Shedtember…. poems from the heart


I tuck away stacks of scripts,
that you and I might speak
into the archive of my mind’s eye.
Wishing of a broken prophecy,
that perfected words would come to me,
as air does to lungs.
Rehearsed, repeated, phrased
for maximum charm,
I take aim at you.
I’ve been persuading Lady fate’s cheek,
that our paths become crossroads.
Turning, turning over in my mind,
the words you might grace me to reply,
to be prepared for all.

Finally! Fate deals me a card,
paths interlacing.
I prepare to start my play,
but not a planned word glides onward.
Instead a jumble
as many would run late for a train.
I am no longer a wordsmith,
But now a blabbering fool
incapable of filtering my words.
I listen, hopelessly aware of the words
that slip away from me
like one who tries to remember a dream.

The moments gone faster
than your feet across the tiles.
Back to the drawing board,
my eloquence is lost on you.

Amber Donovan-Stevens

Conch Shells, Cat Island, BahamasSea view

I am the queen of here.
I purr round your ankles or pull you in deep
depends on how much you want.

You wade through my breaking smiles
look for my heart
crush empty shells where it used to be.

Sometimes you cling to my sister.
I watch her seduce you with velvet gold
drown in my blue calling for you
so you leave with waves in your head.

After the heat

You sit there silent
smouldering red
your fists full of shadow.

I’m not sure what happened before.

Climb up my words
pick some for later
they’ll hold hands when cicadas are calling.

Or I’ll wait for the rains to fill your voice
set sail in a teardrop
beach on your mouth.

JV Birch


Last Sonnet

If death takes you first then I will not leave,
abandoning the world for your bedside.
If you could have counted the times I cried
you would understand what it’s like to grieve.
I wanted to do everything with you,
slow down time and memorize your voice,
watch you dying if that’s my only choice
I want you to believe my words are true.

For now I can feel your pulse beats steady.
I only ask you waste your words on me,
tell me your stories, your lies, your worries
Then when the time comes, I will be ready.
Any time left with you will set me free,
I shall die alone with your memories.

Bethany Craddock-Stone


Do not pass the medicine onto others,
It may harm them.
It belongs to a group of medicines called analgesics,
and is used to treat pain.
Do not take more than the recommended dose;
It can cause side effects:
agranulocytosis, neutropenia, thrombocytopenia.
If you take more than you should,
seek immediate medical advice,
because of the risk of liver damage,
bruises, swelling of the hands, feet , throat.
Always take exactly as instructed,
swallow whole with a drink of water.
Keep this; you may need it again.

Iona Freeman

Hometown Past

You were my hometown.
Skyscrapers taking root instead of trees
With lights and colour continuously sparkling no matter what the time
So that when my sleep was disturbed by fear and terror, I awoke to the comforting glow of the warm lights
Blatant advertisement on buildings and street lamps turned into art as posters were layered on top of each other
There appeared to be a desperate struggle to be seen
Which contrasted greatly with the city itself
It was a city that offered the luxury of invisibility for all
You were my hometown.
The setting for my coming of age story
With plenty of streets and tiny shops to be discovered
Allowing me to wonder aimlessly and not be questioned
Giving me the freedom to walk without judgement
The parks were roused with children’s laughter and the soft whispers of their mothers
The sidewalks playing host to both excitable tourists and impatient locals
The yellow taxis constantly moving – the city that never stopped or slept
Until I left.
You were my hometown.

Francesca Stocker

3 thoughts on “Shedtember…. poems from the heart”

  1. What a wonderful shedful of mouthwatering words – really glad you’ve shared them. Each one so individual yet all bringing another summer to a close with that inescapable sense of loss that autumn brings with its Keatsian melancholy. Love the illustrations too – thanks everyone.

  2. Yes, I agree with Valerie – this themed issue of The Shed helps to mark the changing of the seasons. It’s one of the big themes – the heart; I enjoyed all the poems – the variety of poems and the images added to my enjoyment. Thanks.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s