The Magdalen Annual Poetry Collection 2022

The Magdalen Annual Poetry Collection Contributors:

Kate Heggie

Orla Davey

Aaron Tweed

Kenny Robson

Rebecca E Raddatz

Andrew Young

Lucia Puchades Gimeno

Roshni Baillie

Caitlin Mathieson

Mareth Burns

Someone Else

Daniel Pukkila

Maria Touloupa

Uzo Okereke

J.J. Bennett

Milla Keski Santti

Vibin Kiriyanthan Baby

1

2022

Table of Contents

2

Page 04

Foreword

Page 06

Aaron Tweed

Page 10

Andrew Young

Page 18

Caitlin Mathieson

Page 26

Daniel Pukkila

Page 30

J.J. Bennett

Page 32

Kate Heggie

Page 48

Kenny Robson

Page 52

Lucia Puchades Gimeno

Page 56

Mareth Burns

Page 64

Maria Touloupa

Page 74

Milla Keski Santti

Page 76

Orla Davey

Page 88

Rebecca E Raddatz

Page 92

Roshni Baillie

Page 96

someone else

Page 104

Uzo Okereke

Page 116

3

Vibin Kiriyanthan Baby

Foreword from Andrew Young & Livvie Baird

Welcome to The Poetry Collection! W a range of contemp Dundee based wr showcase the brea energy in the city. enjoy the reading e much as we have e together to make t 4

Magdalen Annual We have curated porary poetry by riters in order to adth of creative We hope you experience as enjoyed working this possible.

5

Aaron Tweed

6

BARREN Black gates left standing just ajarThe air seems different here and not Because of Death.

But the unnecessary poison of its breathAncient symbols of art and speech Engraved. Atavistic. Engraved on granite stone.

Calla lilies dimmed red from the Easter Sun. Fatal futurity beckons, Young death now old life follows. Yet What has been won but hate gathered and sold To unwitting and lost? New bones for the pyre.

Symbols of bleached violence, six feet below; not far from the fire.

History’s unwavering white knuckled, clasping claw; Ready to entrap the unvigilant in its Blood-stained carnivorous maw.

7

BLOOD TO DUST 1 The heavy, low, drooping sun sends waves across the swell Of River becalmed like a heart content Though hard to tell. What soft words sent silent secrets stoop below The wave? Hard to see from eyes dissolving in moss-ridden graves.

Schedoni’s dagger unveiled from the sheath as Funereal wreaths float lazily; obscuring the unknown beneath.

2 Serene armies of snowdrops whistle as they invoke Their wind gods to mock the broken wingThe wing not yet found lacking by children whose Mirthful laughter sends lurking sorrow rending from the most anxious of skies.

3 Battalions displaced by scythes on hills not worth the trouble.

Reaped down dead, deafened from the din of blood in accustomed ears Amidst the ruin and the rubble- permanent scars that bubble The heat. The heat in cynics’ hearts that forget not the years but find seas rippling waves in a puddle.

4 Broken wings refuse to sing beneath the betraying warmth of the Sun’s crust, Fires that spread quickly – so quick, all we have left is ashen dust.

8

9

Andrew Young

10

An Expression of Feeling A flowing – Steam - cascades the Rocks It tries to grip holding back a trickle it quivers on the Lip.

Shallow – River - paid no Tribute It’s Bank has no Deposit shaken in its Bed by the Lord’s fearsome Hands.

Rough – Ocean – Disordered it rides against the Bay orderly ordered and unable to say what It must say.

11

The Boat A lonely Boat Sails across The empty Ocean

A lonely sailor – Sits and Prays

12

A Poem co-written with Rachel Simpson I lie in Earth – unfurled – Furrowed into the folds And cracks and crevices – Collapse holds –

Slips from form to formless – My Margins bend and blur Becoming Unbecoming – I am Not –

13

The Blackbird A blackbird Twitching – In Morning’s garden

14

Day A bright orange stripe Spanned Outrageously

15

Lighthouse Keeper I looked out to the Sea God’s Storm was raging strong And there I saw a Boat For this World it was not long

The glaring Light shone upon That little Boat - and through the Hail I shouted But the Wind too harshly blew

And then a green spectre Flew down from the sky – That little Boat was taken up And away from God’s storm it did fly.

16

A Moment of Prayer Walking under Heavy Rain – I sit and pray

On a bench In a park I sit and pray

17

Caitlin Mathieson

18

for the first time I breathed – vines unfurled tangle in my lungs undone air came easily grass began to grow jagged branches snapped at last clearing my view

19

it blossoms as fire does in bursts, in fury, with passion slowly, lungs black with yearning consumed as smoke curls devotion holds the light in fervour we follow

20

a green flash a moment kissed by sun’s last gaze swallows arc, mid-flight diving feathers float through melted skies

21

waves crash and scream tides vow to wash away rocks are cleaved broken and open as hearts once loved like minds once racing shards hot with pain clouds do not grey burning iced blue the sky watches on water thrashes and foams a sea marbled with rage

22

the morning after, 8.47am silk ribbon tied with edges frayed round memories stacked alone air heavy with passed time dust settled on flowers hung to dry conversations splintered hands held, hand dropped hands plead only one mug has been used the blinds stay closed

23

the pot’s bubbling over steam hisses and shrieks the

once

burns the

your lights

flicker shut

too and

windows

winter’s

24

silver

spiteful

spoon mouth bright flash let

in cold

25

Daniel Pukkila

26

Tomorrow Awaits I shall not weep for the days past, but cherish them a golden light that envelops coating the dark with grains of wisdom.

I shall not cry, as our time draws to a close, for in the memories of yesterday laughter and friendship prevail

to mourn yesterday is to kill today,

look ahead, there the story continues, it grows and blossoms, and to step into it does not mean neglecting the past neither does it mean to forget it

it means to honour it,

27

a day may come when we shall gather again, but even if not, the echoes of today shall linger long after

their effect ingrained in the experiencer

the end, is never an end, for to cease is a thought of the mind, spirit travels, the heart expands, and that which comes to a close, transforms, birthing a new beginning, now expanded due to the wisdom garnered in the olden days.

28

29

J.J. Bennett

30

Control Between sitting and sleeping, I am alone.

Scattered paper, stacks of books, Piles of lever arch files.

Soon it will be organised; To be sure!

Each day it mounts And I see The warped and coiled inner workings That I assure myself aren’t that warped, aren’t that coiled.

In my heart, I know.

And all the while I smile.

Sometimes frownBut never without confirming that

I am smiling, Inside.

And all the while I’m shrouded By my own king-sized self-criticisms, While others’ bounce off my flesh And land in my stunted self-growth

31

Kate Heggie

32

these four walls the candle lit up the Buddha’s smile bringing peace and stability. silently protecting me, patiently from the corner. the flickering candle only lights its chin. features distorted from view, its intentions hidden behind a menacing smile. it still sits, mocking me. just walking into my room makes me happier. lighter. ensconced within these four walls the room is serotonin to my brain. the floor slopes, my world is tilted. a boat out at sea, backwards and forwards, waiting for a lifeline before i sink into the deep.

33

when we first moved in i heard footsteps in the mornings. i assumed it was ghosts. as a child i feared the dead walking among us, stuck in purgatory, chilling my bones. it was the dentists 8-6 click-clacking shoes on wooden floors reminds me that the world still turns, even if mine doesn’t. i feel less alone. the walls cave. the bricks have given in to the pressure. most of the walls are decorated but one stands vacant. footsteps pace behind that empty wall, persistent pacing. phantom steps stalking my mind. i can sense their presence as i lay there at night. long after they leave.

34

each day the sun rises and falls, even when we can’t see it. stuck in a vicious loop. it kisses my skin through the glass gentle and calm. i store a piece of it in my room. a painting of the sun twirling across the waves. a ballet recital on the world’s biggest stage illuminated by the understudy, a salt lamp, that shines all through the night, even after the moon conquers the sky. a globe reminds me of all the places i haven’t been. gold countries in a sea of black catch the sunlight, who travels the world daily. pictures of friends line the shelf it sits upon. an imitation of happiness. each moment carefully choreographed. smiles beaming, blink and dark soulless eyes stand in their place. even my plants are fake. a movie set.

35

the only evidence that someone lives here, a mug of tea on the bedside table, long gone cold. i watch the tea bag swirling in the pool. weighed down by the leaves, it dips below the surface. if only i were a movie star. i could shed my skin transform into someone new. a snake. always changing, always flowing, always moving. leaving the past behind in its own scaly coffin

36

dis connect after a long day i’m ready to remove my mask the cold wipe calms me as i reveal the layers beneath my once smooth face is now bumpy and red. i remove the rose glitter from my eyes. a warning rumbles deep within i blink. blink again. blink until the black dot shielding my vision fades. when i look back into the mirror it is no longer

me.

i move my hands but they don’t match the Girl in the reflection. a disconnect like a foreign movie dub, her lips move but a different voice comes out. each movement seems heavy and hollow. my bones are somehow a balloon waiting to float

37

empty.

out of reach. the puppet wrestles back its strings i am left with only the memories. shadows slink into idle spaces until another face takes hold. she looks like me she could be me but like repeating a word over and over, her face no longer feels real.

i’m watching the Girl in the mirror the silver river ripples and twists as though a creature is stirring beneath. its tail distorting her face.

my face

now held hostage.

38

i reach

out to touch

the familiar stranger. the surface quivers at the touch, i pull back my fingers leave no print, no dent, no trace. curiosity pulls my hand back to her like a magnet.

as our hands meet i feel them interlock as latch on the river gives way wrapping its arms around me, pulling me into its icy bed. i’m dragged into the spaces where shadows dance waiting for the sunlight to grace my skin.

39

angels i climb the steps of a church. up the bell tower. dodging the splits in the wood, knots and splinters. this time i’ll make it. i know it.

each step is heavy. my metal toed boot trips me at every step, every turn of the winding tower. still my feet keep climbing. the echoes of a dove in a cage above carries me forward. this time i tell myself,

this time.

the cold air hugging my body gets thicker and thicker.

40

as i climb higher and higher smoke from the fire below stifles the breath trying to escape past my lips. this is not my home but the blueprints are engraved in my mind.

just as i reach up to sound the alarm. a hand, cold and boney, clasps my leg. tearing my skin as it drags me down. i hear the Devil laughing.

averting their eyes, angels cower. it’s all too much. too much hate, regret, Despair.

if only i had their wings

41

till death do us part?

Burning that surges through lungs. lumps in throats that silence screams. pounding that echoes through bones.

i have to escape.

you have to mend the cr ack s, frac tures, and splinters in the walls that protect the silence in an ocean of noise. keep them out; hold them close. gloves and walls barriers installed. don’t touch. don’t speak. wired jaw. clutched claw.

42

waves wash over feet, crashing, thrashing, spilling

over.

toes curl into the sand, holding me up as i sink. craters for eyes, hollow,

Lonely.

they carry the crib down the aisle, cradling his lifeless body. a ribbon worn by the woeful sea. lay him down gently. the curtain draws, a heavy purple. a hymn, a prayer. the bitter taste of sorrow washes through my soul. and underneath Burning.

43

beauty in loss if she were here she would have said: there is beauty in loss. what does that mean? beauty in loss? a tree losing leaves is not beautiful; it’s gnarly, cold, exposed. staring at the world with pleading eyes a skeleton of its former self. to that she would say: it’s shedding its leaves to make way for something new. i wish i had her rose tinted glasses.

44

where did it come from? you’ve pulled a thread that unravels rapidly, rising around your feet. revealing a secret you never wanted to uncover. it’s opened something hidden deep within your brain.

Where did it come from?

was it this way? or maybe that way… a door. was it a door? you walked through it. you knew what was behind it. you’d seen it from miles away a winding path led up to it, full of blindspots but you knew, right? you had known before you even began walking.

Where did it come from?

you’ve seen it before. on tv shows 45

and movies, in books and magazines. it’s everywhere. it fills your head. you tried to shut it out keep it hidden. locked away even from yourself. unable to admit it exists. because it didn’t, not really, until now. until you walked through that door.

46

47

Kenny Robson

48

The words are caught in my throat Will I ever allow them to surface?

Or perhaps they’re better trapped in my head Words lost to the endless complexities of the mind

Or maybe could I be brave?

Could I finally say the words that have been confined?

Would anybody care?

Or would I be thrown to the side and concealed like the words I wish to reveal?

What if someone else takes away the control from me?

Reveals my deepest secret without me even telling Would it destroy me, or would it finally release me?

Allow me to shout the words to everyone I meet

To wear my words like a badge of honour To wear them like a colourful flag, wrap them around me To escape out of this dark prison that I have created for myself To break free of the questioning glances, the questions passed around the family table

The lump in my throat disappears and my voice grows stronger I no longer hide in fear of the disapproving glances I hold their hand freely in the street and my head up high I shout my pride for everyone to hear from the rooftops

49

Here I stand, I cry out the words I’ve been longing to say The shackles that held me have released me, as has my terror No longer controlled am I by other voices, as I have found my own I am now a blaring band of colour, thriving in newfound freedom No longer afraid, out in the open for all to see

50

51

Lucia Puchades Gimeno

52

Explosions of colour Exhibitions of awe Petals expanding against the dark blue hues The quiet intimidating thunder At the crack of dawn.

Running streams of laughter, A feathered cacophony; Smooth at touch, Yet an intensity that burns.

Engaging eyes and words Invisible cues like ropes That coat the individual with silver Bare-teeth grins And the adamant desperation Of patience running out.

Whirling and spinning The world sets off like that Keep running, keep trying To catch up But it doesn’t work like that Round and sharp don’t go well together Holes and wounds open Our physics are simply too different You burst out into the sky I shriek sideways in a line of fumes Drawing people in slowly, Sharing the same scent.

53

While I’m too oblong For people to look me in the eye.

Open my mouth Dust and tears will come out Rub your eyes and I’ll be gone.

Grey regular skies Surround me In this oblique tranquility That no one wants to be in.

They jump, they dance, Away into the intense array of colour I snatch at their seeming, I want to go too Though gravity pulls me down To the place where I belong Cloud and dirt And silence for once and for all.

54

55

Mareth Burns

56

to the girl that fell on me 1 that dances to abba 2 who told me she was a flamingo 3 who just demolished a cherry bakewell 4 wearing patch jeans 5 wearing brown flares 6 wearing blue top and grey sweatpants 7 in Church 8 in Aura 9 in Library 10 in Lidl 11 in the corner

12

you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen 13 I absolutely adore you 14 I think I just fell in love with you 15 I want you to throw me down your throat like that pint 16

1 #dundate7121 2 #dundate3162 3 #dundate6795 4 #dundate1904 5 #dundate6981 6 #dundate6211 7

#dundate4143

57

8 #dundate7100 9 #dundate6795 10 #dundate5230 11 #dundate5371 12 #dundate6206 13 #dundate819 14 #dundate7100 15

#dundate1904

who are you?

17

who are you?

18

who ARE you

19

who are you?

20

who are you??

21

who are you?

22

who are you?

23

16 #dundate2577 17 #dundate7103 18 #dundate7094 19 #dundate4562 20 #dundate6893 21 #dundate6364 22 #dundate1417 23

#dundate2680

Acting Out she is all textual strip-tease: performed intimacy without caress, dressed up in stage-confession. The crowd, adoring will swallow it whole like ibuprofen gut sense torn up in chemical bliss. she is all she says she is: in-between words and the rhythms of her hands in the air the currents of her vibrate in my throat stuck pill: swallow, swallow. I admit it: I want to save her. The realisation stings like blasphemy: the shit feminist making a fairytale of a woman again: and I stutter under her gaze and I find there is nothing left to say

58

Season of Conkers The time of conkers again, eyes I prize from jagged lids I hoard them in biscuit tins or soak them in vinegar I read it makes them stronger.

This one: I smell his sharpness, he is fat and round and hard as a knuckle, smooth and soft as hair, I have him sat hunched underneath the roof windowthere are times I open it, sit with my head in the storms and watch the trees shuddering, the conkers flying off them

now I want you to imagine the ocean, see it sweeping in scythe shaped waves, soft as breath against your ear like someone whispering, something unheard, barely said, and the seagulls screaming, shivering in the salt-sea air like actors suspended shouting lines to a strange audience of you and I, they are saying something, saying something…

The sun sets behind clouds; so all we see is light going out

59

The time of conkers again.

Walk past their shells washed up on the tarmac, cracked and licked clean, or some soft and showing green still holding on to summerI want to find another, one that glows from inside-out, warms the hollow of your palm…

I can’t seem to find the time to stop and search among leaves.

At night, next to the window, I watch trains crossing the bridge, willingly swallowed by fog.

I don’t know where they’re going

60

CM

I

miss

you 24

SM

come back I

miss

you 25

MJ

I

miss

you 26

AR

I’m

missing

u so much 27

SW

I

miss

you 28

JM

I

miss

your mullet 29

ZJ

I

MISS

YOU 30

DS

I

miss

you like hell 31

BC

I

miss

you 32

M

I’ll never admit it but I

really miss

you 33

HD

I

miss

you 34

LR

I

really miss

you 35

H

I

miss

you 36

CM

I

miss talking to you like we did 37

24 #dundate5795 25 #dundate6423 26 #dundate5534 27 #dundate7008 28

#dundate6462

61

29 #dundate4908 30 #dundate4780 31 #dundate5197 32 #dundate6262 33

#dundate5589

34 #dundate5839 35 #dundate3899 36 #dundate7068 37

#dundate6721

Interlude an ache like the strain of November all the year wearing thin stretching in dull dark days revelling in melancholy the naked branches preen want to be read as bones but what is there in that but the corpse of everything said and done before

that winter my hands swelled the flesh wanting to escape my skin writhing in the cold nights trying to get warm, trying to imagine touching someone warm. I am in my cold hands again, avoiding reading the news or doing anything at all when it’s cold like this I think of you

62

living in eventful times but in my diary I wrote how I felt when I was in your bed see, there’s all of us joking about the end of days, made it out somehow anyway so try not to cry about it now it’s all over – isn’t it? mouth it against my lips

63

Maria Touloupa

64

Past gives me comfort But not my kind The one I haven’t lived The one I have dismissed

History is my blanket The one that keeps me warm The one in which I feel secure

And art is like a treasure box Full of jewels and pearls And Botticelli shells

When I asphyxiate on the surface of the sea I swim down to the bottom of the box When I feel lost in the waves of my mind I fetch my nets and dream I excavate and ruminate What is it like to be What is it like to exist In a time before I lived?

The unlived past is my escape Knowing it’s unreal Sometimes feels like a maze

It never was my problem to resolve The responsibility of my ancestors Is now my nostalgic inspiration

65

I fear I fear the unknown I fear pain I fear audiences Because I fear judgment Because I fear humility Because I fear rejection Because I fear myself Because I fear nothingness Because; I fear the unknown

66

The pearl Her ginger aura surpasses my expectations Slowly, caresses my sensations Typing on her laptop rapidly Like her life is depending on the deadlines Now she’s looking at her phone And consciously loses precious time It’s only defined by us now We’re staring at our screens Absorbing light from a complex world In the end, I’m gonna find the pearl That defines my outline My deadlines But what’s the point? I ask myself I’m lacking memories of the future And now I’m twirling around my own existence To find a meaning that has no consistence

67

My rusty palette One side was clean Meant to be seen Fresh paint on it, ashes Caressed by paint brushes

Hours and hours’d been Till the end of the scene The humid paint bled through And it’s vibrance was only true

The other one was stained And filled with grim and pain But as soon as she came to lay The sorrows had vanished away

68

Our psalms While the earth rolls and spins And its people twirl and scream We stay in the moment and heed Like a slightly broken puzzle we complete Your silence is discrete My overflowing paranoia feels right Only in your palms You’re my security belt made of human skin Your sense; an instant relief of qualms Originating from within Now I don’t have to fit in between You’re my exhale I’m your inhale Till the dawn we wait until she rises the sun And fall into each other’s hands Those palms Those unspoken psalms When we align our eyesight And pierce through the Bible of Love Such honestly I’ve never felt before Flipping through the pages And there it is; a dove!

Handing us an olive branch Now I wear it on my head Blessed with peace and I admit; I’m in love but not the kind I fell for in the past So I make a leap of faith at last And let eternity’s memories in a cast

69

Dundee Is it blood or is it dye Is the moon perplexed or solidified Is it flood or is it tide?

I can’t tell, I’m blind Went down to River Tay Was once again led astray My superficial getaway Do I belong here?

(Am I the water, the hills, the yellow trees, Am I the cemeteries, am I the cold wind?)

Thoughts become one with waves Melody in my ears And they’re moving forward But I always stay within the graves Of those versions of myself I thought I buried Who am I to fight with; “Yourself” countless times they said I want for once to be the one who feels the same Self-awareness is my last name A moral I was taught to rehearse It only feels like a curse For which I like to take the blame So what is it Is it dye or is it blood I looked upon?

70

Tomato Soup I got tomato soup hair Spilled my wine all over his shirt Pretending I don’t care Truth is I do Now I’m feeling blue

But blue compliments red With my needle and a thread Forwards I sew again All the tears that’ve been shed

Remoulded into sunset flames Embroidered on the distant void That we observe from our bed Six o’clock, tis the day’s end Alas, cosmos seems like chaos Though first conception is peace Innocently stopping time with a kiss

My thoughts are spiralling Like a DNA helix Blue and red are quarrelling The force of a lightning Finally seals her lips

I got blueberry jam hair But now I don’t care

71

The Snail I With every movement I become smaller and smaller From the gods I fall down to earth And escape from my shell

I arise I realise I decode my consciousness And fly

Only to meet the gods And become a snail again Because they/he/she/perhaps it Gives me belief That derives from within

Some days I believe in god Some days I am my own god Some other days I forget who I am And put my head down To remember my persistence And wonder what is my existence

72

II He said “I want to be a snail” I said I don’t Am I an evil snail then For not wanting to be one

The holy spirits are conversing above us They are watching you But you’re so insignificant to them How could you draw their attention When they themselves define contemplation

73

Milla Keski Säntti

74

Spring Poem Hope songs will always hold meaning to you Hope you always will write notes on your phone Hope walks always bring ideas Hope senseless will make sense

Hope spring sun always inspires you Hope you will always notice cats along the street Hope you will always find the courage

75

Orla Davey

76

Autumn Crunching across golden carpets swept by the wind and leaving you

behind

cupping a castaway, watching the dry dead carcass

mirror

the lines of your palm

millions of fortunes dying too early

fluttering away

like butterflies beyond the grave mourning millions of funerals hovering over your head the versions of you dying every day only cloudy wisps hear your murmured protests, your words

killing

what they wanted you to be

Spilling downwards, a red cascade of crisping metallic fumes, a cologne of knives. It lingers like smoke, coiling through your ragged throat and puncturing your lungs Do you remember

what it was like to breathe? – Before

carrying the foetus of pain in your belly the clutching

the retching

firm as an orange or chestnut

the sagging

under its weight giving your blood to watch it feed People asking in shades of brown and orange and red and gold when they knew

the answer they wanted

77

Double helix swirls of birds burst from the dry flames, migrate a genetically-engraved path

no other way forward

Feeling like you were meant for no one else

but that one person

who let you down

Skeletal arms shed their skin bursting the red scent of knives let everything fall watch the world strip itself bare

78

Galium saxatile Do you remember

me

scattered across this heath of green titan blades blended, paled wisps of white within wisps of white as far as the eyes can reach?

Do you remember me

among them?

If not, see me now.

Scan the shrubs and sand scattered before you the beige and purple dice rolled by gods carved within the sea-salted coast with knives of fate.

Pour over brutal bite marks of grazing foes

teeth sinking

greedy craters into our skin (I’m still alive there)

Plunge eyes through thick peat and dry air pearls unstrung clouds descended

79

Claw these wispy veils your twitching mouth expecting sugary sweetness but scatter backwards at the sour prick we ooze underneath.

Brides of the land cannot be taken so easily.

Yet your black beady eyes magnify like the reflection of a full moon in a pool of ink.

Take me in those eyes

fixate me within your furrowed body fling me through the field by thumping feet drag me within the darkened depths of black burrows

away from the plush purple haze where I sit adorned and ignored.

Take me away Take me through your sight your memory Carry me in your eyes Blink me into existence even if only for a minute, please

80

let a white wisp of me linger in your vision as you bounce away

Within the snow-cold cluster you leave on the heath a new red heart begins to beat (but you will not remember me)

81

Sometimes We Seem Broken We built our lives out of all the broken pieces people left behind.

Our foundations were built of discarded hopes, fancies flung to the wind and slipping past our fingers like sand, because people don’t want what they no longer care about.

What are you and I even about?

Our skin, bones, even our hearts, are broken beyond repair, but maybe I don’t want to be fixed. You can leave me behind but you don’t. What’s past is past – Future spoon-feeds me plenty of hopes.

I tie them like balloons, letting these hopes pull and tug and turn me about.

The language of rainbows ripples past in your voice, and reality has become broken – like us. Who cares if we’re left behind?

Together tells me all I want.

It may not be castle walls, but it’s all we want.

No one sees the cracks or rough edges of our hopes like the eternal cracks in stone pillars History left behind.

We sew them together by heartstrings, around and about the places where we tread on broken dreams – oh so broken.

Temptation lures me through the darkened cracks gone past.

82

I feel Reality pulling us apart into the past yet my heart leaps forward, urged by Want.

It will be satisfied, stained by love, or broken.

But my hands feel stained by blood, not hopes.

The castle walls glisten crimson as blood drips about while Reason tells me:

it’s time to leave this dream behind

I perch on our secret like a hollowed bird, behind feelings fluttery and afraid, tainting our past lives, leaving a resistant stain on Now. What about Future? How can you stop hearing what you don’t want to hear? I don’t need a throne, I need your skin. Hopes are fading, though.

I walk about the artifacts of our love, left behind.

To the relics of our past, we’ll never stop being broken.

Wish for what you want. Just don’t rely on your hopes.

83

Everything is broken

Cold The fire burns inside me, yet I am cold Your skin sparks fireworks across mine, yet I am cold

Our limbs are tangled like wires, entwining our hearts – the circuit charges and flickers, but still I am cold

I am of the toughest glaciers – I taunt the sun I dare you to do more, to thaw the impenetrable cold

But you cannot love Winter. Who can hug snow without shivering or an icicle without being pierced, watching the hot blood spilling cold?

Your hands, eyes, and mouth tell me you’ll always love me But where are you really? – lost in the cold

You’re my troubled Titanic, destined to sink in my arms – the sun cannot save you when you’re drowning in the cold

You strain to stay afloat like Atlas buckling under the weight of the world, desperate and cold

I hear the complaints brewing in the angry heat of your silence but when you leave the window open, how can I not be cold?

Numb to your flames, I shiver beneath a threadbare curtain watching fireworks fizzle into the inky night – black and free and cold

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Pasiphae I dreamed of grief without a grave walking a gorgon’s path flickering behind

blank eyes

we tread skin, bone, minds and hearts they’re the soil we build upon

I dreamed of grief shoved down the throat blood beating through a maze each corridor a hollowed oesophagus echoing frenzied thoughts marbled by time, impossible to digest

Minotaurs roaming my mind Craving more more more

yet still wondering why

the hands that feed you

fear you

Hooves scraping bone into powder floating like thistles on the wind

One day I’ll birth the blankness an iris bursting full bloom in my sockets

but my bones will remain marble

darkness will simply melt into the depths 85

and root me

each shadow an elongated finger

skewered and shattered

a labyrinth clutch

no screams no blood no tears no maybe ifs no way out

Mothering legends

isn’t enough

the golden glory flickers a brief flame snuffed in a single breath

We never overcome the bad thoughts, we simply learn to ignore them

I dreamed of grief tamed, sedated rewarded for its silent sacrifice

But pounding under the grave of my mind are the swivelling throbs of bull eyes searching for red

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87

Rebecca E. Raddatz

88

Sitting on my suitcase, Full

of

Cloth

es

and books, I wish that I could take instead A bottle full of sunshine And laughter caught inside a net. Could I only pack my luggage full of mirth reflected in your eyes, I’d fill it up with pieces Of dusty morning skies. I’d take the smell of coffee And our lazy morning chats, As well as midnight secrets And cuddling in our beds. I’d put your smile right at the top To brighten all my days, Would safe your hugs at the far bottom, Make sure that everything has space. Yet my luggage cannot hold Anything of worth, I find – So I stored all the memories and pictures Inside my heart and mind.

89

A reserved room In some small chamber of my booked-out heart A room is empty, yet cannot be let You tidied up quite nicely, made the bed And in your head to leave became an art.

You went about it, I confess, quite smart Put up a sign ‘Do not disturb, I sleep’ It made me spent the best part of a week Not knowing what made loving you so hard.

That love abandoned me – rent out it’s room That caused me little of that thing called grief Why did it take its keys, do you believe If not intending to return at noon?

I keep good watch each day, do not forget Out there is one who keeps my love as guest.

90

below the sky the sky is blue so am i where are the clouds? am i not a season between summer and autumn the season of home? i live in the space between longing, between us lichen overgrowth separating us: fabric, fleeting structures feelings of change nothing changes more than you & i, the blossom of forget-me-nots. tear me apart echoes of white, surrounding veils two tears, same song. rip open my chest pit of heaven, black and blue on thinned out skin the sky runs red so do I where does it end?

91

Roshni Baillie

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her she is like a sunbath in spetses and hot green tea on the tay in november and duvet days on sleepy sundays, that sanguine feeling when the world hasn’t quite fallen apart like you thought it would.

she’s like your favourite jumper coming out of the wash and patchouli oil behind your ears and a nursery rhyme remembered by heart, coming home when you felt lost in the big, bad world.

she’s like mermaid nail polish on your toes and finishing a good book without cracking the spine and a lovingly made fresh bread, warm and soft,, when you stretch after finishing a long day of work and everything falls into place.

in a world full of decisions, she is mine.

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the hoarder you’re an artist, they tell me, thrusting the pen into my hand and waiting for the magic, but the ink runs dry and my inspiration dissolves.

i am not an artist, just a collector of words. sure, i rearrange them before the dust can settle, but i don’t dare to dream that i’ll be immortalised through my hoarding.

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95

someone else

96

flightless fucks, introducing Toboggan You know when you see a penguin slide on their belly?

That’s called toboggan.

It is thwarting of predators.

They get a burst of energy and whoa!

They are fast.

And They are, zoom.

This is the swiftest way for a penguin to get about.

It beats waddling and trust me, they get from A to B. Waddling is 2 mph, toboggan is 3749382 mph (source: me).

These flightless fucks had to get creative and here they are, sliding all about.

Another thing that is pretty cool about penguins Is their swimming skills.

Flippered dudes, flying under water.

Who needs wings unless to ruffle some feathers.

Toboggan is effortless, just slide, slide, slide.

97

I am small (no I am big and should watch where I step) I am here in this space and in this time I am occupying a space right next to Something which occupies much more I am occupying a time Which overlaps with Something that occupies so much more You will live my life a hundred times And I will live a fraction of yours

There is something annoying me It is in my hair and all up in my business I will live your life hundreds of times And maybe even more (I don’t know your exact species, sorry) I am occupying a space And you are in it

In spaces like these I realise the impact of my actions And the importance of Those much bigger And those much smaller

98

They Perceive, we perceive ourselves Being Perceived I oscillate between Living and stark realisations I try to live and not perceive When I perceive I feel inferior When I confront myself I feel like I can’t even exist

When alone and safe I can imagine to be Something else (or someone else) And self-indulgently I like to, and I always tend to It’s a habit I have not broken

When a reflection Imposes on me The illusion is gone It makes me sad I feel scared of being perceived Or depicted. That a reflection feels like Unwanted intrusion

When I was 10 I put myself on a diet, I didn’t see myself in the people I saw, I felt different and so far removed from a “”””””””beautiful woman””””””””” (Whatever that even means)

99

I want to make one thing extremely clear I am not unique This is a modern life reality My mom is on a diet and yours probably is too For many, that is the beginning

I have reached a point where To perceive is to long for identity In my pursuit for belonging through a different form All I have really learned is The smaller I get the smaller my life becomes

I don’t wish I was told That weight does not equate to beauty More importantly, I wish I was told that beauty does not equate worth but I’ve only been told I am “Not fat” or that I am “still pretty” or the worst, “boys like you”

These all miss the point, in a truly devastating way

100

I should go to therapy because People Love Me You are close to me In my space, always but I feel unseen Invisible, always

I must be a ghost Or at least, kind of I am approached But unheard, kind of

I’m misunderstood Weird word choice, sorry Oscilating moods Difficult, sorry

I want to take a class In whatever language Whose fluency I lack If, mentally I manage

Then I will speak to you about it really soon

101

Phantom Pain You live inside my brain That’s where I feel my pains It is where I feel an urge to go somewhere that no longer exists

102

someone else for all the times I said I only wish to be someone else

instead of just being me

such a lack of warmth for me

103

Uzo Okereke

104

Sweet PauPau I live to feel the heat of the sun on my back lay in its warmth like a cat, stretching and yawning no measure of time

Kiss on quiet nights under moonlight soft hands in my palms

Feel that Spanish breeze I vaguely remember in the company of friend’s old ‘n’ dear

To inhale fire and breathe ecstasy Life is mine to devour

And So, I Shall Feast Upon It. as a snake does in sand I spread and coil my toes

Like the serpent I shed many times over

But devour I must Sweet PauPau

its juice drips from my lips Life is mine to devour.

105

The Season of Migration

In November, the Birds became shape shifters in the sky.

Migrating into other forms.

Dundalk bus station July 2011, The Morning Time first the for migrating Birds I saw Cork for left we I fell in Awe, and now at 22 in this room.

I see that I too am a bird.

In November I lost my first love winds too violent for him He blew away with the leaves that fell I let him go Hoping a new season would see his return & maybe the season would never come But know that I loved him Sweet baby birds, out the nest too soon.

106

Friday 13th May '22 I am the eternally devoted lover Forever bound in time within the fabric of your skin. Laced in every breathe. The mark upon flesh.

I am the eternally devoted lover

107

To be Felt by her

“two women showing intimacy by sleeping together and embracing one another with their hands wrapped around each another, can you feel it?”

and i did four walls and the bright sun i felt her next to me warm breath on my skin

my God there were flowers, bird’s ‘n’ books she had her hook on me

and i could see that she would be dearly beloved by me

long curls on my forehead legs now intertwined i’d love to believe that she was mine

108

to believe that love, time and space would give us grace and with the pace that love does take

i’d hate to believe the love wasn’t true I know then my heart would break

with the pace that love takes perhaps I will be shown loves grace.

109

Mango Dream Grateful for the light in my eyes that I see and the trees that stand tall ’n’ shade me

For the mango juice that drips from my elbow ’n’ the sweet summer breeze just above my knees

Grateful for my dark skin for now I see how it glows ’n’ it sings

Grateful for the butterflies the birds & the bees all things that come in time and come with ease This is my mango dream

110

My Lady Our Lady of perpetual sadness Has come and gone Wreaked havoc in ways unlike none

Cried for I refused to feed her Refused to see the hunger had begun

very soon she sat on my head and chose not to move

Into trains and buses, she soon followed suit In supermarkets she stayed on pursuit

For weeks I refused To allow her to feast She persisted kicking at my feet

until the hunger became my own And I had to go home

when I arrived she climbed down from my head sat beside me on my bed only then was she fed.

111

I guess this is hope.

I think of how Fast this year Is coming to an end

Proposals of friends’ ‘n’ love and the end of some

I hope I’m excited.

The future is indeed Bright ‘n’ vibrant?

I speak so often of peace and love Compassion for all Although I do fall It is of most importance After all

Ones personal brawl with life Do not take light For life is indeed Bright ‘n’ Vibrant So maybe I am excited

112

Shipley Grown Green Bowls sun-shines different when you’re a kid smells: more vibrant enticing ¬inviting tongues coated: sour lips smeared: icing

small chocolate treats skin seems darker shimmering underwater breathing: Life

113

16th July ‘21 Sitting on my hot rock I see teen drinking and teenage lust

All are in the pursuit of love

Salt on my lips

St James ward Heal me Overlooking balconies in small towns In pursuit of new beginnings I became hopes companion Yellow wheels & Zoot wrappers All are in pursuit of freedom

Thick clouds and a bright sun I’ve left my mark it’s time to run.

114

The Love Letter There are many lives that I have lived. Hearts that I have held close to mine Letters written on post-it notes of Love ‘n’ Joy, & written are the words that have freed me healed corroded wounds and soon when I take flight again, I shall rejoice in the

Life. lived and the hands held.

My cup of Life, I am the Light, the Seer the head, the Father & the Sun and whilst I stay and run to the moon and beg that she should hold me. I take comfort in the words above knowing that I am loved.

I am loved.

115

Vibin Kiriyanthan Baby

116

To My Anonymous Friends There was an image, a photograph Shared by all, Uni cousins and former classmates.

A bunch of Pals they make/made In the new lands #FriendsForEver With these elevations, I packed my bags Filling my insecurities & weirdness to tick my unfinished friendship goals.

All I wish for were a few friends Sharing and caring, supporting each other Making better humans.

Here, I found few good kind people, Beautiful souls, counting 1 & 2, Just as it was easy to make friends, It is easier to end.

You may get in a group & get loose/lost Or take tons of artificial group photos, Of buyback stories, trades and quests.

All I wasted was 100 odd days Looking for at least a half a dozen friend, A support group; inner circle. S/M

Within me I was persistent, Trying, pushing new friends to my modulus.

Just careless feelings, words & typo*s

117

Can severe the ties, demolish the bridges of make.

Getting burnt, bitten, beiBen. Now being advised to learn boundaries, Boundaries in relations with people & cognitive behaviour therapies likes.

All I pray is a second chance, To begin where it started, to make amends To the ties lost, a cold restart Even to cut-off the spar lines that I have drawn Although we all know it will never be the same.

We can now walk away as strangers In these journeys of Abyss, At the end what it takes And matters in a lifetime Is friendship, camaraderie & just Just relations with all of us, fellows The long pursuits of connecting Love, care and share.

All I hope is moving on, You’ll be the same, Just the way you were all to me, The very first time.

With the same warmth, To someone & something new Time will heal us, bless all.

118

Note from the Author about his muse.

The author has a personality trait that brings people who are closer initially to back up, feeling overwhelmed and intimidated by his behavioural persistence and pushing them to an effect, straining. He has been constantly made aware of his oversensitivity, overthinking and basically that he will suffer from “Paralysis by Analysis”. Currently advised by the competent people to understand the boundaries in a relation [with people/souls & things].

Challenging his unhealthy thinking patterns and to work with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). He is in general approachable and kind and has his own reservation and exclusivity in selecting his so-called friends based on his values, instincts and principles. Once he has friends on his radar, he keeps them persistently engaged in their sphere of domain maybe at work, classroom or personal space-relations, over boarding and barging them with questions and deep thinking which some of his friends finds offending, weird, strained/ draining and not worth for. Even classmates have observations of him questioning and becoming argumentative with his Professors. Ultimately, most of all backing off or walking away from him, strangers. Period.

Looking at his childhood, he has had 9+ schools throughout his childhood, as his family had to move throughout India in a transferable service of his father. Although he enjoyed them and forming him what he is at core and a wonderful childhood with multitudes of friends as chapters in his school textbooks, travelling throughout his life as fellow passengers. Moving to a different civilian life, to find himself struggling in college and later at work with his current friends targeting/hunt for friends’ exercise. Basically, he gets bored of a place and routine within a year or few, sometimes within a month, immediately looking out for support to survive or bothering people around his lists of groups with small concerns and questionable sobers. Beating around the bush in Circles looking for support systems, interest groups and socalled inner circles, close emotional souls and things, which mostly find and complained to him as selfish, without care for others etc. which he doesn’t mean/intend to at the very first place. Finding himself in lack of clarity, misunderstood but regretting the damage already made, further repeating to the newer circle and currently moving to a realisation that some questions and people are to be left unanswered.

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