Aoife

Sometimes with the spray, you just don't know, what you have to pay, the same with dough, and other times dates, don't know where it goes, just when you pray, you need a blow, another one turns up late, how they break my bones, think if I hesitate, I can get out alone, forget about finding a mate, sunlit hills come with stones, maybe I'll have to wait, need lightness not moans, wine to sip not gyrate, around crowded bars to atone, stating its a happy day, listening to song, a cigarette to create, an atmosphere of home.

Anais

In a supermarket yard, lovely face wretched, torn by pain and dark, naked not decent, the trolley for a cross, next to where they take bets, a spirit without spark, laid there to rest, its a rare clerk, not put to the test, when clearing the park, to be at their best, she works at Primark, and shops in Netto, but it was so stark, she could never forget it, it didn't soar like a lark, near to the convent, is there ever a chart, to give us a movement, bring food to no marks, each of us a vagrant.

Alicia

Who do I want to be, Rab or Phillip or Elaine, Seamus or Frankie, if I let them stay, to warm the ashtrays, around my fire, will they go on their way, then I realise, with the crackle of leaves, listen how they, talk beneath September trees, about being free, running with the sea, splashing in the spray, from the Atlas breeze, to the great bulging Cape, mighty rivers unleash, tears across my face, i'm telling you baby, you're a fool to go away, the cafe'where i keep, guard to burn the flame. a leather glove you had nowhere to go the year of the blow the year Lady died, set the doves free, the colour of the need

ava

Ice and blue morning, colors of the Argentine, between Me, and the amber need, Ohio under snow, geese and barren tones, my hair appears to grow, white on my shoulder, sloping, honking, to the New Year, am I lucky, or just at ease, why I fought so hard, to stay with you, standing in the yard, like a GI goon, you sang to us, back in Brooklyn, the year Lady died, it's quiet here now, fifty years later, i still hear the laughter.

Alma

Mary the Catholic Queen, would not let saliva, be spat into the spleen, for son James's baptismal, common for left footers, and Scots at that time, I stood by an unlit lampin, waiting for my wife, she never turns to dreams, such a palaver, waiting by the Tweed, like a Sunday chancer, a tree a lamp an uncertain weave, near Stirling, what a fucking heave, thinking of Alexander Trocci, his New York leather jacket, and Jock Stein's mate, who ran the Italian cafe,' and mourned each day, Who brought us down, i wanted to shout.

Alana - the new 22's,for the salad of the bad cafe

Smoking a lucky star, chasing numbers, going out the door ajar, the same calendar, my daughter says 'i wonder', she's a great heart, then she bought a car, the Rotunda, won't see her park, right from the start, so bewildered, she jumped the bar, my Ma, ten years after, i still hear your laughter, from Ireland and me Da, grateful to be a juggler, under oranges in a barn, love never hungers.

Zuna

She starts to gently croon, your life is in my frame, won't you come with me soon, the difference in a dollar, she acts like Kurt Cobain, on wooden stools drinking vodka, no note of impending doom, my new friends are game, nothing here suggests ruin, no one to feel your collar, we've gone beyond shame, like a euro millions rollover, what passes for the truth, she resists just the same, prefers to stay paper aloof, which of us is not like you, as we laugh like drains, think of us as Blue, are you insane ?