Showcase: Echoes In A Vacuum + Reclaiming The Pages + The Fighter In Me + Air Lovers

Edited by Sebastian Elanko

Welcome to April’s second Showcase and I thought I’d start by sharing that National Poetry Month is observed in April (United States and Canada), which was introduced in 1996 by Academy of American Poets. So, I would like to dedicate this week’s Showcase to poetry. When you write poetry, it’s not always easy to think of where to publish your work. Often, it takes a long time to create pieces, including a number of edits, and it becomes a labour of love, with the final piece being deeply personal.

This made me think about when I first started writing poetry and how I would borrow thoughts and moments from my surroundings and incorporate them in my poems. These made them personal and people who knew me wanted to read them. Looking back, I realise this is why my poems started being published. I remember being at school when my work was first published. The monthly publication was created with limited resources and only a few copies were put out, so they were housed in the reference collection. Having seen my work published, I was thrilled and regularly submitted more throughout my school years. This became a wonderful habit and allowed me to express my thoughts through poetry.

Many service personnel use art and poetry as a release, as well as a way to calm their minds. The work they do to keep us safe often comes at great personal cost, and creative expression can help them process what they’ve lived through. With that in mind, the poem I’m sharing this week, Echoes In A Vacuum, explores what a person carries and how it stays with them long after the moment has passed.

Echoes In A Vacuum

I am a soldier, I am a soldier,
The word is carved deep in my brain.
I was groomed for pride, to serve my country,
To see dark duty as a noble gain.
But kill and death are not adventure,
There is no pride in war’s grim measure.
I killed so many, not all were soldiers,
You cannot know the weight a true heart holder,
I will not confess my actions here,
Nor accuse the commands I obeyed through fear.

Hope that you can understand my excruciated soul,
My sanctioned operations, how I was consumed by my role.
I never thought of right or wrong when I was in the fight,
But I was a sole participant in mass destruction’s blight.
I was trained to override my humanity, not to kill,
But in the drill, we roared as one, “One, two, three, four… I will!”
I do not know how to outrun the actions I went through,
I caused more death and devastation than I could ever undo.
For years this burning lava in me will not cool down,
Still scalding me and searing, long after I backed down.

I obeyed the order—I am a soldier—
Yet my actions tore my moral fibre.
They haunt me now in nightmare and fear,
A silent scream that no one will hear.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
“Good soldiers always go to heaven.”
That drill sergeant’s voice still echoes in my ears,
Even after so many civilian years.
I know the gates of heaven will never open for me;
I plead for salvation from this hell on bended knee.
The consequence of my action is irredeemable,
The suffering I caused, unimaginable.
I never cried, but I carry the weight of my shame,
And regret the day that I became a soldier’s name

© Sebastian Elanko, 2025

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I just had to include this next poem by Nicky, as it has a unique way of catching thoughts in the current time as well as a time gone by. The way it progresses and selects glimpses of thoughts and memories and intertwines them together is magical. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Reclaiming The Pages

Here in my home the wood stove flickers warmly,
You sit with your arms clasped above your head,
We relax in our socks, hold the hand of silence.
You snuffle and sigh at something you have read.

We are older now. We have watched many winters
Return to leech the living colours from the page,
Seen the naked shapes of the same lovely trees,
Thickening and twisting in a slow hieroglyphic of age.

The birds still sing and flit among the branches,
Bare, ruined choirs of once great cathedrals of trees,
As Cicero watched the birds for augurs of foreboding,
We watch the startled starlings scribble on the breeze.

Stand by the window love and hold my hand.
Hold me steady as we read the augurs of our age.
The dying omens in nature, the anguished cries and flights,
War’s calligraphy of cruelty, the burning of the page.

Snatch back some of the unburnt pages now!
Write a story worthy of our end.
The passion, the comfort, the quiet joy of living:
Let’s face the fearful future as lover and as friend.

© Nicky Rogers, 2026

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Our next piece shares the thought of being a fighter at each point in life and how, at each milestone, there’s another fight to have. The poem’s chronology picks up   how they fought at each turn.

The Fighter In Me

I fought in the womb.
I was fighting to be born.
I fought to be in this world.
I have been a fighter even before I was born.

I fought to be loved.
I fought to be appreciated. I fought to be noticed.
I fought to be cared about.
I had fought to even be heard.

I fought for my education.
I fought for my loved ones.
I have fought systems for people I don’t even know.

I fought insecurities.
I fought doubts.
I fought betrayal.
I fought abuse.
I fought rejection.
I fought jealousy from those close to me.

I fought the stereotypes.
I fought the labels.
I fought the marginalisation.
I fought not to be mishandled or mismanaged.

I fought the naysayers.
I had to learn not to take it personally.
It is part of the price I have to pay,
to make the difference I have always wanted to make.

Being a fighter is who I am.
Perhaps it was always part of His plan.
I didn’t break.
I became stronger.
Because I am a fighter.

© Nicole Brown, 2026

Connect with Nicole on X: @Iamnbrownn, Instagram: @Iamnbrownn or LinkedIn: Nicole Brown

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I’d like to leave you with Air Lovers, a thought-provoking poem by Isabelle.

Air Lovers

He keeps on saying no
To say yes, as rapidly
He shuts her out
Closes doors
Locking himself out
Burying her deep
Too deep
She digs trenches and tunnels
Under his skin
There’s a war raging inside
Outside, it’s just another day
In Paradise
Define Paradise, please
He dares himself to even try
Who needs Paradise?
One only needs
A room of one’s own
It’s common knowledge
Lovers and writers alike
He keeps on saying no
An eye on what could be
An eye on Paradise
The mirror image of Hell
Define Hell, please
Hell is other people
It’s common knowledge
Or their absence
If you asked him
Oh, please, don’t ask him
Truth is not reality
How can they pretend
They don’t exist?
How can they avoid realness?
If they want “them” to exist
They mustn’t make it real
Make it light, instead
Lighter than flesh and blood
Hollow but fierce
Unlimited

© Isabelle Audiger, 2026

Connect with Isabelle on Facebook: facebook.com/isaudiger or Instagram: @isabelleaudiger or LinkedIn:  linkedin.com/in/isabelle-audiger 

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Thank you for sharing time on borrowed thoughts and how our lives are intertwined by our thoughts and how they filter into the poetry we write. As a poet, it’s been a pleasure compiling this page of poetry for you. Please keep submitting your work and hopefully you can see it on here too!

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You can hear great new ideas, creative work and writing tips on Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo, or find us on Podcasters.Spotify.com.

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If you or someone you know has been affected by issues covered in our pages, please see the relevant link below for ​information, advice and support​: https://pentoprint.org/about/advice-support/