THE MIRRORS WE SPOKE TO

Those years lost in our own skull
buying presents to suit ourselves.
Hearing the wind rattle a council letterbox
though we never felt our fringe move.

We walked together though with a different
map. I wore glasses behind my eyes
clamped my watch to my ankle
so I never felt time leave my life.

We said we knew what to say
though neither of us heard the wind
at the letterbox, or see the leaves
being brushed away for another year.

The mirrors in our homes grew bigger
every month until the house showed us
who we were. But today I must leave,
find sunlight that shows me who I’m not.

THE STREETS WE LIVE IN

When we were kids the streets
became veins in our bodies.
We felt each day rush through,
flick on the sunlight behind our eyes.

The ball rattled fence panels

To be Written Upon Waking

You wake to the winter dark
Closing in immediately
Targeting the heart

The slow, stabbing pain
Informs
It is one of those days

Where the mask will
be required
Just to make it through

Pain squeezes
Your stomach
Pronouncing unworthiness

Reading doesn’t soothe
Eyes spinning at the words
Leeching away all meaning

Feeling fraudulent
Already spent
Before the day’s even begun

Writing this down
As a way not to drown
And destroy the days of four.

The Daily Battle

I have no enemies
Except myself
There are no lofty expectations
But my own

Still, the thoughts linger
A constant buzzing drone

Lacking any perspective
Imposter in my own home
Masquerader in my comfort zone

A detriment to my health
This warring with myself

And yet,
Each poem is a balm
A therapy session to
Inflict no harm.

Scott Cumming never considered himself to be a…

Auld Simon

A full moon casts a yellow glow
illuminating the clock face of
Auld Simon

The old cemetery sits comfortably
at the bottom of the Jonshill
A proud village relic
surrounded by cobbled stone walls

When we were children
Our nana would tell us stories
of the families buried
in the grounds

Pestilence had claimed the
lives of many
diphtheria, smallpox, cholera
and tuberculosis
Death didn’t discriminate
It came for the young, old
And everyone in between

When dusk falls in Old Lochineuch
Sometimes you will catch a glimpse of
the lost children playing
Hide and seek
in the shadows

Bird Song

The day the earth
Stopped moving –
I found my voice,
No longer drowned out
By the incessant chatter of the
world

I spread my petals
Like butterfly wings
I was blooming in adversity

My bird song
Rang out over the rooftops
Skimming the skyline
as it…

Stress
My minds in a mess
Everything is upside down and back to front
Trump
Off you go to the Florida keys
Keep hitting those wayward drives off the tees!
Complications with the vaccine
Teens
Worried about their exams
Sick of attending the classroom with their video cams
United top of the league!
A season with no fans providing some intrigue
A time in history parallel with no other
Mothers
Home schooling the kids whilst trying to avoid blowing their lids
Everybody hoping and praying this will be all over
Laughter and smiles are as rare as a four leaved clover!

Liam Flanagan is a 47 year old living in Galway, Ireland. Degree in English and Philosophy and a Teaching Diploma. Ten years experience in the IT industry. Likes Sport, Film and Music.

Old things

I tried new things
but the carcass of the old things
took up too
much space

If I ever

If I ever wonder within the realms of fantasy, 
the sombreness of your voice 
will beckon me back to reality.
If I ever get lost in the sheets of disillusionment,
the gentleness of your touch
will waken sleeping hope.
If I ever roam around helplessly in the endless maze
of life’s predicaments, the exuberance
of your smile will brighten the dark road;
guiding me back home.
But if I ever forget you:
-who-
-what-
-where-
you are;
let the unsung hymn that you kindle in
the depths of your bosom
sing loudly to my silence.
For I
-being blinded by reality-
-spurned by fantasy-
will grope onto each 
rhythm-less and clumsy note and 
find my way back.
To you.

Shiksha is a South African of Indian descent. She uses…

16.
His parents
divorce.
He can’t understand
where the love went,
how it could
end and leave
nothing but a hardened
rectangle of vitriol
and a slew of insults
that he tries sometimes to bury
in the backyard
and sometimes
in intoxicants.

22.
His first real love
ends without insults
after three years
and they part
like long lost
friends
who won’t recognize
each other when they bump
into each other around town
after months of not bumping
into each other in their apartment.
He looks for it
in photos though,
and he sees it in one
from that time at the zoo
when they bumped into a friend
from work and the secret
of their new love
became known.

34.
He says, “I do.”
His second love
says it too
and after the honeymoon
they set their pictures
about their apartment and sit on the couch
with beers
and…