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  Oct 12 Nigel Finn
Shaun Yee
This world we live in can be cold,
Heartless and selfish to young and old,
We should, to keep our sanity,
Sometimes indulge in fantasy.
mental health
when it rains, I listen to the rain
when the wind blows, I listen to the movement of the wind
when a friend speaks, I listen to their heart

when I walk, I am a part of what is around me
when I sing, I create for others and myself
when I love, I am love


when we choose love, we are love
Nothing cuts as deep
as a back that’s turned

Denying your existence
—all bridges burned

(The New Room: October, 2022)
Nigel Finn Oct 12
This poetry site used to mean
Quite a lot to me,
But recently all that I've seen
Is not what used to be.

Perhaps this site is dying,
Like the fragment of my soul,
Which has given up with trying
To love this unpoetic hole.

"Five–O-two, Bad gateway"
Is mostly what I read,
And the same **** poems every day
Appearing on my feed.

This used to be a lovely place
To connect and to explore,
But now I accept it's lost it's grace,
And this site's done for, for sure.

I hope in time they'll fix it,
And this site will be restored,
But, 'till then, I will not risk it;
So I'll leave on my own accord.
If anybody can recommend any good websites that I can move my existing poetry to, and post new stuff, before this site goes down for good like I fear it's going to, then I'd be very appreciative.
  Sep 1 Nigel Finn
Ben Jones
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room
Where the cockroaches eat what the rats don’t consume
There’s a table enveloped in paper and grime
On a carpet now lost to a happier time
With a cast iron typewriter, rusted with age
In the gloomy wee room at the back of the stage

And under a lampshade of nicotine brown
Sits a comical legend of zero renown
How he plugs at the keys of his rattling beast
The years of persistence have left him decreased
Now he’s stuck in the shade of his hovering doom
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room

His words are for others and too, the applause
Though a standing ovation might cause him to pause
He hasn’t the courage to speak them aloud
For he’s lacking the bottle and shy of a crowd
So he captures the laughter in lines on his page
In a gloomy wee room at the back of the stage
  Jun 1 Nigel Finn
Dr Peter Lim
Pale leaves fall silently in the dead of winter
I realise I have lived far too long
I was once a bold and outgoing singer
but no longer has life left me any single song-

in the night's thickest snow I wander
the heartless winds they blow loud and strong
tears of forlorn love on icy rocks they flounder
in this chilling hour I weep,  to none do I belong
How do you play a melody
deep inside the words
to sing each letter off the page
and free them like a bird

How do you write the lyrics
to a mute and silent song
that lives inside the spaces
where true music’s never gone

How do you play a rhapsody
of couplets in your mind
releasing subject-verbs to be
forever to unwind

How do you pen a chorus heard
with what the verse has shown
and give each note a deaf refrain
—within a single poem

(The New Room: May, 2022)
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