KIRK LAFFERTY

All memories of Christmas entertained will be gone when the parents of presents given no longer sit by night under pine needles scent. Children will not half-awake dream of what’s to come. No bicycle bells will ring down ‘Boxing day’ streets. Christmas tarts, fruit mince sweet, with enough booze to baffle the dog that stole them from Christmas table and guiltily eats them on the floor, will not be remembered. Who will rise to the occasion to save us,  remind us of overfed tummies,  family feuds on yearly retreat and proclaim:   ‘ This has been so much fun ,     how great it is to see you all .’ Just the one uncle, who, after embalming himself in brandy stumbled between the trees outside in stupor and shouted, ‘I can see the curvature of the Earth .’ Only then can we say Christmas remembered didn’t fall flat, finally proof also, the Earth is not.

I am just the voice My body left earlier Over time I discarded the parts They were starting to malfunction anyway My mind was overloading So I shut that down too Sometimes I would try to find the pathways to use it again But it evaded all attempts to be found Then I was As I am now Just the voice Sound waves in the ethos With the lack of the mind What cannot be processed Can never be wrong I am spoken but not remembered Living only ever in the moment Shouted   at times Caught silent in the wind in those moments between I do get noticed Then people turn my way And look right through me Noticed no more I am the words They thought they heard But when they look Even of that they are no longer sure It makes them wonder if there was anyone there in the first place Putting down the voice to just a figment of their imagination And that moment when everyone stops listening I am the voice No more.

It’s a deafening roar the cicadas shuffle, echoing out across Western Park. Here in nature's morning, I expected silence, away from the cities drone. What I got was Gaia shouting louder than cars. A ball of fluff rides the breeze across in front of me unidentified in its origin, maybe a dogs shedding coat, possibly a duvet inner or violence ripped  jacket. Artificial or not it seems to belong, while it still dances just for me. But then it settles beside cigarette butts, pie wrappers and empties. The breeze drops letting the acrid smell of urine permeate upwards. At this moment the cicadas are alone in claiming back this patch of nature, from drunks spoiling exercises the night before. Raising the question, Whose park is it anyway? Who is to say another's freedom through the dark hours was not it's intended use  Then the breeze returns, and on it floats away my dancing fluffball. Shards of light break through, looking all biblic...

The word I won’t say lest it scare her off That sits at the top of my tongue waiting to slide down and out And when it does the playground will be open to me Or not. The word I won’t say because it scares me to say it To let myself go and leave myself open To what she says in return What If the seesaw drops and she is not there on the other end Other words come easy I will climb up and over them Roll with them on the grass Shout them from the top of the castle But they are not what I feel    I yearn to not always play alone in the sandpit I want to take walks to the point and further To grow up just enough to At some time stop acting like a child Gain the courage to say I love you But only in some moments The rest I just want to play on the swings.

I want nothing from you world. No sour grapes sold before their time. No old avocados brown when opened. No irate tellers who are there to give me my money at the bank. I don’t want sad service in a restaurant, Or overly happy people selling me insurance I know I don’t need. The sun that shines to hard. The winter chill that makes me not want to get up. What you gave me, Equally, you take away. Why is everything an example to me of that which I am going to lose I want nothing from you world Are women so different than men that they can say, you’ve got me now you don’t? Why should we gamble when the odds mean we are going to lose? Does every morning have a forecast for rain? Because if it did, that’s what we would expect. Then when the sun came out, it would be a surprise. But how many of those can we expect to get, In a river that flows downstream, In a tide that always seems to be out. I want nothing from you world because, when I get a surprise, I want it to be.  ...

A large cardboard refrigerator box opened out from under her, for comfort, of sorts, for the collection of change from those who passed her by, who kept on walking. Across the road a café opened, the smell of shower gel and hairspray fresh on the customers who walked in and out anonymous. Cars sped by, their drivers trying not to spill their paper cup lattes, checking their Facebook, picking the coagulated sleep crustaceans from their eyes, trying to make that light, always red, always red, why are the lights always red when you have to be somewhere you think is important?  She tips over, a mass of dirty clothes now hiding a body which is also worn, also spent. She cries out, a  breath carrying silent words wheezed from lungs tarred from rollies, fag ends discarded by others, her last luxuries, from a life without. No words, just a breath gently escaping as her body turns off, at ease, at last. No-one hears all ears are turned else ware. The lights turn green and...

Photo , The key , Mexico 2008 My Writing Tutor told me  never write about the mundane, cups of tea, or going to the bathroom or the things in life that really  do not have too much meaning, I took that as a challenge  Here is Cuppa Cuppa       ‘Come down for a cuppa', she said, as if nothing else mattered. Had she forgotten all that had gone before? Of course she had, she was old. It was easier for her to forget than to remember what it was she said.         That day she called me by my brother's name, sitting me down scone and cream, thinking I was he, reciting all the crimes, I as me, had committed, some so bizarre that it was hard to believe she believed they were true. It was impossible to stop myself from shaking. My hand faltered as my mind tried to leave the room.           I watched as crumbs dropped from the side of my now tilted saucer, the sane times disappearing into not...