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 May 2013 Bryn
Nik Bland
Desirae
 May 2013 Bryn
Nik Bland
Write my name on the wall dear Desirae
See it as you fall asleep
Keep me in mind when you leave this world behind
Keep me listed in the company  you keep

Float on the dreams that you chance to bring
To my doorstep on late summer moons
Sing me to sleep with words that echo
In the early ides of June

Keep my memory under lock and key
And know my love never waivers for you
My mind switching to your symphony
As my eyes close as if on cue

Lovely above all are you, dear Desirae
In smile, in tear, and all in all
Floating high to uncharted reaches
Simply because you don't fear the fall

Love me from afar, dear Desirae
Know that your beauty is one unfading
And that you are a girl within Heaven's hold
In both lining and in the shading
 May 2013 Bryn
September
Detour
 May 2013 Bryn
September
Looking sideways and I
see the future.
Keep on heading
straight.
 May 2013 Bryn
XNtricity
Find a way
Each and every day
To remind me that you love me
Or else I will forget.

~
~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~~✿~~*~
Gravity:
What goes up,
must come down.
That's what Science tells us.

And though I've never felt
the need to understand things,
only people,
I find myself circling around the
concept of gravity,
and how well it plays with
eastern ideology, with death.

After the spirit ascends,
It must come, crashing, back down
to Earth.
Sparking against the surface
as a new soul, a new way of being.

I've always been told
to read between the lines,
and maybe I've been treating my textbook
like a work of fiction,
but what if gravity is just
a metaphor for obsessive affection,
and reincarnation it's very
toxic enabler?

What if we're just stuck
in limbo, until the Earth
learns how to let us go?
 May 2013 Bryn
Reuben Leivers
Faye Pasquil died without a fuss
When struck on Sunday, by a bus
The driver sneezed and missed the brake
And in that moment sealed her fate
Her final thought, quite curious
Last night she had dreamt of a bus
Yet of an accident no mention
Perhaps she didn’t pay attention
For as the driver took her fare
He told Miss Pasquil ‘Please beware,
I have a cold.’ What could this mean?
Faye wondered waking from her dream
The last thing she expected then
Was death caused by bus number 10
But wait before you shed a tear
At her demise, for just last year . . .
When collecting for some charity
A woman rang Faye’s bell to see
If she might have some cash to spare
Or maybe clothes she didn’t wear
‘I’ve something you can have,’ Faye said
And hit the woman on the head
‘And don’t come back!’ Faye waved her stick
‘You goody-goodies make me sick!’
Faye Pasquil wasn’t very nice
Her hobby was to poison mice
Then let them loose for cats to chew
And then she got to **** them too!
And on the night of Halloween
When children knocked her door, to scream,
For chocolate treats, in scary clothes
She’d drench them with her water hose
But of these incidents gone by
Faye did not ponder, did not try
To pray, repent, or merely see
There was a better way to be
There was no Heaven, was no Hell
God wasn’t real, so who could tell
What happened after your last breath?
You went to sleep, that’s all, that’s death!
However, as Faye closed her eyes
She found there was one last surprise
For lying dead, out in the road
Her mind did not die, but, implode
The light at first was pure as snow
Then brighter, a beatific glow
Pulsating hotter than the Sun
Yet did not hurt to gaze upon
Dead relatives she did not see
Just blinding light, eternity
The cosmos born in black and gold
The pattern of her life unfold
And everything made sense at last
The good, the bad, the ugly past
For even being mean had been
A journey leading to this scene
Mistakes are made so they can show
A way of learning where to go
To see, to know, to love, to live
There’s simply nothing more to give
Awakening a certain truth
Faye Pasquil finally had the proof
A pity then, enlightenment
Had been revealed while Heaven sent
But wait, one more surprise in store
Faye Pasquil wakes upon the floor
She isn’t dead, she needs no hearse
In fact it feels like the reverse
Enlightenment has staked it’s claim
And Faye will never be the same
The old Faye’s dead as dead can be
It’s why death felt so real you see
And now she gives away her things
Attachments gone, she cuts the strings
They have no value any more
Except down at the cancer store
October doesn’t need to come
For kids to visit for some fun
Faye throws a party every week
With music, sweets and hide & seek
Her neighbours think Faye’s accident
Is brain damage, it’s evident
‘That knock was no calamity,
It’s changed her personality!’
Faye smiles at rumours of her brain
There’s really no need to explain
This was her true self all along
She just forgot for far too long.
 May 2013 Bryn
Susan O'Reilly
Gripping you as hard as I can

not letting go your my man

she’s become your no. 1 fan

jealousy’s her name, revenge her plan

You’ve given me no reason to feel this way

but I feed her passion every day

she constantly wants to play

always ready, your faults, to display

The time you smiled at the check-out girl

she got my head all in a whirl

whispering things, emotions to unfurl

I’m finding her hard to control

Yesterday she followed you

her actions I rue

hateful words she did spew

while making sure your in her view

I know she’ll do something and we’ll be over

our relationship won’t be able to recover

you’ll find a more trusting lover

and not have to travel undercover

I’m sorry for me

but she feels no pity

happily destroying me
 May 2013 Bryn
glass can
Upside down is my right side up
With too-thin skin, splayed legs
and lips ****** of substance,
I lie quietly on rumpled sheets.

a word some say that I've said too much:
s-o-r-r-y sorry sorry sorry

It loses sincerity when uttered often,
but I am sorry, I haven't said it enough.

is my chagrin charming?
is my self-deprecation darling?

(no response)

I'm told (insert compliment).
I believe it, I have heard.
I both love and loathe myself.

******* and flagellation,
brought on by the same hand
penance, paid; insatiable, still

Just sit, ******
and watch a martyr at work.
 May 2013 Bryn
Hastings Padua
and bowls full
of wilting basil, stewed
until the house was angry
and steamy and sweating
and i was a *****
all alone. i burnt a batch,
and cursed the garden
for its absurd bounty.
what is this? this late-august
harvest of excess. too much
for me to enjoy. but nature,
she has been good this year.
later, i watched a woman push
her cart down the middle
of the road. i could smell
the funk from her moldy jacket
and unwashed hair and the fungus
between her toes. she stared
with her hardened eyes,
like the bitter sun that burned
the tomatoes into exploding clusters
of juice and seeds. her calloused hands
squeezed rotting blankets in her cart,
writhed in some quiet strangulation
of some stranded moment.
i passed by and caught her eye.
we were equals, in blood and in bone,
trapped in some jarring expectation
of destination, in uncertainty
and in hope. she will go back
to her corner to watch the world
drive by, i will go back to my stove
and simmer, waiting for the summer harvest.
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