Day 2.

On the slanted light a word, a remark

will find its feet, stop meandering lift

your spirit just enough to stop a march

into an abyss, as if getting the gist.

More rare than this the randomness settles.

spending some time asleep, letting you watch

an unstubbled youth easily wrestle.

solve equations of loves that once were botched.

These salvations are more usually

carried incomplete, imprecise to here

where your dreams spill the blood of memories

and you can hear your mother say, don’t fear.

Her words, those talismans against nightmares

are dancing with dust motes, wearing tears.

Day Two: Shaun

Today was a bit of a strange day. I have had a poem coming with it all day and am not quite sure if it is quite finished (in fact, pretty sure it may become a sonnet). Anyway, here was my effort for day two: something for a neighbour of mine.

Neighbour for Malc


The words came hard today, my friend, you left
so many here behind to mark your pass
Always, too soon. Two hundred prayer booked hands
is no mean feat- I trust you found your God.


Saturday was a good day to sunbathe
I could have kicked ball after ball over
To share one more crafty fag behind the fence-
a sentimental, picture frame moment.


A birthday party, apt, I saw you last
an anecdote shared and a pint of beer
you made me laugh, said, 'See you love' and left.
Don't worry mate, the world knows you were here. 

Day 2: Lara

PETS:

Snowy

was my first pet. A white goldfish

that changed colour every year

and always looked a little different.

Gingerbread

was swaddled in patchwork blanket,

tucked inside a plum doll’s pram

and pushed around the garden.

Dublin & Huckerby

would move into new shells when

they got too big for the old ones.

When my favourite strikers left,

the hermit crabs were given new names.

Stick

The small plastic tank was busy with cut privet,

and each branch looked a little like Stick.

Sidney

was found in the garden, chewing

on one of mum’s pretty flowers.

If I licked my palm and placed him

in the centre, he’d slowly emerge.

Day 2: Ashley

October 19^th 2010 – 2^nd April 2012

It’s been one year, five months, and fourteen days since I last

rolled a perfect paper tube

stuffed with headily-fragranced tobacco leaves

(shredded, moist and elastic)

sealed with a soul kiss

tipped with a cardboard roach

(slipped tight into the paper rectum where I

pressed my lips)

lit by a manly Zippo and from which I could

draw deep dark breaths,

taste bitter lungfuls of satisfying inspiration,

strike poses of moody brooding attractive intensity and, if you

ask me, I’ll

tell you I don’t

miss the habit.

Ashley Lister