Finished in June 2019

The Girl on the Swing 

By Zac Langridge 

I often see the girl on the swing 

Sitting there, staring into space 

Gently rocking backwards and forwards 

Her feet dangling inches off the ground 

Her hair is brown and her face is youthful 

But her eyes are something different 

Not like those of a child, teen or adult 

But something otherworldly, altogether 

Her pristine flesh is pale 

And she’s often dressed in white 

Not a speck mars her dress, blouse or shoes 

Even on a wet, muddy day 

I often wonder about the girl on the swing 

For she’s there almost every day 

Dressed in the same clothes, sitting on the same perch 

Although no-one else seems to take any notice 

I don’t see her mother or father around 

Or any siblings for that matter 

She’s just always there, alone 

As if drifting in her own personal space 

I’ve never talked to the girl on the swing 

So maybe I should try 

But I’m afraid that if I do 

I won’t see her there at all 

THE END

Finished in April 2020

Waiting for Normality

By Zac Langridge

My lockdown teddy bear looking very isolated... :(

It seems so long ago that a world existed where

Children could play and people could hug

And cars could drive freely down the road

Heading obliviously to their destinations far away

The night is quiet and the stars are bright

But humanity is sleeping restlessly

As the unrelenting forces of time thrive around us

While the once-unrelenting humans wait for freedom

Will it come?

Will freedom be on the horizon?

Surely it must!

But we cannot tell, and I don’t know

Life is still beautiful

The sky's still blue

The grass is still green

And birds still play within the trees

But everything’s changed

Everything that we took for granted

Everything that was once free to our taking

Is now under lock and key

With a big price to pay if we break that lock by force

Now, the streetlights illuminate streets that are quiet, and don’t need them anymore

And the grass continues to grow in the parks, just waiting for the mower that won’t be arriving to cut it

And the swings and roundabouts sit undeterred, swaying slightly, touched only by the wind

And the people sit as the money trickles from banks and wallets, with no way to fill it back up

Everything’s different, but the same

We still eat, talk, breathe and sleep

We buy food, eat it, replace it in our cupboards

We walk, watch movies, read books

But everything’s under lockdown

Life is now lonely and weird

Just waiting for permission to let up

And become normal again

But if it becomes normal too soon

Will it ever be normal again?

We’ll see…

THE END