Year's End on the Leamouth

Poetry by Stephen Leach

Those winter months passed like the highest peaks of summer

Old routines tamely yielding space for changed priorities.

Late nights begat early mornings – some days I bolt the door,

Curl small and soundless in the sheets, feel myself recede.

This place has rules. Travel only by night, stay sharp,

Go slow but do not linger – you’ve heard the stories;

Seen the bloodied faces on the canvas. Kings dress as pedlars,

Nameless strangers beckon, sly, rank injustice pools

Like foul black water:

You brushed the drops from your skin.

Those days are long distant: dimmed, like wan receding light

A chapter closed. Faces pressed to the windows, but somehow we don’t hear

what’s far behind and all around. Somehow, we don’t hear

what’s far behind, and all around.

BIO: Stephen’s writing has been published by Darkwinter Lit, Discretionary Love, Moss Puppy Magazine, Intangible Magazine, and Black Glass Pages. His debut stage play, "Can't Wait To Leave", toured the UK in late 2024 after a critically-acclaimed Edinburgh Fringe run; his new play, “One Breath Before The End”, will open in May 2026.