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Issue 155: Poetry

April 01 2025
© John Sheehy © John Sheehy
Poetry from Issue 155

Turning point
by Show0_0man

A turning point – what is this place?
A shelter wrapped in silence,
A door that opens just enough,
Where men in black stand firm,
Counting footsteps, limiting hope,
Letting in ten like a nightclub,
But there’s no celebration inside,
Only quiet waiting, weary hearts.

Here, the hungry stand in line,
Wrapped in coats too thin for the cold,
Hope trimmed like overgrown hair,
Scissors shaping futures uncertain,
Yet still, they wait – one step closer,
Hoping the door opens a little wider.


The punishment
by Greta Gillett

She would always choose a seat facing the door
Often she would walk in the middle of the road
Play music loudly and keep curtains drawn in the day
Constantly looking over her shoulder, mind racing heart pacing
Floorboards creaking in her mind, she would smile sweetly
Most often be polite to questions
Yet fear enveloped her like dry scratchy hands in the cold
Almost no part of her body was pure
And when someone innocently brushed past her
Or a friend gave surprise hugs, she froze
As if they too had ulterior motives
So she kept to the corners and the quiet places
Made herself small
Memories of herself, carefree
With a pink dress and blue glittery flip flops
Garments untouched by the fear

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