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HMHmmmmm

An Arts, Humanities, Science & Technology Magazine

  • Arts & Humanities / Poetry

    January 10, 2021

     by Lyn Hagin Meade · Published January 10, 2021

    Poetry: National Car Test

    National Car Test

    By Lyn Hagin Meade
    Car tests,
    The leaving cert all over again
    But I forgot to study
    And the wrong questions came up.
    My stomach churns as I sit behind the glass
    Like in the maternity nursery
    Seeking out my baby
    “Yes, that’s mine there – the silver one”
    Being rocked too and fro ten feet in the air.
    A frowning mechanic, intent on calibrating figures
    Makes me nervous
    Is it terminal?
    “What’s your registration” he asks,
    And I can’t remember in my agitation.
    Waiting for the results
    Is like scratching a lottery ticket.
    I sit in the car and shake afterwards.
    Passed for this year.
    The woman I sat beside earlier
    Goes by my window and we don’t acknowledge
    Each other. Our mutual support group
    Was fleeting
    For the length of time it took to certify 
    I can spend another year on the road.

    Copyright © 2018 Lyn Hagin Meade, All Rights Reserved.

  • Poetry: Pandemic

    Arts & Humanities

    January 10, 2021

     by Lyn Hagin Meade · Published January 10, 2021

    Poetry: Pandemic

    Pandemic

    by Lyn Hagin Meade

    It’s been a year now,
    A year of listening to the news
    For the hype and the numbers
    For plotting graphs and learning logarithms
    While the beat of our lives slurs and bucks

    We are wondering when we can stop
    Smelling the flowers and hearing the birds.
    We want the tang of runway grease;
    To hear the hum of voices and
    Receive small human gestures

    We are wondering when the rainy day bank account
    Won’t loom so large
    And freedom will be an extra day off.
    We want to lament the stuffed carriages
    And sing in the snaking motorway jam
    When apathy can be a dalliance again.

    This is war, without the blackout curtains
    Togetherness, without a friend
    We are agents for an invisible
    The unequal parts of us are naked –
    We are buried in our reduction.

    And what if the sunlight never comes?
    If we keep spinning the pedals
    On a soul cycle to nowhere?
    Wasting away waiting

    A future postponed
    With vague remorse.

    Copyright © 2021 Lyn Hagin Meade, All Rights Reserved.

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