THE WINGED MOON
ANCIENT DAFFODILS
Howard Young
Everything falls
Stroked by time,
Engage with it
Defy immortal powers
And let the river of the past
Soak into the present.
The moment dissolves into the next one,
Renewal always sings of death
TO CALL FOR LETHE
Rayana Roy
Sleep doesn’t come so easily for me, not when the burden is heavy.
I hear bells of church, a eulogy whispered past,
I smell wisterias in the corner of the parson’s pages
My hands crush olives, jasmine flowers
Their juices overflow from hands,
To fall upon the syllables, the power of nature failing,
An audacious scarcity, centuries old in making.
My writing has dried up, spaces empty
It smells of rotten luck, lyres gone silent,
Birds screeching in thunderous riots.
I toss and turn dreaming of wakeful maenads
Of nymphs who bathe in the river of Lethe, pointing their wicked fingers,
Guiding me onto steps, led down,
To a forgetful land, an Infernal abode
Where grateful slumber blankets this dream
The faithless spirits frequenting the river,
Call out – ‘Drown in, the waters as crystal clear to bring life
It eases bones, soothes turbulent thoughts, lulls the heart’
My weary smile droops, one sip of this powerful river
And the weight of memories, the burden of thoughts will leave
When I wake ‘morrow, the sun will shine with greater ferocity
The cloud swiftly bright as Apollo’s eyes
These senseless hands brimming of escaped passion,
They would not hit with blunt edged strikes
The pain would be felt, the gods would rejoice again.
But does the sip change the view? Or do you finally hear a lonely ghost calling you to the
forgotten room?
Lethe still flows past, beside my barren soul,
A game of haunting we play, between demands and requests
The wells do not draw any water, but yet I stand in pyrrhic faith
Holding this pen, dreaming of a life heard by thousands.
ART ANCIENT DAFFODILS by HOWARD YOUNG
Howard Young lives by the sea in Sussex, UK with his wife children and too many books, records and typewriters. He is the author of a collection of poetry called To Know The Way Back published by Sunday Mornings At The River. He is a painter and sculptor, creating both spontaneous sketch poetry (by hand, no corrections, no editing) and free verse/prose poems. He is also published in many fine publications such as this one. He can be found on Instagram @brighton_typewriter_poet
Rayana Roy is a third-year student of Loreto College, Kolkata, West Bengal, completing her undergraduate degree in English Literature. She is passionate about writing in any form, be it for creative or academic purposes. Along with her love for writing, she is interested in drawing and listens to music in her free time. She has a penchant for thriller and horror stories and has been a columnist at Imperium publication. Her work has appeared in Chair Poetry Evenings Anthology (part of Kolkata’s International Poetry Festival) and in her
college magazine Expressions. She can be found on X as @Rayanareads.