Day 12, Swimming

Swimming.

Becalmed, some would say paralysed

unable to swim for it, directionless,

with drowning in the back of my mind.

I’m left putting in the miles, not a salvation

but a drudgery, a treading of water.

If I keep at it – good or bad? There’s no one

prepared to say if it’s worth the fight with time,

earth and moon when all that’s left

is half-tested diving, the saving of stones.

The purpose of swimming will be revealed, I hope.

I am prepared to listen for a voice

wanting to be heard, which would at last give words

that made sense of staving off sinking,

whose lips would hiss snatches of answers.

Day 12, Lara

Poem

(has been lost)

(If found, please return to owner)

[Title unknown]


                   

Day Twelve: Shaun

We bought a patch

on a perfect day in Hebden Bridge

from a haberdasher's after lunch

before we marked on Hughes' hills

a stick in the ground- a point to say

We loved it here. Amongst the landscape

We detached the everyday

perhaps that patch can fix the jeans

you love to wear. Perhaps the patch
Will fix it up. 

Day 12, Ashley

Thursday the 12th

by Ashley Lister

(a first draft)

I don't believe bad luck can come from spilling table salt.

There's no bad karma found beneath a ladder.

The only spirits I have ever known are single malt.

This superstitious sh*t could not be sadder.

I place no faith in broken mirrors

or crossed paths from a black cat

I don't believe in lucky heather

because I'm not a tw*t.

I don't believe there's truth in dreams

whether I'm asleep or I'm awake.

And now I'm off to spend tomorrow on

Camp Crystal Lake.

Ashley Lister