Paper Is A Good Listener

Mohamed Saloo

Paper is a good listener
With an eloquence serene
The scrawling nib that writes
The thoughts of what I mean

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New Day

Justine Young

What will we wake up to, tomorrow?
Can the sun bear to shine on a new, fresh sorrow?
Where will be hurting?
Who will be crying?
What breed of hate will make sense of the dying?

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The Running Bug

Tahera Mayat

I lost my Parkrun newbie badge
At Oakwell Hall Parkrun in Birstall
It was the day before my birthday
So I was looking forward to cake

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I Am Being Haunted By Cake

Bilal Saloo

I am being haunted by cake.

In the morning when I wake,
I can taste it on the tip of my tongue

I’m woken to the smell of coffee and toffee cakes,
of lemon drizzle, chocolate puddings, red-velvet, ice-cream, battenberg…

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A Letter To My Future Self

Jem Tovey

In Biblical terms three score and ten, is our allotted span.
Six decades gone already, so I have just one more to plan.
I often write to do lists, but this time perhaps I won’t.
Risking negativity, I think I’ll write a list of don’ts.

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Because Today Is Just Another News Story

Mohammed Barber

Every day we turn on the news at 8
Every day brings another heartache

Bombs of the battlefield are now placed
In the offices of our elected officials
Intended to turn their bodies into a bloody paste
Though from our warm living rooms and plush armchairs
It doesn’t seem all that bad.

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M

Alf

The wind whispers the words of ghosts haunting my memory in flashes of sweet, silent clarity,
and I remember.
I remember souls reaching as waves grasping for shore
And I remember joy
I remember hearts yearning as I had never endured before
And I remember love

I remember.

I remember pain;

I hear echoes form in shadows as I walk alone; belonging to a time of pure, complicated innocence
And I try to forget
I try to forget the agony of religious intrusion
Yet I remember fear
I try to forget the confusion of unimaginable hate
Yet I remember loss

And yet I remember.

I remember defiance;

I remember defiance in blissful tear stained moments together,
I remember the separation of time and the anguish of death.
And I feel the hollow wound where we once hid in our search for truth, peace and acceptance

And still, I remember you.

What Were They Thinking?

Yorkshireman

Curious minds scour the wreckage
Pouring over the items they find.

‘What happened here?’ they cry
Eyes dumbfounded and minds confused

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