The following are two new poems from Tadhg Scott. Tadhg is a journalist and film maker from Dublin.

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The Work Day

by T Scott

Four slender, silver walls box me in

Box us all in; in this corporate prison

Too safe to complain

Here too long to do any more

The same thought has crossed minds

Since the dawn of industrialisation

Alarm, shower, food, commute

Work, work, work, work

Food, work, work, work

Commute, food, recreate, sleep

Too safe to complain

Here too long to do any more

Oh for the will to revolt

A will that is pushed away by fear

Fear of an economic crunch

More powerful than a David Haye punch

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A London weekend

By T Scott

It starts with a Ryanair flight

Oh Michael O’Leary, despite your lack of frills

We do love you dearly

Off the plane, into a train

Off to see all about London town

A drink and fish and chips in The Perseverance

At one time bombings were planned here

Now we sit in peace; English and Paddy side by side

A drink becomes ten; time for the city

Cabbie brings us down, south of the town

The Elephant and Castle welcomes us in

Into the bosom of Corsica Studios

Where minimal techno bombards our ears

Hours on end of repetitive beats

Beats that are mixed with a cocktail

Of drugs that twist and lift the spirit and mind

Drinking and random acts of banter

With friends and passing strangers alike

From here back to the gaff

Vodka, pills, Sidric, Oprah

And fireworks too on Halloween night

All the essentials for a rollover tonight

The dawn breaks and it’s time to face the light

A refreshing cycle down Broadway market

Totally high, is the only way to clear the mind

An impromptu jam with a hired guitar to follow

Then down the canal, winos in spirit

A group huddled together shielding our eyes

Drinking and laughing and pretending to threaten passers-by

Dares to jump in the water, fall on by

So, to the pub: Arsenal v Spurs

The perfect way to while away more pints

And occupy the mind

Sleep is no longer an option

Back to the gaff, more additions to the plethora of chemicals

Finally, the faint tint of sleep tinges my eyes

And, I’m gone…

Until 8pm, rudely awoken by the drone of X-Factor

Jedward, Cheryl, Danii and Simon

Commercialism compounded

A can of cheap Belgian lager

Shunted into my palm

This engages my mind

And starts a new cycle

Off to Hackney

Too lazy for fancy dress

Genies, wizards, slags, homeboys

All the fancy dress options unfold

A bottle of vodka is all the camouflage I need

Down, down, down into my belly

Ron Burgundy would be proud

And then on to the next session

Just around the corner, where I meet her

I nestle my lips on her neck

And my hands on her arse

Her golden Asian skin

A scented delight

McDonalds at 4 in the morning

Followed by pills for breakfast and a stumble home

For I’m up early in the morning

One knows one is truly adult

When Monday brings meetings in the city

Below is a new image by Elli Chortara for the season that’s in it. It’s the first of our new works to go up. We hope you enjoy and please send your work to us for this blog.

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The following is an image by Zoe Buser which was used in Issue 2 – the Memory Issue.

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Image by Zoe Buser

The following is new work from poet, Donal Mahoney. Donal is the first of our contributors to the blog whose work is completely new to us. We look forward to reading more of his and any others who contribute to us.

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Lines for a Female Psychiatrist

Perhaps when I’m better I’ll discover

you aren’t married, after all,

and I should be better by Spring.


On that day I’ll walk

down Michigan Avenue

and up again along the Lake,

my back to the wind, facing you,

my black raincoat buttoned to the neck,

my collar a castle wall

around my crew cut growing in.


Do you remember the first hour?

I sat there unshaven,

a Martian drummed from his planet,

ordered never to return.


With your legs crossed,

you smoked the longest cigarette

and blinked like a child when I said,

“I’m distracted by your knee.”


The first six months you smoked

four cigarettes a session

as I prayed out my litany of escapades,

each detail etched perfectly in place.


The day we finally changed chairs

and I became the patient

and you the doctor,

you knew that I didn’t know

where I had been,

where I was then,

and even though my hair

had begun to grow in

how far I’d have to go

before I could begin.

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Love Is Another Thing

Sitting at the table

spinning the creamer

running her fingers through sugar

the kids spilled at supper, Sue


suddenly says, “Don,

love is another thing.”

Since love is another thing

I have to go rent a room,


leave behind eight years,

five kids, the echoes of me

raging at noon on the phone,

raging at night, the mist


of whose fallout ate her skin,

ate her bones, left her a kitten

crying high in an oak

let me free, let me free

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Sitting Shiva in a Hotel Lobby


For a year this image has haunted me.

Over and over I hear on the gramophone

Cohen put in my ear

“Feature this:

On a crowded elevator

a strange woman in a baseball cap

unbuttons your fly.”

That image is on the ceiling every night

as I sit shiva in the lobby

of this small hotel,

a hookah, like a tired cobra,

coiled at my feet,

a shamrock in my buttonhole

dead from the last parade.

Night after night,

I think about this strange woman

as each hour I watch

the doors of the elevator

part and give birth.

I observe each new guest carefully,

hoping the woman in the baseball cap

will tire of the rain and ride up

in the elevator and register.

I want her to sit in the lobby

and talk with us.

We who are guests here forever

have eons to hear

what she has to say.

We have paid our rent in advance.

We can afford to sit here and see.

The following is new visual arts from artist Greig Burgoyne.

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The above image featured in Issue Two of M9S – The Memory Issue.

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Peripheries by Greig Burgoyne.

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Stuck Inside, Looking Out by Greig Burgoyne

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Lady In Perspective by Greig Burgoyne

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GREIG BURGOYNE:makes site specific drawings that explore the shifting contradictions in our memory, value and belief systems. He studied MA Painting at the Royal College of Art and the HAK, Vienna. Recent (08-10) Solo projects include: ‘The Future of Nostalgia’ Jerwood Space, London ,’Decade’ Theatre 503 London, ’50 drawings to murder magic’ Centre for Recent Drawing London09 , ‘Dilemmas of the upper world’ Vault Gallery Lancaster UK, ‘Charm Offensive’ Quay Arts IOW UK and the Russian State Museum. His work is in private and public collections including Bank of Montreal, Canada, TI Group UK, DAAD Bonn Germany, The Russian State Museum, Stadt Mainz Germany, Swiss Bank Corporation and Agentur 42 Germany. www.greigburgoyne.com

The following are poems by Steven Brennan, who has had work featured in Issue 1 and 2 of the magazine.

The three chosen poems are entirely new and previously unseen to M9S readers.

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The Band

There are so many things I love about it

It’s hard to tell what the reason is

Hard to tell where the very centre is.


And even though you can’t see it

There’s symmetry between us,

I know there is.

We don’t stand in formation, ever

We play. We play – a flux.


Together, the four of us are a movement

With our instruments, even more so.

I’ll strike the strings bass slap cymbal crash

Our emotive sings, bass slap cymbal crash

Drum roll building up no voices for a moment and like a wave… Crash, crash, crash.

Through all of us. And even though others may hear it

They will never know what we know.

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Sarah

I’ve always wanted to write something for you

Something special, sensuous, to capture your essence

I feel like it’s the least I could do, being me.


O, but how difficult it is to pluck and weave

A marvellous cloth which sounds like you.

To produce word after perfect word to create something perfectly imperfect

For you and your soul, spirit, smile; monumental.


Of course, I don’t ever expect to create something like you,

Hope to express is all I can do;

This is all I can do.

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Time On The Wall


Why must we wait?

Why must we wait

These few more days?


Here is proof that those who organise their time

Meticulously, cautiously

Will only fail to please themselves

In light of the things they ask,

Of all the impossible tasks.


We must wait, because of a duty forced

Upon those of us who wish to succeed

We must wait, because of a timetable,

A sheet of paper on our wall

Which dictates our extrinsic exterior.

It owns us, completely, exclusively.


‘’You may rest, for now’’ it tells me.

‘’However, you shall not forget my significance’’.

This, I am painfully aware of, as it hangs, an intruder

On my walls, the midnight blue paint and the reflection of a penetrating desk lamp recreating the summer night outside my window.

Its presence, I am quite aware of.


It is master of my time, my waking, and my falling asleep.

It is master of my consciousness

My discovery of a new day, restricted by this foul monster that has crept Aside me for so long and now lies at the forefront of my mind

Not, as I had said, and intruder – but a part of me.

It was this manifestation of I,

Which took a pin, and decided that

The space where it now hangs

Is a fine space for a dictator.

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STEVEN BRENNAN: is an 18 year old from Dublin, who loves to do nothing but create. Create sounds, sentences, thoughts, feelings, everywhere and anywhere. Unfortunately, his present time is defined by the upcoming Leaving Cert. exams. He hopes to one day become such a wise and happy being that his work will influence others for the better. For now though, his writings can be found on http://seriousfizz.wordpress.com/ and in fine publications such as M9S.

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Sarah

I’ve always wanted to write something for you

Something special, sensuous, to capture your essence

I feel like it’s the least I could do, being me.

O, but how difficult it is to pluck and weave

A marvellous cloth which sounds like you.

To produce word after perfect word to create something perfectly imperfect

For you and your soul, spirit, smile; monumental.

Of course, I don’t ever expect to create something like you,

Hope to express is all I can do;

This is all I can do.

The following are artworks by Elli Chortara, whose work was featured in Issue Two of M9S – The Memory Issue.

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Image by Elli Chortara

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Image by Elli Chortara

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Image by Elli Chortara

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