We stood together as brothers in arms.
Our side was small, both in stature and numbers.
Fighting daily battles, we knew the war was lost.
The tattered battlefield was a living room carpet.
We received no weapons, but our enemy did.
Armed with wooden spoons and open palms.
We retaliated with tears and with silent obedience.
The yelling in the house echoed like explosions.
In that grey one-story house, my siblings and I.
We stood together as brothers in arms.

Mile after mile,
the roads unwind,
and I'm squashed in the back,
in between my siblings' behinds,
while Dad croons to oldies,
off-key and loud,
Mum traces the map,
with her head bowed.

I count the trees,
it is a quiet game,
while my brother sleeps,
my sister is tamed.
A petrol station stop
breaks the drive,
the numbers roll up,
as Dad's wallet
barely survives.

Dad fills the tank,
and Mum's stern glance falls
on the mounting cost
that widen her eyeballs.
Dad settles up
and quickly returns
with snacks that are shared,
with momentary peace,
which is soon impaired.

"Stop touching me!"
my sister cries,
as my brother grins
with mischievous eyes
and I, caught in the middle
attempt to mediate,
"Look, a cow!"
in a desperate escape.

Soon after trying
to tame the urge,
our bladders expand
fit to burst,
as bathroom plea's cry out
with a desperate will
our three voices rising
loud and shrill.

The Ross-on-Wye's sign
comes into view,
as my fingers twist
through my hair now askew.
We turn onto Junction 24,
and I look around everywhere,
my excitement building
beyond compare.

Aunty Bee's wedding day
waits ahead,
and I shamelessly have crumbs
all over my dress.
This is quickly followed
by Mum's horrified look,
as Dad pulls the car aside,
as we tumble out of the back
with smiles big and wide.

Mum brushes crumbs
from our smart attire,
and tames my hair
with her maternal fire.
My brother and Dad
turn as their eyes meet
and with perfect timing,
he asks "Are we there yet?"

Dad rolls his eyes and sighs
"Just 30 more minutes son."
I think our Dad will be glad
when this journey is done.

©️Lizzie Bevis

My talisman was destroyed
by a sorcerer, who, much annoyed,
bade me worship only him.
I worship not a lowly man
who lacks the power to understand
beauty beyond the realm of man.

Plato’s archetypes are real
in our creations and what we feel.

The innocence of childhood play
The setting sun at end of day
The work of every artist great
Brings me to a better fate

My talisman returned to me
Resurrected, in a different guise.
There is somewhere of no lies,
only adamantine ties.
Where love is indivisible from art
and only death tears us apart.

What a wonderful sister, you are
For you, a lot do I care
Not all the time, may we talk
However, when it gets really dark
You are the light I badly need
Your words of advice, are always to be heeded
And interacting with you is so much fun
That it makes me forget all my pain!

What a wonderful sister, you are
With you around, is there nothing to fear
Indeed, do you have a very calming presence
And gifted are you, with oodles of common sense
No wonder, are you such a fine lawyer
A lot of trouble, do you often have to bear
However, every test do you end up clearing with flying colours
For you, are no circumstances too adverse!!

What a wonderful sister, you are
Grinning was I, from ear to ear
When you arrived a few weeks back
Brought me some respite from work
So thoughtful, was your gift
Truly, do you possess a golden heart!!

What a wonderful sister, you are
And will be, now and forever
Keep smiling and take care
And may you be blessed with a glorious future!!

does a lonely childhood **** a person?
maybe
if not, the way everyone else smells it on you does
there is something wrong with you
you are not whole
“where is your other half”
everyone asks you
and you just keep saying “i dunno, i dunno”
and they tell you to be grateful
because you never were hated as a kid
and maybe you weren’t but you are hated now for it
you do not know how to be a person because of it
and you can never say we were children together
because you were not children with anyone except for yourself
and you will bury your childhood alone
and you will bury your parents alone
and they keep telling you to be so so grateful that you never had to share anything
but this loneliness has you by the throat and
you would rather have someone who hated you than nobody at all