The summer storms picked up more than a few wheelie bins – they’ve whisked away the whole of August and September too! Line your October nest with this shimmering selection from our last callout Daydreams.

Picket Fences

By Anna Shabi

Twenty-something knowing:
nothing. Life walks unpredictable, yet days are dull and blunt your mind,
so you take refuge in believing, on the other side, that
the grass is greening under a white star,
and you drip dozy-wakefulness and wonder how far you can push
before the day pulls you apart.

These are the days untethered, and you swing just uncontrollably enough to run the line of ending;
domestication ruined wolves, and you are wary of the cages braced between soft words, yet
in quiet hours with the grey sky limitless as you,
your dreams shrink to a hazelnut cocooned within your palm.

Your hopes are small and delicate—a porch swing and two coffee cups—
and this world of vast ambition shames the wish for less.
But in these days where you are unseen only in your dreams,
there is no need to fear them.

Pour yourself another cup. There’s sugar in the bowl.

Isle of Arran

18th July 2022

by Olga Sawczuk

surrounded by the sound of waves
soothing whispers hidden in
tangled hair brushed by wind
your liminal nook of reality
knocking lightly at my doors
journey along the riverbanks
swift stream, slow walk
timeworn books, ancient blue eyes
seeing through the buzzing mass
anxious dreams
resting our bodies which walked miles
sitting between two clear windows
overlooking the West and the East
my eyes out of focus
my mind held in your hand.

Disintegrating

by Ciara Colthart

Can we live in summers sun’s rays,
stay in a blinded day of dream,
feel the warmth’s perspiration
as though it was heat and not guilt.
That soft sunset pink; lickable.
Almost like I couldn’t taste you,
a phantom sense as though I never knew you.
A month of long days that I made up,
I float in a boat, under the sky’s fire setting,
drifting away from the land we walked.
I don’t panic to return but sleep; calmly,
knowing I promised you a foot on the earth.
Hurting you is like self-harm
Loving you was a haze of reverie,
it wasn’t real but it coloured me in
I loved it. You loved it.

Is this what a coping mechanism is?

I don’t want to be the one of us
that wakes up first but I’m tossing, turning
the duvet of this grassy field, my heart
no longer racing like there’s something to be won.

Thought I’d woken up but I just stared through the days
Knowing the past 4 years with you
was a coma for healing.

A stream of consciousness,
dripping daydreams to help me disregard,
Present’s, presence of you.