David Hay


In a self-built cabin 18 by 18,
A man still young in the eyes of the old
Stared into the swollen-heart of the moon
As if it were a great eye,
And to blink,
Even Imperceptibly,
Would make memories like smoke
Rise into night, 
Which is always far too lonely,
And leave him with only a fire
To watch the logs be
Licked by phosphorescent tongues
Until ash buries sleep.
There is a sadness that a man carries
Inside until there is no room for tears,
And so he blinked and the last 30 years disappeared.

David Hay was inspired to write after discovering the Romantics, particularly Keats and Shelley, as well as the works of Woolf and Kerouac. He has  currently been accepted for publication in Dreich, Abridged, Acumen, The Honest Ulsterman, The Dawntreader,The Babel Tower Notice Board  Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Lake, Selcouth Station, GreenInk Poetry, Dodging the Rain, Seventh Quarry and Expat-Press among others. His debut publication is the Brexit-inspired prose-poem Doctor Lazarus published by Alien Buddha Press 2021. 

Flights, Issue Five, June 2022