Buried: Part 1. You have forfeit your past, in the name of fruitless spending and mountains made of paper, dyed into colours that tell you how much you are worth. Uncovered: Part 2. Memories repressed, haunt your dreams. Haven't you learned yet? Wounds ignored, fester, infect, growing bacteria, occupying all life. Exhumed: Part 3. All… Continue reading Writing On Wednesdays #15 ‘A Case Against Willful Ignorance’
This is for someone as warm as the sun. For years now I’ve been desperately trying to curate myself into a garden. So far I’ve only managed a few weeds, one or two spring blooms that lived short, bright lives, before they died. I tend to the patches of earth, unreliably and clumsily. And sometimes… Continue reading Writing On Wednesdays #14: ‘Something To Give’
This year, I try to hold you tight, cradle you softly but steadily. I don't want to let you fall. You came to me first, in 1914. Crammed in. Pushed. Bent, broken. I tried to make room for you. Sad souls. Tired, wasted and wasting. When you finally fell, under the heat, I took you… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #13: Those Lost To The Earth.
Fall Away. The world is floating by once again, in hues of warming orange and yellow. I watch the trees turb, conkers fall, like polished jeweks, hidden treasure in amongs the leaf laden ground. It's quiet now, for that small snapshot in our year. Before the bustle of Christmas. Walk by the river. Be near… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #12
From a short distance it looked like an installation. Someones forgotten works, from long ago, a hollow frontage, a canvas for some kids to tell a story on. The windows, once openings to gaze through, were filled in, replacements, clumsy and childlike were scrawled over the boards. Some had plants on the windowsill, another had… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #7
Sometimes, I wonder if the universe is watching, cradling my fate like a nurturing mother, looking on with plans beyond my comprehension, holding all the good things that are yet to come, close to her heart, like a winning hand, ready to make up for all the pain. But when I stare up at those… Continue reading Writing on Wednesdays #6
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.
Like any good remedy, the writing of poetry can be one of the most natural processes in which you can release, express and work through hard times and emotions that would otherwise go unsaid. From the ages of 16 to 19 I, like many others the same age, was living with pretty severe depression, anxiety… Continue reading The Healing Properties of Poetry.