Edited by Clara Khan

Over the last four weeks we’ve shed light on the various changes in life: in school, in nature, through death and as writers. In this last July Showcase, I want to conclude that change is not only a natural and inevitable part of life, but also necessary. As children, we expect change through physical and cognitive development. Through our teenage years, we continue through emotional change. Adulthood often brings unexpected change, while our elderly years show change as a decline. If we place ourselves at the end of our life and look back, we can say that change is not only inevitable, but essential. Whether it’s planned or completely out of our control, it’s something that must occur during a human life in order to experience true development and evolution. However it occurs, change must be acknowledged, accepted and embraced as a key element of the human experience and in becoming the best version of ourselves.

The five pieces I’ve chosen this week are a collection of poems reflecting the changes we experience throughout life; a ‘Bildungsroman’ through poetry, if you will. They express different forms of change, ultimately resulting in an evolution and progression. A wonderful collection which truly embodies the idea that embracing change is embracing life.

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In this first piece, we’re listening to the thoughts of someone experiencing an internal struggle between a past and the fight to keep moving forward.

Listen

Wading through thick sludge that penetrates every orifice adding to the weight of an
already burdened soul.
Still, moving “forward” with no direction with no option.
No choice.
Arriving at the shore dripping, tripping, agonising about what could be.
No poise.
One foot “forward” whilst the other is left behind.
Still, each unconvinced step “forward” and shallow breath brings about a shy conviction
bubbling forth from the pits of the belly.
It grows like a bubble.
Light and free.
With time the boundaries get “stronger”.
“Don’t go back there” whispered a voice.
“Keep moving forward”

© Silviya Vijeyaruban, 2024

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In this second piece, form plays a part in expressing the tumultuous questions and answers we can experience when dealing with someone. Who are we when we are with a specific person?

Definition

He says, I’m a quiet one.

What does he mean?
What does it mean, for him?
What does it mean, for me?

Is he right though?
Am I a quiet one?
Am I the quiet one?

What difference does it make?
And if I am not,
What does it make me?

What is the opposite?
What is not a quiet one?
What is a quiet one?

A positive?

A negative?

Does it even define me?

Why would it be relevant?
To what?
To whom?

Should I care?

Should I allow him

                                                              to define me?

Is it because he left me empty?
Or because he couldn’t fill me?

Or because I had no questions,
And he kept feeding me

answers?

I am not a quiet one,
He left me a quiet one.

© Isabelle Audiger, 2024

Connect with Isabelle on Facebook: facebook.com/isaudiger, X: x.com/isaudiger, Instagram: @isabelleaudiger/, via their website: isaudigerauteure.over-blog.com/  and on The Book Edition: thebookedition.com/fr/24418_isabelle-audiger

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In this poem, we see the writer realise that, whatever change they have experienced, it isn’t truly who they are. It’s a change which has happened and must be accepted as reality in order to move forward.

Changes

I’ve lost myself,
And cannot see.
What path to take,
Who I’m meant to be.
The twists and turns,
Go round and round.
Just more changes,
To be found.
“I’m only young”,
I often say.
Too young for this,
A struggle each day.
Embarrassed by me,
By loss of dignity.
This isn’t who
I’m meant to be.
I feel shame,
Anger,
And rage.
Though my body
And mind,
Are locked in a cage.
To free myself,
I need to be.
Accepting of,
My new reality.

© J.White, 2024

Connect: Facebook @jessica.white.5855

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This moving poem brings us back to the idea of the impact of children in our lives. Whether they are physically with us or not, their memory remains.

The Child I Was With A Pure Heart Is Still There

Tell me something about you
So you tell him some things
But not too much
There’s not very many people you tell the whole story to
Like when you had a child removed
They say they don’t judge but they do
It’s never far away
I mean, I walk a fine line between
“I made poor choices, it’s all my fault”
And “No, it’s just my history”
Depending on the day

And if they can hold your pain in their hands they are the special ones
And if they can’t then lucky them
For having a life that hasn’t cut, bruised and wounded,
And unlucky them, because it’s hard to grow
If you have no compassion

I don’t know how I can love
The way my mam couldn’t love me
She kicked me out
Criticised me
Slut shamed and judged me
Never protected me
All before I turned 20

I’ll never be her
Hurt people hurt people do they?
No. It doesn’t have to be that way

I’m strong yes, but I’m light too
I gave out and got back what I wanted
My greatest defenders and cheerleaders are my children
So in the end I’ve already made things better than I found them
And the child I was with a pure heart is still there

© Abby Traynor, 2024

Connect with Abby on Facebook: Abby New and via Instagram: @alt_leaders

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This last piece is an emotive poem with connotations of trauma, regret, hope and victory. This idea that no matter what has happened, we can rise again to become bigger and better versions of ourselves.

When the Game is Over

Your face still haunts me,
In my dreams and waking moments.
I cannot claim a day
When you do not possess me;
Always I crave your phantom touch.

Even when it was hard,
And I thought all hope lost,
When I feared you no more than myth,
I never gave up on you;
Though, the stark truth: you had long since given up on me.

I cannot help but blame myself,
For entrusting you with my heart;
A lesson I should have learnt long before you,
When it took me so long, time after time,
To stitch it back together.

Will the day ever dawn
When I no longer think of you?
Or, at least, no longer feel this pain?
Or will you be with me until my dying day,
I forever haunted by our unfinished story?

Was my despair always your intention,
Our love a mere puppet show for your indulgence?
Was loneliness written in my every line, ripe for exploitation;
A trigger for your desire to wound and cripple another;
Your victory claimed as the tears ran down my face?

Although you crushed me,
Relished in my agony with sadistic glee,
I will survive you and your narcissistic playground;
From the ashes of the abandoned relics of your game
I shall rise again, you banished to distant memory.

© Lee Allen, 2024

Connect with Lee on Facebook: @LeeAllenAuthor, X: @LeeAllenAuthor, Instagram: @LeeAllenAuthor and via their website: leeallen.my.canva.site/

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Read Issue 21 online here or find it in libraries and other outlets. You can see previous editions of our magazines here. 

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. 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 Spotify for Pocasters.

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