3 Poems by Izzi Riggs

By Izzi Riggs

The Pipemakers Arms

Time has disappeared in this happy hour pub.
Five boys laugh too loudly into pints they’re only just old enough to drink and
home seems a distant memory.
A song plays, and for a second they are one beast roaring from beer filled bellies; igniting a groan in the near death scorners in the other room.

Sommarpub ©Patrik Ragnarsson (https://www.flickr.com/photos/dentarg/4794036209/)

Seven years stoic and a crack in the waxwork leads the night into morning,
Swearing too loudly, drinking too quickly, laughing for too long just to stop the inevitable ringing of the bell.
This is what happens when a small town in the south east unites big hearts in a classroom,
the memory of maths lessons and drama shows sticks to the walls, lining the love.

“Six shots of tequila?”
As if anyone knows how to take a shot anyway—a happy birthday speech, half spilt, half spoken.
No closer but somehow magnetic they sing conversation across a pool table where the white is potted more often than orange or red.
Tonight there is never a morning; the future looms too far away to bother,
for now—the backroom of this godawful pub is quite enough, thanks.

Tell Me Something

Bone on chalk, one ebbing away.
A bird flies past and scolds me.
Someone whispers and I don’t know where from.

Morbid? No.
The beauty of life lies in those stomach churns;
horses don’t run unless the wind is in their hair.

Tough lines of history scratch my ankles
as if pulling me back into the ground which is so high in the sky
a diving board without the plastic-

In the balance of wings,
the hole in the globe seems to heal.
I can go home.

“24.3” © only alice (https://www.flickr.com/photos/alltheaces/1857424510/)


Talking but with no words, she pushed.
Sign language,
broken up by digits smaller than seconds.
Each disciple waves, including I; wavers and wanders
so lost but not lost at all—
Light in the sky.

Let us breathe and sink into your swallows,
cover us with those lips and sing into our ears the very words of strength.
Molest the pretty, tarnish the brave, scrape each inch of my skin with fingers of breath

In your kindest of hours,
let us be.
Panting under you, dogs to your leash yet so much less.
Water us with beauty, you great brute.

Izzi Riggs is an undergraduate student from the South East coast of England. Currently embarking on a law degree, her writing provides a creative escape from studying and the stress of day to day life. This is her first time being published.

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