Category Archives: Uncategorized

Depression for Two

We cling to each other like wreckage
that’s found a partner in the storm.

The mirror by our bed captures our pain
and, in return, I show it what love is.

© Keighley Perkins



There is not enough alcohol in the world
to flush you out of my system.

As stubborn as heartache,
you sit beneath my skin,

cutting paperdolls of yourself
to display around the halls of my body.

© Keighley Perkins

The Distillery

These days, I’m trying to get over you
but you’ve worked your way into my system
like a good whiskey

and turned my body into a distillery
that makes thoughts of you
in oaken casks of longing.

And, though I know I shouldn’t,
I find myself sampling the merchandise
from time to time,

getting hazy on the thought of you,
drowning these frustrated sorrows
in the liquored memory of your eyes.

© Keighley Perkins

Home: A Double Wash Stand

Before the age condemned such joint ablutions
you dip your hands in the tepid water
as the geese come in low across the lake
landing on their shadows, becoming their wake,
breaking apart their imago they seemed to chase.
So you break this tension, shattering your own reflections.
There is a complicity in getting clean together
who knows what distances you travelled in your sleep,
drawn back towards one another,
and the secrets that those distances will keep.
Each movement fluid and practised in the winter air,
you revel in this intimate act, not quite each other’s double.
You mime the mannerisms of other lives
like brother and sister; I mean, man and wife.

Adam O’Riordan


dark brown eyes
scanning dusty tarmac
a boy on a swing

head down
mouth humming
a boy swinging intensely

before dusk he must go
to his grandmother’s house
on the edge of the city

alone on a swing
thinking on a swing
a boy

his mother will stay home
she won’t go to the shelter
people here are afraid of shelters
they remember last time

the chains of the swing
they clank they screak
the boy’s head fills
with explosions

a boy on a swing

Adrian Mitchell

Summer Roof

Every night that summer

when we went to bed on the flat roof,

I stayed awake
watching the opposite roof
where he was,
a tiny light turning on
every time he puffed his cigarette.

Once I was shown his paintings
and I went home
and wrote his name all over my books.

I keep imagining what he would say
how he would respond.
I imagined being married to him,
looking after him when he fell ill,
cooking for him, washing his hair.
I imagined sleeping on the same roof.

A whole year went by and we never talked
then suddenly an empty house opposite us,
an empty roof, not staring back
and sleepless nights for me.

Years later we met again
the same man with a few fingers missing,
bed tempered, not able to paint.

We never spoke
we remained on our separate roofs.

Choman Hardi

NaNoWriMo 2015

Anyone who is familiar with this blog will already know that I’m far more likely to write poetry than prose. However, this year, I’ve decided to take the huge leap and take part in NaNoWriMo.

I’ve had a novel brewing in me for the past few years now and I’m hoping that this year will be the year that I’ll eventually manage to get it out. I’ve set up a page, so there’s no turning back now!

Should you wish to follow my progress, you can do so here.