Brian Docherty

Stepping into Autumn at 65

A time of new beginnings, a time for journeys,
a chance to meet new people, discover new places,

store up memories to get me through Winter.
I have just returned again from San Francisco,

and know that I can never live there now,
even for say, seven years, because I am afraid

as I have never been before, after seeing my father
lose weight and muscle tone, so that a short walk

to the pub was almost too much, then Alzheimer’s
kicked in hard and sudden; this biggest and strongest

of men became a shadow who had to ask my Mum
“Who was that guy with the beard who was here?”

and who asked me on the phone, “How’s Rose?”
forgetting that she is gone, and I do not want

to toboggan down that slope into darkness;
when my GP asks about our family medical history

I remember my Nana went the same way; I wonder
how long my Autumn will last, where I will spend

the last stage of this journey, and whether it will
matter, if I know anyone there or then, and whether

anyone will know me; in the meantime, this moment
is all there is, and the weather is surprisingly good.

Brian Docherty lived and wrote in north London for 40 years, and is now part of a growing community of writers, artists and musicians in East Sussex. His most recent publications are Only in St. Leonards: A Year on the Marina, (2017) and Blue to the Edge: for Rosemary, in remembrance (2020)

Mandy Haggith

Discontent

Blue sky, fast-moving cloud,
all the trees with sun-silvered branches,

gleaming rushes bent eastwards,
backs to the wind we all know is coming,

like we turn our backs on the politicians whose untruths
sting our eyes if we face them,

turn our backs on the impacts of fossil fuel burning,
unable to countenance alternatives,

turn our backs on the people
whose forests are cut down, whose land is flooded.

Whether we face it or not,
the wind will blow.

Mandy Haggith lives in Assynt, Scotland, and teaches Literature and Creative Writing at the University of the Highlands and Islands. Her books include four poetry collections, most recently Why the Sky is Far Away (Red Squirrel Press, 2019), a tree poetry anthology, a non-fiction book about paper and five novels. www.mandyhaggith.net

Lori Drummond-Mundal

Lori Drummond-Mundal
Photo 1964

November birthdays are dark in the North,
untouched by the light of four thin candles

on a snow-white cake. Her harsh words hit
as if honed through generations, your face

ironed flat by the scolding’s scarlet slap.
You stare into the corner, as if watching

your delight stream down the slatted vents.
Curtains drawn against imposing night

shut out bright birch, our woodland allies.
If I could, I would take on muscles and cape,

leap to your rescue, but the best shield
I can supply is the happy-family-smile,

while you disappear behind wary owl’s eyes.
Fly, little sister.

Lori Drummond-Mundal lives in Stavanger, Norway with her husband, having made the move 150 degrees east from her roots in Alaska nearly 30 years ago. Her poetry has appeared in Orbis, Despite Knowing – an anthology of poems on addiction edited by Veronica Aaronson (Fore Street Press, 2021) and is forthcoming in Dawntreader. She is currently working on a collection of poems and stories woven from memory and imagination.