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.
Poetry is an art that has been part of humanity for thousands of years. It used to be how we told epic stories, or folklore. Whether it was in ancient Greece where poetry was paired with music, or at a poetry slam in 2015 where words are spat out like rap, poetry is still, was… Continue reading Poetry, and why it is still important.
Dead poets live longer than you.
They asked me to show them love, so I wrote a thousand words on the night sky - stars caught like smoke in the air of a closed house. But, it didn't impress. So I cried over fabricated people, lives written in pages, deaths captured in pictures pained, with figurative tears. It didn't impress. So… Continue reading Requests
So last week I missed my weekly poetry goal (*cries and begs for mercy* lol), so apologies for that. This week for my poetry class at Uni we had to write a poem based on the ideas or form used in one of Claire Trevien's poems for her collection 'Shipwrecked House'. I chose her poem… Continue reading Weekly Poetry
Something that has always attracted me to being a writer is the idea of a part of me, and a part of me that I am actually proud of, being remembered, living on. This is a recurring idea with many writers. Where Shakespeare boasts of his faith in his writing becoming eternal, you have Keats'… Continue reading A few words on the immortality of the written word
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both… Continue reading Favourite Poems, No.1 – William Blake ‘A Poison Tree’.