You are a small village, located in the south of England. Secluded, safe, you can't see into the shadows. We are in the shadows, behind the tree line, we are the wolves, red on our lips, we are hungry and it's your blood we're after.
Just over a month ago I read, all in one sitting, Rupi Kaur's 'Milk and Honey' collection of poetry. Nowadays, in the mass production culture of crime thriller's and holiday reads, poetry collections rarely get a look in. However for over a year I had been seeing the same images, compact beautiful poetry, simple line… Continue reading Rupi Kaur’s ‘Milk and Honey’: The Poetry of Bravery.
How wondrous we are. Lightning flashes on a dark night. Searching for other souls, like electricity searches for the ground. How incandescent, luminous, phosphorescent and florid. Burning too hot and bright for too shorter time. A raging fire, of life, life, life. Sending sparks up into the sky, the remains of us, planting themselves to… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #1
*Apologies for the post being a day late* I always find the romantic image of a poet, sat by a tree, freely writing, taking inspiration from the muse, idyllic but...unrealistic. I very very rarely post a poem I have written on this blog or on my Instagram that I haven't mercilessly picked apart, edited, crossing words out,… Continue reading The Process of Drafting Poetry.
Last year, in the early summer after I had completed my dissertation for Uni, I had one last creative writing portfolio to complete. This portfolio ended up taking the form of a collection called 'Documents on The Mysteries of Dark Matter', comprising of experimental poetry that focused on the idea of dark matter, dark energy… Continue reading Back to Black: revisiting dark matter and poetry.
Recently I came into possession of two perfectly portable sized (Moomin themed, read my post about the moomin exhibition I went to here) notebooks. I have always found that one of the best ways I can keep my creative energy flowing is to, as frequently as possible, write poetry. Like many others, writing poetry was how… Continue reading Poetry on the go and the art of creative spontaneity.
Up on the downs, in amongst the looming grass, your almond eyes watching. The angry, bloodthirsty world at your tail. See through the fog, see through the trees and run. Run. Run. Run. Though your enemies may be in their thousands, little prince of the woodland and the warren; your bones are fearless and everlasting.… Continue reading The Dweller of The Hills and Woodland.
The first time I came into contact with the idea of Dark Matter was when I was 17 and in the midst of reading Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. In the second volume of this trilogy, Pullman introduces the idea of dark matter being linked to parallel universes. To someone who has always had an… Continue reading Heading for the stars (and beyond): creating a poetry collection.
In the dreaming hours, I am far away, drifting through unconscious plains or staring out to the sky of another city another town, another place, without you. The space between us is strained, like an elastic band about to snap. It's filled with the things we whispered to each other on nights where we only… Continue reading What it is to be apart.
You say we're lost in phone screens that will one day melt our brains. You say we don't talk like you used to talk, around dinner tables, over your Sunday roast, family dinners. But you were speaking empty words. I say we are the ones you're scared of. We are everyone, we hear about what… Continue reading Millenials don’t care.