding came it gave a short shriek

Rushed into the corner and nursed its beak

When dinner was done it hoovered the floor

Then pooed from its bottom some silver ore


Enough, in fact, to pay for the whole house

Then made its goodbyes as quiet as a mouse

Yes we knew we were onto a winner

When the nice alien came to dinner