HeyThereRose

United Kingdom

17
welsh
perpetual state of confusion
probably procrastinating
nothing is real
have a good day
she/her

Message from Writer

I don't reply to comments often sorry but they are very very very much appreciated <3
Y'all are beautiful people btw (:

Published Work

i have nothing and everything to do

i go on my phone too much
empty eyes straight ahead
circle on a spinning chair
till i lose my mind somewhere
between the vibrating particles
feeling asleep when im wide awake
feeling like a ghost though my body is weighed
with two rocks in my pocket pulling me down
till i lie spread eagled in a burial mound
of resin cast gold and broken phones
a tree sprayed blue holding my bones
soundless existence in a soundless place
empty eyes and empty face and resin cast soul sprayed blue and gold

thoughts from summer school

every utopia i imagine quickly becomes a dystopia

which shouldnt be a suprise, as a utopia, in its very essence, is unattanable

but still

it hits me like a frozen bullet

the total incompatablity of humaity and perfection

of humanity and happiness

why do they ask 17 year olds

to design utopia

to design a pretty lie for a broken world

and call it super-curricualer 

the lure of rock bottom

some days as i walk
empty concrete roads
i pause
hunt for breath
and wait
for my legs to 
-finnally-
buckle beneath me
for the 
-sweet-
realease of giving
in
and bones folding
-fetal-
i wait
for the sweet realease
of giving up 
of falling and not needing to
stand
-again-
of building a home 
in rock bottom
my legs
always betray me
and i walk on
-empty concrete roads-

the one who couldnt walk away from Omelas

i become an it

and i become an imbicele

and i become the sores on my legs and the cavity of my chest

and i become the stench of my own filth and the fear of a rattling door

and i become dark circles where eyes and soul should be 

and i become windowless

and i become an it

and you rejoice in my misery;
and you ride among meadows;
and you weave bright colours between the air;

i remember the air
i remember the joy

but i become an it
cowering before your children

and they, the ones who cant accept, the ones who do not cry, they
walk away

what wouldnt i give to walk away

id think
if i could form coherent sentences 

anymore

 

you realise you are a cause of pain

and the world stops
raindrops frozen above your head
vibrating slightly

and your heart stops
starts
coursing darkness through you veins
bleeding out

and your brain stops
searching for oblivion
shake your head
forcing non existence

and time stops
seconds hanging
ages deflating 
to a child

and everything stops
fingers hover
stomach pulses
like a sickness

and you stop
cieling stare
eyes don't blink
weeping angel, weep

and you start
type a reply
you're busy, you're sorry, they're amazing
and have a good day

a mess

i write too many poems
(too many nighttime conversations)
to people who dont exist
(or who exist very much apart
from the constructs in my head)

i write too many poems.
bad poems mind you, brain bleed on page some twisted
inkblot test
what do i mean
what do any of us mean

(too many nighttime conversations)
when i should be asleep
wont stop talking to a ghost 
to someone who talks back in my own voiceless voice
what do i mean
what do any of us mean

to people who dont exist.
i dont exist
my existence is like flat lemonade in october
the shadows in my head have more purpose than my bones
than you
what do i mean
what do any of us mean

(or who exist very much apart
from the constructs in my head)
the faucets in my head are poetic
and sympathetic 
and oh so wrong
picasso imitating monet in a darkened theatre
ink...

Once Upon a Time

a stranger and a seed (part 1 because i got impatient, ill write part 2 soon)

once upon a time quite some time ago a stranger visited the small village of Mayfield. The stranger had long orange hair and purple eyes and slightly blue skin, and they were a member of elvin royalty, not that anyone in the village knew.

it was already dusk when the stranger approached the small village and they were hungry. they entered a warm inviting pub in which the locals swapped stories and drinks. but the stranger had with them no money, and the locals eyed their strange features suspiciously. in desperation the stranger, tired out from a long day of walking, begged for a cup of water, or a hunk of bread, or a small room in which to rest. the landlord refused, and the stranger was pushed unceremoniously from the room.

the stranger wandered along small cobbled streets dejectedly as the sun began to sink. finally they came upon a young boy who was walking home alongside his cart...

set in a mansion of tea and stars and ink and ballgowns and deep red wine

a collection of conversations

conversation between the poetic mansion dwelling protagonist, and her ghost friend

hello

i missed you

the mirrors not the same without your smile

i know, i know, its been too light, but i did miss our evening dances

going? so soon?

well goodbye, ghost boy

i look forward to learning your name 


its been a pleasure, as always

you dont need to bow to me silly

farewell, poet girl

farewell





conversations between the poet protagonist and her witch/turns into raven lover/friend
in no particular order

raven-

won't you ever call me my name?

i don't like names

for someone who doesn't like names, you wear an awful many

serendipity today, is it?

yes, im feeling lucky

im not

don't be like that; the clouds are heavy, the fires warm, the tea glows golden in the light-

the tea is the colour of mud, seren

won't you see the poetry in existence

i see the poetry in existence...

July Grab Bag

strange electric child

i have forgotten you already
i say already, as if i remembered you once; i never did
you were a strange electric child and i never remember you 

i try to, now, and i believe you would be disappointed
or perplexed
we wouldn't recognise each other; 
though our faces are the same

(your eyes are larger, i think, your face rounder, your hair finer- but same eyes, same thin smile, but still-)

you wouldn't recognise me
and i think you are the kind of
strange electric child
with too many half baked dreams and bad ideas
that would me me cringe, maybe smile, pityingly 

i cannot be sure though, what you are like, what i am like;
i remember nothing, some vague colours, vague notions
but you are not even a ghost
just a smiling girl in school uniform, tapped to a wall

you used to hate school photos
i...

Friend

"I appreciate your existence my friend
And I, yours"

growing

you wrote better when you were younger
and had no reason to write

statues

you wonder how long dead sculptures put so much life into marble blocks
made them breathe
made them live
hell - you are no marble statue and yet
their eyes seem more alive than yours 

this is reverse art
something living becoming rock
hardening, melting into something
grey and indistinguishable

your face has less expression that apollo in all his
naked marble, than gargoyles on granite walls

this is reverse art
an idea becoming incomplete
flesh becoming stone

you wonder how long dead sculptures put so much life into marble blocks
and you wonder if a chisel and knife to your skin would make you breathe again 

All the children have withdrawal

They sell love to children in 
Fairytale pink 
Bottles tied with bows
Drink me -
And you will be complete

They sell love to teenagers 
In upbeat downbeat beats
Vodka laces with poison
Drink me -
And you will feel okay 

I wonder if when I am old, older 
And still alone, not lonely
They will still sell me love
Drink me - or you will die, drink me and life will be worth living
I wonder if they will still sell me love
And if I will still be hooked on 
A concept I don't understand

Origins

The Young Poet 

A mother leaves, a father dies, a foster parent offers a roof and food and nothing else, friends are far between, poetry grows wilder, white walls grow narrower, future looms

A walk in a wood, just before dusk, trees breathe, feet ache, scars twinge, sonnets tumble unchecked from pale lips, a wish is made, on a star, like a child, a wish for a place

A gate is found, a place is found, ivy gowned, deep red brick, crystal eyes, welcoming, an unlocked door

A place is found.


The Restless Bird

A bird is born, upon a mountain, violet grass and serendipitous sky, at five the fledgling gains its legs, flowing hair, blue eyes, child/bird learns to walk and fly, dancing between forms like the weather

Large family, large flock, enchanted paradise perch, lying with sprawled limbs against the sun, soaring to the clouds, running through diamond streams, learning the magic of the earth    

wings/limbs grow restless,...

Friends

i like it when i know
you're about to smile a second
before you do

i like it when we both find something
funny when it isn't funny
at all

i like it when i look at you
to share a joke, and you
are already looking at me

i like it when your eyes smile
in the corner of my eye

i like it when we shout hellos across the pavement
a little sooner than is
socially acceptable

i like it when we say the same thing
at the same time, same voice

i like it when our 'goodnight' messages arrive 
in sync

i like it when i ramble 
incoherent but you say
you understand

i like it when i say 'you know what i mean'
knowing you do 

i like it when silence is comfortable
and antisocial is social

i like it when you message me 
just when i need you to 

i like it when i lean...

Grown up is no longer a hypothetical

Growing up is scary
Time is slipping through the cracks in my skin
The dead bodies of the people I've been
The children I've been
Settle down to sleep in the long grass of my chest cavity
Finger paintings on my mind fade into oblivion
Cave paintings
Of some lost civilization
Forgotten emotions rise in my lungs like climate change ocean
I want to lie in the grass among the bodies
Drown in dead seas
Paint myself in crimson coal 
I want to stop
Moving 
Along concrete pavements
Around the rim of a clock
Increasing candle number
Branded skin
I want time to stop
For a moment
And eternity  

old strangers

I forget the sound of my name in your mouth

Reconstruction

You start to realise
You are an unreliable narrator
Of your own life 

Mid-June Grab Bag

the Tree and the child

  • about your conversation with the oldest tree in the world. What do you ask it, and what does it say? (Tachi)


ancient one -

ancient one?

i - i wanted to be respectful. whats your name?

trees dont have names.

trees dont talk

touche. you can call me Tree, with a capital T

okay Tree. whats it like?

whats what like?

being old. older than the pyramids. older than my name. older than the english word for tree. 

time does not pass for me as it does for you. 

how does it pass?

it is like sap, all around, within, constant, never changing but never staying the same. like a river, it washes.

i wish i experienced time like you do. to me it is a line. like a concrete road. it hurts.

ah my child, time hurts me too. i see death. i see birth yes, but i see so much death.

that is our fault, i...

Science Fiction Competition 2021

forgotten fantasies

Bees buzz methodically, swirling in ever changing patterns above softly undulating lavender; the scent thick and heavy in my lungs; a child's laughter rises and falls and small hands tug me towards a singing brook; beside the brook a small house of gentle oak surveys the bountiful boughs of aching willow trees; the child looks me in the eyes bright blue, says, I came home father, I came.

I reach out to touch the tiny trembling form but it pulls away and the lavender ripples, bright blue eyes become black abysses and I cry, Lavender!, and

“Lavender!”. I'm jerked from the meadow by rough hands, tugging me out of a black chair and to a grimy floor that smells of disinfectant and sweat, the scent thick and heavy in my lungs.

“You're out of time” growls a voice, “run back to reality”

I find myself begging, as I always do, reduced to a scrabbling child on a concrete floor. “Five...

at 17 the world unravels

too many possibles
too many facets of myself, of reality
too many lifetimes, and not enough life

around the time when i thought i would grow into a famous author

i found this in my email archive
written 10 years ago; i would've been 7
i was overly proud and drew a picture of a beach to go with it
my mum was overly impressed


The beach, 2011

Waves crash against the jagged rocks
A boat passes by, it's headlights flashing 
A dog runs off following its owner
The beach is silent
A few crabs lay abandoned on the sand
The sea sings a song of crashing waves

among tall grasses

when you are 
oh
    so
        tired

go and lie 
beneath bees and above
the damp dark heartbeat
of summers earth

the grass is 
    tall
    down here

the grass is  s o f t 
and you soften like a flower
in relief

sigh like the breeze
but
oh
    so
        gently 

branches up above
are outstretched arms and smell like 
    summer
    but not too hot

this place is friendly silence
and tired gentle eyes (with lashes that whisper)
and smiles that wrinkle

let me 
    s
        i
            n
                k

into the
earth
and cease
to hurt

be one with the breeze
you are 

oh
    so
        tired


 

Friendship Tweet

And I can't even remember how I got to know you like this

I can tell when he smiles behind his mask from the crinkling of his eyes, and that makes me smile. Silent, and aware of the others silence. I think he knows what I am thinking and I think I know what he is thinking. Awkward, unconventional, sometimes-cant-hold-a-conversational, but I think he is one of my best friends, and I hope he knows that 

More and less than a person

Hair messy and hands unable to stay
Still 
My hands-
Blood bones sinew
Particles vibrating against air
Atoms, my atoms  
But 

Weight 
Weightless  

Footsteps heavy but floating
Floating   

The world is so far beneath me
The world is so far above  

I am the only solid thing in an unsubstantial world I am the only
Unsubstantial thing In a weight-full world
 
Ink etched stars so blue
Eyes so wide
My eyes
But   

I see nothing
More 
Nothing 
Less   

Than weight and weightlessness  

Mind stretching
And constricting In my skull
My skull  

But   

My brain, my self
Is more than blood and bone and sinew
Particles 
Atoms   
 
And less                      

(you can see his eyes)

Atlas/Samson shaved his head
And he looks so much lighter
Now

a fresh start (contender for scifi comp, please read message box!)

You are a Young One, born after the End. Though a few people have begun to call it the Beginning, and our sunken existence a Fresh Start. 

But you are a Young One, and you know nothing different. Your home is set against the unyielding mountain face, built of stone and wood and corrugated shiny material that people no longer have a name for. In many ways your dwelling, our dwelling, resembles the immigrant dwellings of old, but this is no temporary shelter. This city, for we call it a city, borrowing the word from times gone by, grew here over your lifetime, and mine. Dwellings are arranged in clusters of three of five, snaking along and down the mountain in a gentle cacophony; flowers cover paths and walls, the mixture of old (sheets of plastic and other unnamed materials, swatches of colourful cloth, glass bottles like wall tiles) and new (fresh felled trees, the rock face, curtains woven from...

or maybe it's just my curse

it is the curse of a writer
To never know if you are feeling anything
Or if you just wrote it that way

Randomness

A girl, small, with bird like bones, rises from a bed ten stories up in a tower block, in London. It is dawn and the girl is tired. She's always tired. She stumbles across a grease streaked lino floor, drags a hand over her eyes, mutters 'morning', and when the voice activation doesn't activate screams 'morning!' again, her voice breaking slightly. A dull blue glow from the corner pulses ascent and room is suddenly lit with harsh bright light. The kettle, balancing precariously on an off-white counter begins to bubble forlornly; the water level so low it boils within seconds. The blinds covering the single high set window start to wind, loudly, upwards. An alarm beside the bed starts ringing shrilly. The girl swears, turns off the alarm with an impatient 'quiet!', jerks the kettle from its stand and fills it up, climbs up on to the windowsill and shoves the blinds upwards manually. Then she tips the now boiled...

mind monologue

i was lying in the bath, thinking, for no reason, about how in year 7 gcses seem like the pinnacle of importance yet in year 12, they mean nothing

i was thinking of that and my mind began monologuing to me -

i think we see importance in everything
because we have to
because when something stops being important
when our actions, our achievements, stop
being important
we stop being important
and why, if we stop being important
whats the point of anything
whats the point of existing
and when you reach the point
where there is no point
you cease to really
be anything at all
and that is why
gcses feel important
because something has to
so we can
feel

-

and then i got bored of this monoluge, and read my book

 

Mid-May Grab Bag

i think im starting to like this side of the glass

  • about the universe through your mirror. What are the people doing, what do they look like, and why is it that their eyes never meet yours? (Cosmogyral)
the 'me' in the mirror is different in the most perverse ways.
her eyes are the same shade of brown but they are wider, fixed
her hair, somehow, somehow, is straight and does not frizz at the top
her back is straight, her mouth curls slightly
and it makes me sick

her room is less chaotic than mine
same bed
same walls but somehow, somehow, tidier
the posters on the wall are straight
she painted over the deep blue graffiti door
and pulled the fairy stickers off the chest of drawers

but it is her, not me
who leans a forehead against the cool glass
asks questions to the dark

(and yes
i know
i lie awake
eyes open heart sore but at least
at least i know
i know why ...

worn red leather topped desk, how dull your life has become

sitting at the desk where my older brother sat
and my eldest brother 
before him

i guess they both
had enough
at this desk
sometimes
and threw books down or head in hands or
head in phone
and migrated from desk to sofa full of
shame

i make that journey too often
or just stare in to space
or at the flickering candle
flames

(i wonder what would happen if i set this desk on fire)

on the wall
the paintings painted by a brother 
who no longer creates 
(simply vegetates)
are accusatory 
in more ways than one

his gcse results
4 years old are still
pinned to a pale cork board
malicious in their excellence
somehow

pascals triangle
in 'mysterious blue' faded ink
is tacked to the wall
the last line is black
my addition
and gleaming in yesterdays
optimism 

my highlighters (pink yellow blue)
came from my long gone
brothers draw
which is still full of unused pens ...

May Grab Bag

Grab bag

  • about what you would do if you had a whole day without technology. (by ArtCat)
i would do
nothing
nothing

i am dependent

this is a gentle addiction but 
god its an addiction

or at least a dependence

we are dependant
the only race constrained by its own ideas

thing is i think
id do nothing
id stare into space
fingers reaching for a device that isnt there
eyes searching for a screen that isnt on
mind searching to be numb

id stare into space
dont think id even
paint stories in my head
coz what are my stories compared to
netflix and disney

maybe id read a book
for an hour or two
but my fingers would go stiff
and my brain would curl
isolated from its simple escapism

i would lie on the floor

and go to bed early
but not sleep


(god i wish my answer was different)
 

if life was a not warm not cold victorian creaking bath

you know when you are submerged
in a bath
head arched just above the surface
arms spread stiffly

you know when you
know
know the water is hot but
you cant quite grasp its temperature against your skin

when you feel 
swear you feel
the water atoms against you but
at the same time
you could be suspended in a vaccum

you could be nothing
you know that feeling
maybe?
no?

well
anyway
that feeling is what
existence feels like
more and more
frequently 

Talking to “You”

(almost) grown up

you are 17 and your life is spooling before you like a golden thread
the question 'so
what do you want to do when you
grow up' holds so much more
weight
you think your bones might turn
to glass -
you are 
    almost
grown up
and it doesn't feel like a coming of
age movie more
a becoming
aged
    movie
and every plan you make you
force through rose tinted 
glass
forcing the font into
sparkly comic sans
    because 
stop
and
think
and your future will spool like
garden twine
because 'what do you want to be when you
    grow up' 
was always an imagination exercise
there was never a choice
not in this world
not in this life
and the ladder is bleak and leads
not to heaven
    nor hell
but nowhere
    and
    and you are 
almost grown
up
but not grown up enough
to accept
the reality
of reality
    it is...

Dark academia escapism (in which a poet who has many names resides in a mansion with a ghost and a clock, and converses with her raven lover)

candles flicker, dancing dreams as red wax drips on a mahogany desk. shadows cavort around my head and whisper piano concertos, ink falls from a silver nibbed pen, and i write poems and when i'm done i set them on fire and toss them in the hearth. lying on thread bare faded deeply patterned carpet, I gaze at an unlit chandelier that seems to spin above me like a moon. I spread books bound in leather around me like islands, and scrawl words on thick paper that smells like musty robes and forgotten breaths, and on my head I place a dusty tiara, and monologue to the tea dregs in a chipped flower cup. 

The boy, who is yet to tell me his name, comes thrice daily, when the sun is behind a cloud. He hovers, barely visible above the mantelpiece, smiling at me in the gilt glass; we dance together by candlelight and he plucks piano notes from the...

May Grab Bag

Grab bag

  • about a “dress like its 2020” day at a school in 2068. What do the students wear? (by Spade

Tyler is not one for dressing up, so he goes basic, wearing a plain black face mask that he found in his mothers wardrobe. it smells of moth balls, but he finds himself enjoying the way it hides his face; he scowls at people in the street but they have no idea. he wonders if in the midst of the despair of the 20s, some people found small liberation. 

Tylers best friend, Nola, is waiting at the end of the street, having just waved, ironically, to the autotaxi that dropped them off. Tyler stifles a laugh, Nola had discovered 'cat boys' after falling down a history youTube rabbit hole, and now they are dressed in a maids outfit, cat ears on their cropped blue hair, ripped fishnet tights and finger less black gloves. 'these' they say, in a flat voice,...

Walking to school in the morning, blue sky clear sun

Feel your breath diffuse into the air
It's like the gentle wind has settled in your lungs

Skin is cold yet warm
Atoms upon atoms and seeming to
Stroke the sun

Sky that blue that you cannot touch
Want to tear a scrap and stick it in a book
Melting seamlessly from dark to light
Upon the horizon

Footsteps firm and steady without
Thinking and feel the concrete
Rise up to meet each step

Seeing without looking

Being without thinking

Diffracting into the sun and wind and lightening blue sky
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The ballad of Blanche Dubois

A moth is a born Icarus;
Watch the soft brown gentle falling wings 
Flailing fire with seething ignorance 
Down to the resting place of kings    

Drown death in sweet white wine, too soon
Lie in hot water till the bubbles, pure white
Evaporate and the silence sings of a paper moon
And for godsake my moth, stay out of the light  

Stay out of the-  

Laugh at the flames that lick your chest
If this is a witch burning I guess you're the witch
If this is a trial, if this is some kind of test 
You'd rather wear ivory jewels and a golden stitch  
Across your temple, where your birth right should be-  

Drown your sorrows in cherry soda
Caress your white skin, the skin you sold
And dream of being the mona
Lisa, and never growing old  

If you could trap your face in canvas like 
Grey I think you would but-  

Your mind is rotting gently, gently
To the sound of polka music in the night
The clouds are so...

wedding of the waves

a waste of a wedding ring prompt by @encapsulated_emotions!

the gold band wont tarnish no mater how many times i throw it into the surf and then 
drop to my knees, fingers scrabbling with stones
to save it from the waves

i dont really know the symbolism of rings
im sure you did
probably muttered it to me like waves upon the sand while i burrowed 
into your arm
i reckon the circle of the ring is probably meant to mean 
eternity
joint forever
i reckon the constant gold is supposed to mean
unblemished loved 
forever

but not forever
even the vows acknowledged that;
till death do us part
till death -
i guess
i never expected death to come so soon

you told me life was like the sea -
you cannot stop the tide from going out
i couldnt stop you from leaving 
me

but now every day i stand upon the shore
begging the water to stay ...

the piano is a silent husk once more

the night before my brother left for uni (again)
he played piano at 10:30 pm and i
sat on the stairs hugging my knees as he played
counting starand the doctor who theme and moonlight sonerta
improvising feverishly in-between

he plays piano like i write poetry;
when his hands cannot stay still

i wonder if this is a farewell to his piano
an outpouring of nerves 
a mirror to his soul
or simply
the twitching fingers

long and white and always too cold
in the moonlight

what is it about being 17- inspired by scifi, see message box (:

17 is terrifying and last year i
was the dancing queen
sweet 16 in quarantine 
and i remember nothing
(i should've been dancing somewhere right? big balloons and secret beer and gentle dreams?-)
all passed me by and now

i can count the months to adulthood
on my fingers

and the plans i make with friends for fun
carry so much weight
because these plans now have meaning and so i try and pretend
17 is just another nothing
just a christmas and a birthday and ink stained fingers and sleepy eyes and
not

a step towards the plans i cannot make
a step towards a life that seems so much more
terrifying 
and unappealing
the longer i stare out the window

and sure
i walk with more purpose now
and im not so scared of groups of teens
(coz theyre probably younger than me- which
is mindblowing)

but anyway
im no longer scared of the dark
dont run up...

Dark academia escapism (this was so fun)

candles flicker, dancing dreams as red wax drips on a mahogany desk. shadows cavort around my head and whisper piano concertos, ink falls from a silver nibbed pen, and i write poems and when im done i set them on fire and toss them in the hearth. lying on thread bare faded deeply pattered carpet i gaze at a unlit chandelier, that seems to spin above me like a moon. i spread books bound in leather around me like islands, and scrawl words on thick paper that smells like musty robes and forgotten breathes, and on my head i place a dusty tiara, and monoluge to the tea dregs in a chipped flower cup. 

i exist between moments

i am sunlight caught in water 
before it diffracts
i am that moment as a bird unfurls its wings
and seems for a moment to exist without
flying
i am the moment wen you jump before you fall
the second when you start a song before the music comes
i am a daisy caught in its second of perfection
petals beaming in flawless
irony 
i am the pattern of leaves through a window in a joyless
shadow show
i am the broken second hand on the maths wall clock
the sound words make before they leave your mouth
and the resonating sound of speech in your ears seconds after you
screamed
i am the silent stare on a tv
as the interview takes a moment too long to 
start
i am a leaf caught in mid air
on invisible wings

April Grab Bag

find this in your neighbours wall where you stood swapping nothing stories and burnt cookies

a letter to yourself exactly a year ago.

april 2020
i cant quite grasp what i was like
what you are like 
now

i think its gone on too long
i think you've read most of the books you planned to
baked skin in the garden seat
you still call rha and ella thrice weekly huh?
and pretend like listening to your brother monologuing
about imaginary numbers counts as 
maths work

i think you're existing in the dot in the i
of jeremy berimy;
everything is meaningless
in a sun glaze way

those online physics quizzes you do
they wont help next year
and you really should
read over your history course
(but you won't
of course you wont
i wouldn't)

seems like no time has passed
from the sun baked haze
but feels like i've replaced you or like
you weren't much really
a puppet on snapped strings

i'm still a puppet mind you
wake with sick stomach
trudge...

heavy

something trapped 
behind my skull
something heavy
made of unshed tears
and unslept nights and
it pulls my head down to the ground
pulls my eyes closed wide
something trapped behind my skull
leeching any thoughts of anything
but thoughts of nothing is
nothing is
nothing
surrounded by density
and words that will not come
surrounded by sleepless sea and
air as black as blood 

Walking

Atlas's epilogue, 3 years later

2021

A few years ago I kept noticing a boy
With long lank hair across his eyes
I dubbed him atlas in my head because
He seemed to carry the weight of the world 
On his shoulders
I wrote him a poem and now
Atlas is in my physics class and 
His name is Ben
He's cut his hair short and doesn't speak but
He stands a little taller
Maybe one day I'll say hello and
Tell him that I'm glad
The world is
Lightening

2018

He walks with his shoulders hunched. He is Atlas, you can see the weight of the world on his back as he edges along the pavement, hugging the wall.
I'm not sure what year he's in, but I've noticed him before.
The way his hair covers most of his face.
The way he's eyes flit back and forth, as if looking for escape.
Sometimes I see him in the school corridors.
He walks against the tide of bodies.
Fights through a one way corridor the wrong way.
He's an anomaly.
He's something...

In Motion

if i had a love life, and the night was this aesthetic, and i was spontaneous enough to go on dusk walks

the sun sinks steadily in a darkening sky, and light leaks upon the pavement, dousing the emptying streets in summer breeze. the street lamps flicker gently to life and beneath the appearing stars i clutch my journal to my heart, and your hand to my lips. i feel your fingers curling, nails caressing my aching skin. i feel the night descending and the streetlights seem to pool stepping stones before us. at a kids playground we rock to and fro on the swings, hands stretching across the gentle darkness, giggles exploding like cheap lemonade. trainers scuff hearts in gravel and the pages of my journal caresses the breeze as you trace my name in the softly singing stars. my hair tangles in traitorous trees and you laugh, tease leaves from my locks and i pluck daises at the stem and place them upon your bowing head. 

In Motion

if i had a love life, and the night was this aesthetic, and i was spontaneous enough to go on dusk walks

the sun sinks steadily in a darkening sky, and light leaks upon the pavement, dousing the emptying streets in summer breeze. the street lamps flicker gently to life and beneath the appearing stars i clutch my journal to my heart, and your hand to my lips. i feel your fingers curling, nails caressing my aching skin. i feel the night descending and the streetlights seem to pool stepping stones before us. at a kids playground we rock to and fro on the swings, hands stretching across the gently darkness, giggles exploding like cheap lemonade. 

You're sitting in class clutching your pen and writing words so slowly you think you will sink

Bones too big and soul too small 
Gravity in blood stream
Submerged in density 
Brain too small reaching like tentacles
Into silence 
Atoms pressing against skin
Air vibrating in ears
Thoughts a mile deep below
The sea and tears stuck 
Behind your skull
Ink dries slower and rain falls quicker 
Breaths are heavy and light and 
You hardly breathe and if
You stood up you feel you 
Would still be pinned to your seat
If you speak there would be silence 
Your teeth ache
Eyes forget to blink
Feet tapping beneath your bones
 

Forward Backward

look up

look up
look up
look up
gaze at the stars
gaze at me
me
for i dwell among the darkest
clouds
i am like the first breathe of evening air;
for i dwell among the blackest 
night
i am like the first star in the evening sky;
i am
look up
look up
look up
 

'after the afterlife' (Escapril 13, this is weird haha) (message box)

'after the afterlife'


We sipped champagne from rhino horns 
We snorted powdered gold 
We partied for a century and slept for a decade
We watched the sun die twice 
And swam in molten silver 

We supped with headless kings and queens 
We slept with goddesses
We slumbered for a century and danced for a decade
We picked ruby fruit off a diamond tree
And wore stars in our hair

We played croquet in kubla khan 
And dined upon the mount 
We challenged hermes to a race 
Then slept on beds of torn wings
And had silkworms knit us lace

We watched the earth die many times 
And partied as it burned
We toasted clouds upon the flames
And cursed the human race

We lived eternity 
Many eternities over  

We lived eternity
Till there was no eternity left

And though kubla khan still shone so bright
And the rivers still flowed
Though the trees flourished eternal 
And the stars bowed at...

escapril 12, bad poem for my friend (:

DAY 12
'COMFORTABLE' 

we are comfortable 
you and i
sprawled limbs, eyes staring at the sky
we count the clouds and tell stories
and laugh when we should cry

we are comfortable
you and i
melted chocolate on a broken trampoline
we scream bad songs into silence
and make jokes about not revising

we are comfortable
you and i
like comic sans in a school doc
like the bad fantasy novels we share
we punch each other on accident
and i compliment your hair

i hope one day my whole life will feel
as comfortable as

blue sky and cold air and mismatched shoes and muddy souls and stupid jokes and painful laughs and pigeons and cheap chocolate and colourful socks

Escapril compilation days 1-11 (few missing)

DAY 1
'EGO'

blow your head up to the size of a hot air balloon and watch it burst
spewing blood and pride and flesh
and laugh and clean your hands on the feathers of a dove
stretch your bloated bones and pick tough skin from between your teeth

chuckle at the resounding shock waves
from your branded industrial boots
mourn only the ants that weren't lucky enough
to sacrifice themselves for you

(blow your head up to the size of a hot air balloon and float away - maybe then they'll call you 'god' without bitter disdain)


DAY 2
'THE EXACT MIDDLE'

Edge of a precipice
Battered body, battered bones
You perch 
In the exact middle
Between two deaths ;

Air here is still as death 
Sighing softly without a sound 
You etch a circle in your mind 
Circles are safe 
And madness 

Cackle madly 
Hug your knees
In the exact middle 
Nothing can touch you 
No one passes the...

Escapril compilation days 1-11 (few missing)

Eureka
And a man ran naked into the street
Jumping up and down
Or so the tale goes   

Eureka 
And the problems solved 
A second before the bomb blows
Or so the movies go 
 
Eureka 
And the universe unfolds
Secrets unveiled by a daydreaming mind 
Or so the history goes    

Eureka I did it 
I found it
We're safe
We're saved 
I know the answer 
We know every secret
Eureka     

I'm waiting for my eureka
Waiting to rise from the grave 
The universe on my lips and a map in my hand   

Let me stop this slowly ticking time bomb before it explodes
Burying me in monotonous rubble and turning my body to stone 
 
Let me find a door in this locked room
Before the water creeps through the cracks
And drowns me in oblivion   

Let me be an eureka 
A genius with strange quirks 
I'll run naked into the streets 
If that would give me worth.          

poetry

i want to bottle the stars or write sonnets to the sea
and humanity
and write the sun into the sky and write my heart
onto a page

but nothing comes
words fall and fade and backspace
backspace

poetry is hard

everything is too big
i cannot do justice to gaping injustice
i cannot write a call to arms for a battle i dont know how to fight
i cannot light the sky with a candle
i cannot explain my heart

nothing comes
and everything is too big or too small
a sentence or a word
or a novel i cannot write

i want to craft a speaker who would eloquently speak my unthought thoughts
i want to build clay men and let them take on the world

poetry is hard

and i am too small

and nothing comes

the sea knows your name

i spoke to the sea air about you
told her how your eyes
are the exact colour of a breaking wave

i spoke to the sea air about you
and told her maybe
maybe id come again
and bring you
with me

maybe

Beginnings (message box)

Dead men don't talk, most of the time.


He would always regret the day he didn't say goodmorning to the sun.


Nala's grandmother had spoken of the mystical things called stars, but they had never really believed her.


Let sleeping orcs lie; I never could follow instructions.


I thought we'd be back by dawn, so I never did say goodbye.


The forest called me, and I came.

 

waking up and writing a poem to force productivity

to even be alive is a wonderful thing
and to have a brain that screams technicolour
and to have eyes that dart and the sun in the sky
and a dog with a smile and a brother with my eyes

so crawling out of my grave
of blankets and prayers
is something im happy to do;
to even be alive is a wonderful thing
and to have a life even more so

once as i stood in central london
and so many people passed
i admired their outfits and strides
and realised i had the power
to choose my own outfit, own stride, own path

so crawling out from my grave
of midnight tears
is something im happy to do;
a pen in my hand and school books before me
i can sketch the whole world anew
i can sketch my own path in technicolour

 

Home’s Essence

written without thought

wood pigeon cooing somewhere unseen
drowning in mugs of hot weak tea
sinking in pillows that smell like
that particular washing powder and slightly
unclean dog

radios on everywhere, all through the house
each slightly out of sink
comforting echo
familiar voices and familiar words from body-less mouths 
alexa speaking perfect pitch
'the weather is 6 degrees celisius and cloudy'

a victorian bath that creaks
as if it might fall through
clawed legs and huge metal taps
stretch your legs and curl your toes and pretend to 
float in green scented bubbles 

back against the radiator
legs sticking out 
people stepping over them with a nod of 
acknowledgement (sometimes)
scorch your skin
watch Disney on a phone instead of working

google home echoes badly 
'come down for supper now'

 

description (English revision, feedback appreciated)

A young orangutan cries out. Bitterly. Heart-retching. It is a sound of despair. He clings, bright battered body trembling slightly, to the top of a lone tree. Somewhere a bird caws, joining in with the pitiful song.  A flash of feathers, pure white, magnificent, can be seen in the sky before the bird falls, writhing, to the ground.

The orangutan surveys his jungle, his home, with wide eyes.It is unrecognisable. A wasteland. Felled trees lie like burnt out matches, the undergrowth is silent, bar the sound of a few fleeing feet, and the sky is grey.

This is a ghost town. A cementery. A rancid, unnatural smell clogs the orangutans lungs, a smell he can't quite place. Like all the goodness of the jungle had been sucked up and inverted and spewed out. It is the smell of destruction. The oragutan is tiring, and the tree is tiring. Neither realise they are the last, but they suspect it. It feels...

Mid-March Grab Bag

grabbag

  • a poem about the color of an idea. For example, what color is music? What color is Friday? (by TwinklingLights)

death is not black (the colour of night, a reapers robe, the dark)
death is not red (the colour of blood, a screaming rose, anger)
death is not white (the colour of pure snow, cheap silk, rebirth)

death is gentle
pale green and pale pink and pale blue and every colour in between
slowly
slowly
slowly
dimming to nothing
combining
like a watercolour left in the sun
like dust gathering, gathering, gathering on a beautiful photograph
obliterating
but oh, so gently
you hardly notice the differences of shade each day
like the sun slowly creeping away
like time slowly leeching the colours 
or the gentle thud thud thud of rain 


 

Mid-March Grab Bag

grabbag

hi
uhm
so my names Earth aand.. and you probably knew that
maybe
hopefully

uhm
do i have to do this speech?
but why
okay okay i do know why, sorry

sorry everyone, i'm a little nervous

start again? okay, thanks

hello, as you know, my names Earth and today i'm going to be talking about climate change and how we, you, can stop it

what is climate change?
well it uh, its killing me! haha
climate change is the slow warming of the planet
basically your'e cooking me like, like a crab in a pot
or a lobster? do i mean lobster?
who cares anyway! you're killing them too (:
you're killing everything, really

apart from the strange tradition of forcing school children to try and talk about huge important issues
you've kept that alive

where was i
causes of climate change
the causes of climate change are oil and gas, burnt by humans, deforestation, done by humans and...

'poetry'

rupi kaur harnessed
the power of the empty space


her words are not what resonate
those who hold her book to heart
hold the art they see in the blankness;
she has harnessed the art of saying
not showing, of drawing only the faintest lines
so everyone slots their minds
into the gap shes left
and fancy her words reflect themselves
fancy it poetry when in actuality
the readers are the poets
and rupi the empty vessel
(though perhaps thats the beauty of it, perhaps thats the skill, perhaps i should not turn away and place 'poetry' in parentheses, perhaps she is an artist-
no, she is certainly an artist
a wielder of words
but not a poet, at least
as i know
poetry to mean 
~  her 'poetry' means nothing to me

the moment you realise people can die without dying

me and my friend cannot stop glancing at the ghosts we called our friends
as we stand outside the school gates
waiting to be let in 

we can't stop commenting on how they've changed, or how they haven't
we can't help noticing that they never look our way
we can't stop wondering if they are the dead, or we are
we can't stop counting them and staring at the new faces, and staring at the old
we can't help staring, and debating if we left, or they did

but then the gates open
and we swarm towards our friends
our friends now, the living ones
and we forget the ghosts
as they have forgotten us

(but the next day, outside the gates, we can't stop looking their way)

belonging

i find myself drawn to those who seem out of place
as if, maybe 
i could become their place
(or they could become mine)

dead boy

a dead boy passed me in the street
barley glanced my way
barley there but somehow
more real than me

a dead boy grew his hair 
grew taller by the day
grew further away
lived in the corner of my eye
(sometimes)

a dead boy passed me in the street
and i thought of calling out
and the thought had barley formed
but he was out of sight

a dead boy stood in a crowd of ghosts
strangely familiar
strangely unfamiliar 
i wonder if i am dead
(as well)

a dead boy passed me in the street
and i remember he never died;
just kept on living without me

a dead boy fades into antiquity 
and i suppose i have too 

'poetry'

rupi kaur harnessed
the power of the empty space
her words are not what resonate
those who hold her book to heart
hold the art they see in the blankness;
she has harnessed the art of saying
not showing, of drawing only the faintest lines
so everyone slots their minds
into the gap shes left
and fancy her words reflect themselves
fancy it poetry when in actuality
the readers are the poets
and rupi is the vessel
(though perhaps thats the beauty of it, perhaps thats the skill, perhaps i should not turn away and place 'poetry' in parentheses, perhaps she is an artist
no she is an artist
a weilder of words
but not a poet, at least
as i know
poetry to mean 
to me 

extract from a book I kinda wanna write but probably will not


Cedro Calderon awakes to silence and darkness, and that is strange. The door of his cryo chamber does not open, and that is even stranger. He reaches into his mind, trying to find memories from before the black shadow gaps of the Freeze. He remembers; it was 2067, and he was a Pioneer. Cryogenically frozen along with 50 others, to be awoke when humanity sjkdhfsdkf. And so, there should be fanfare. Humans from the future, no, from the present, should be pulling back the door of his chamber, welcoming him into a new world.

But instead there is silence. He asks the built in computer to recite him all recent news and data from the Cloud, but it just beeps despondently and then explains brokenly that it is disconnected from the Cloud and relying on its personal technology. He wishes he still had the technology he had before the freeze, the instant information uploads and live streamed news; they had...

Friendship Tweet

And I can't even remember how I got to know you like this

we share sighs and smiles and sporadic bursts of laughter and long random conversations and biscuits and hash browns and strange memories and poems and life updates and books and lessons and spotify and smiles and sighs 

sick of reality, the world

i am sick of reality
i am sick of the world
instagram posts paint injustice in large fonts and they smother me
radio spits stats
97%, 1 in 3, every woman everywhere
wish i could destroy this world
start again
but my mind dances the line
between heaviness and rage
settling on a sickness;
i am sick of reality
i am sick of this world

but i've got it so much better
than so many billions
than many of my friends
i wish i could destroy this world
start again
turn each statistic into women
and hold them so tight
turn each silence into screaming
each scream into peace

but all i do is smother myself
beneath a duvet
settling on a sickness
shaking with statistics

i am sick sick sick sick
of reality
sick of this world

i am sick of being sick and hiding too silently
i wish i would destroy this reality

and start again

 

non existence

i had a thought last night
it was more of a non thought
a feeling
a whisper i didnt reach into
i felt
for a moment, that i didnt exist
and thats not strange; i feel that a lot
sorta like, empty, acting
but last night
i felt, for a moment
like everything, everything about me and my reality and humanity and the reality of human existence and just everything
as we know it
was a badly woven story
not real
transparent
as if millions of years of history hadnt happened and the future was a concept
and everything was somehow flat
it was like the opposite of that overwhelming feeling
when you remember how long the past is and how detailed everyones lives are and how big reality is
it was like
everything feeling small, non-existent, empty
so small
it was strange
and now i have no motivation to do school work. 

legacy

its strange isn't it, that we are labelled as 'gen z'
it feels like
an end

has god run out of patience?
or will the alphabet start 
again?

it feels like an end
we all collapse on narrow beds in bedrooms still decorated
with childhood
posters peeling
fading fast
it feels like
an end

coz we are the generation 
that learnt to laugh at pain 
like memes 
and die
inside

and it is strange that we are 'z'
a crack through the human race
a crack in our minds
a crack in the delusion
a crack
in our voices 
as we cry
'what mess is this
left to me
in my fathers will?'


for god has forsaken us
left us hanging on
the end
like an afterthought

we will only begin again if our cry turns to
a shout
fists raised
'we will fix this mess
left to us
in our species' will'


so maybe it's not so strange  ...

March Grab Bag

peak procrastination

  • a 100 word story based on a randomly generated word - the story title should be the word that you generated (by alyanna) *Note the word generator website is not affiliated with Write the World. 
word- install 

this won't take a moment
just stare into the light
it wont hurt
we're just gonna install the web
into your head.


bright bright lights behind my eyes. fog in my mind, a ticking sound growing louder, everything stops. i feel a stream of something, something new, into me. into my being. head aches. eyes scream. cant think. and then;

drowning. drowning. voices in my head. information. cant shut it out. reaching for answers asking asking but the web is bigger so much bigger and it simply screams. 

another failure?
cant be helped
early days, early days
take her away. 



 

help i wrote a bad poem about sir robert peel and called it history revision (message box)

SIR ROBERT PEELS BALLAD PART 1

They say I was haughty and aloof, silent and stiff, bland.
I was shy; plucked from Bury, Lancishire
My father owned a cotton mill, he was rich
As rich as any of them with their toffee nosed snobbery
You see, I wasn't landed aristocracy, for me to step foot in parliament was the cause for gentle, gentlemanly, prejudice and gossip
Those landed gentry never saw me 
But I was the best prime minister of my time, many textbooks state, and they were the ‘ultra tories’, a unpleasant footnote
But Sir Robert Peel, that's me, I was a whole chapter in your GCSEs
A whole essay for your A-levels, the father of conservatism, the father of the police
So bow down low to the haughty bland son of a cotton mill owner
Twice home secretary twice PM
Died as I lived, riding towards the sun. 
 

wifi

the wifis down and our house is stupefied
shuts down
we have no heating; our smart metre flounders without connection
we have no doorbell; visitors are reduced to knocking, avoiding the helpless hulk of our ring bell
we have no TV; our netflix, disney plus, prime video, chrome cast are down
(of course we still have 'normal TV', BBC, ITV, but who counts that anymore)

the wifis down and our house is stupefied
and i wonder
when did we become so reliant on what something we can't see 
and then i realise
we are not that reliant
we survive 
we're not dying
i can still write this using data from my phone
we still have hot water, food, shelter, BBC dramas recorded and cups of hot tea

the wifis down and this is first world problems in the epitome 
and this is first world problems so shamefully
and this is first world problems 

the wifis down and i wrote a...

March Grab Bag

peak procrastination

  • a story made up entirely of a dialogue between two people. (by Acexip
Goodbye, Arcturus 


Emergency, what service?

hello? do you need the police, fire or ambulance?

can you here me? caller, if you need assistance please make a noise or press a button on the keypad

(goddamn prank callers)

hello
hello
can you hear me?


emergency, what service?

hello
can you hear me
I want my mother 


Could you tell me your name? 

name?

yes, could you tell me your name please? my name is Sophie and I want to help you

A-Arcturus, my name is Arcturus. And- I want help, you help?

...Arcturus, okay. Hello Arcturus, I'm going to help you, but I need you to tell me where you are and why you need help.

Where I am? where am i? where am i? i don't know where i am.

Arcturus i need you to stay calm and look around you. what do you see?...

Writing history (50 words)

She tracked through bloody history books, searching for the word women. And finding only the ancient chain foundations that built the patriarchal cage. Finding only women and children as a footnote. And so she turned to the future instead, deciding to embesh the word women in gold on every page. 

 

March Grab Bag

peak procrastination

an acrostic poem (in which each letter spells out a word or phrase) with your username (by BriRiley)



Hold reality in one fist and the stars in the other
Everything is nothing but the nothing is loud

You scream into a void as night closes in 


The void looks achingly familiar 

Hair like strands of earth and sun 

Eyes like sunken ships 

Remember the girl you used to be

Everything is nothing but the nothing is me 


Rose, rose, rose, when will that mean anything

Outline girl, fill in the gaps

Stretch your fist into the sky  

Everything is anything you make it to be

uh a tiktok in written form? pretend theres funky music in the background

what my teachers think i do in online lessons
*makes notes*
*nods understandingly*
*listens attentively* 
*good posture*
*learns*

what i actually do 
*spins on chair*
*please don't ask me please don't ask me*
*checks i'm muted and my cameras off*
*dissociates*
*thinks about tasks i need to do*
*pushes all my books off my desk to the floor*
*crouches on floor*
*stands on chair*
*lies on floor*
*crouches on chair*
*goes on wtw*
*writes this piece*

Year by Year

Cedro Callerdon

*this is not my life! (obviously...), i did this prompt for a half formed character in my head (: *

1. I am born at the top of a tower block with a broken lift
my mother hardly manages to take me downstairs
I exist in front of a flickering TV

3. my sister Ada is born and I am so so grown up
i rock her to sleep and mutter nonsense
my mother starts saying
'what would I do without you, Cedro'

5. mother is back late and I lug Ada down 5 flights of stairs
I am too small and she is too young and we tumble on the last step
we sit by the door waiting and I tell nonsense stories
'what would you do without me', I say to Ada

6. mother buys me a headset and I spend my life in another world
in the virtual universe I am big and strong and brave
Ada...

Random nightime wanderings about our place in history

You ever think about the dead empires
The romans the celts the vikings the aztecs the ancient egyptians
You ever think about how one day everything we know will be either mumified or forgotten
You see
To me
(And this metaphor sprang just this minute to my mind)
Our world
(And I mean that in a broad sense, humanitys world, our existence)
Is like a puzzle
A brilliant ginourmous uncomprehendable puzzle 
And piece by piece it is changing, pieces being replaced and destroyed and flipped around until, one day
When we are long dead 
The puzzle of the world we knew will be long gone 
And the new world completely unrecognizable;
The definition of human society is as maluble as time 

you become a ghost

you meet your eyes too many times the black glass of a dying phone 
you search for something you can't find and when you blink you find yourself surprised that the ghost in the glass blinks back
you clasp your hands together in the parody of a prayer and try to find some comfort in the skin that's never warm
you scratch your face with bitten nails and watched the flakes of skin rain down like ash on to the pages of an open book
you place your palm over your mouth to stop the internal screams and you don't know why you expected that to work
you force yourself to drink a glass of water, as if that was the problem, and the liquid cascades in your body and refuses to settle, as if it were something foreign 
you eat chocolate you can barely taste and only stop when the floor is littered with colourful corpses
you light too...

golden shadow god//Dorian Gray

inspired by the Picture of Dorian Gray but Oscar Wilde
it does not do the haunting masterpiece justice
if you've read the book comment what you thought of it below, but no spoilers coz i havent finished it yet (:

crimson black blood as smooth as silk
you fall down down into eyes that shine
but shine so like the night you find yourself
becoming a ink stain of a soul

gilt mirrors shape themselves
into godlike gruesome figures;
fallen gods with hair like gold and serpents tongue
laughter like so many diamond swords

get too close to the fire and your be burned
but this fire burns with empty ice like blackest night;

they fall
they cry 
they die 
cowards 

they age
they wither
they shudder
mortals 

the golden shadow god snickers, complacently 

St davids day

as children we wore red felt skirts to school, checked shawls and cardboard bonnets crammed on tightly plaited hair, red rugby shirts a size too big, leeks and daffodils pinned to our chests
we read poetry and sang welsh words
the syllables fitting uncomfortably in our mouths, the meaning meaningless, mumbling, bumbling, humming, shouting the few words we knew

in secondary school we wore red and green shirts, too big or too small or the wrong shade, and had the morning off lessons
we recited welsh poems we'd perfected in class
the syllables crammed into well drilled mouths, poems written for welsh children who never really learned welsh, repetitive chants, a hall of children heckling, wanting to win

I still can't sing the anthem in a way any fluent speaker would understand; I hum and mumble and mutter and force English syllables into the welsh notes and stop and start and yet
I do smile, on the few occasions I...

Ghost

When I stop 
There is an overwhelming emptiness
And I start; there is a underwhelming denseness 
To this silence 
To this pause
Not a whisper in my mind 
The leaves don't stir they lie like bodies
And blankness on an empty page 
When I close my eyes
There is an overwhelming emptiness 
And I am so awake 
In the never ending starkness 
Of this silence 
Of this pause 
Nothing 
Like a reoccurring thought 
Nothing 
Like a voiceless flute 
Nothing 
Like the stench of an empty room 

online school emails//a hand written letter in response to my best friend

My dearest friend Rha
it was a true pleasure to read a salutation from you written in such a dignified and poetical manner. I must admit my heart leapt at every outlandish adjective and I was really rather blessed to read such a literary letter. Alas! I am attempting to put pen to paper and write that god-forsaken English essay, but no inspiration has struck me yet, like a bolt from the blue, as I pen this. I do, like you, long for summer, and to be transfused once more with the sun and the books and the timelessness of freedom, rather than the timelessness of perpetual school, perpetual procrastination, perpetual agony.
now, I must admit my dearest Rha, I have spent to long on this brief greeting, and my essay calls to me pitifully
I shall take my leave, I heartily pray and wish you have a day befitting the beauty of your soul
fare thee well
Rosie 
 

a year

march is approaching. fast. and that terrifies me.

i am not ready for all the strange anniversaries; 'a year since school shut... a year since lock-down began... a year since the world stopped'

a year is too long. too much. too much lost, too much happened, too strange, too empty, too overwhelming, too underwhelming. too much.

i am not ready for 'this time last year' to mean 'when we were in lock-down' rather than 'when we were free'

 

personality test

personality tests throw me and i
find myself imitating myself
picking the answers i think i would pick;
at least the version of me that ive painted in my head, that the world sees, thats a caricature of a few personality traits

i dont feel anything or think anything as i tick the boxes
i think in third person
what would she do

im not sure who she is 

and when the personality test announces to me who i am
i decide of course thats who she is
thats who she always was
and i store the new knowledge in a character file in my head

dont think too much
about who i am in first person

because who i am in first person
feels like maybe
maybe nobody

and maybe everyone thinks in third person
fills out personality tests in a trance
gets confused by the mirror
reads their words back so 
so detached

maybe we all need a...

character

i cannot figure out if i am feeling this feeling
or if i am feeling what i think a character would feel
if they were me

i cannot figure out if i am thinking my thoughts
or if i am thinking what the character of me is expected to think

i cannot figure out if i am doing something because i want to
or because it is expected of the character that the world and myself has created

i cannot figure out if it matters
either way 

Dream Big

goddamn dreamers

dreams
dreams
​dreams

god why is it always dreams
and future
and passion

goddammit i want some passion
i want to feel something 

at fleeting moments my heart goes
'aha'
but she always falls silent
so silent
so still

and it hurts to see others dreaming

others living

me and my friend talked of this 
as we walked on a grey grey beach;
passion, its elusiveness 
she thinks that most people are not passionate; the ones who are just shout louder
we can be normal, we can be happy
we don't have to be gods
she said

but fuck it i swear
i swear i was meant to be a dreamer
i swear there was a time when i looked at the sky and it was not grey
when i looked at the future and it was not blank

dreams, dreams, dreams

god why won't my heart leap
and fly and flutter and dance and dream

it aches
it longs ...

a tiny lil extract (:

Forrest stared at the ancient, startlingly young eyes and remembered,  just for a moment, that he was just a man. He did not carry the Old World within him like a curse, he was not the Past. He was just Cedro, a man plucked out of his time, with scars on his back and the ghost of tears in his eyes.

“You loved him” she says

“I barely knew him”

“But you still loved him”

He shakes his head again

“I thought, perhaps I would, perhaps I could”

He cannot tear his eyes away from the frozen face. 

“I kissed him. On the cheek, gently, as we stood in line, waiting for the Freeze. He didn’t say anything, just smiled. Smiled and smiled… we didn’t say anything. We didn’t need to… we had the whole of the future to figure things out. And now he’s dreaming and I’m living in a fucking nightmare”

random writing task written for langlit alevel

It was a day I will never forget. A day I will never forget as long as I live. Through the windows of the medical shuttle I can see the double suns setting, orange light leaking across the desolate grey landscape. 

This morning, as the twin suns rose, dancing like devils, I stood with my men. Now, I lie on a medical bed, bots hovering above me, my mens ashes scattered across space.

We took to the skies minutes after the sunrise. My craft was light and whispered technological comforts in my ear. She was a good ship, and we danced like a devil, we danced like the suns, dipping and diving and burning up the sky.

I took down 20 of the blighters, hard, unnatural, shapeless ships that flew as elephants had once walked back on earth. My men followed me, circling the falling foes and shooting them over and over again so they plummeted to the ground. My...

death of a dreamer (50 words)

im hurtling at 30,000 mph into outer space. i am a pioneer, heading to the stars, the future, my dreams. i am deliriously happy. ridiculously happy.

until i am not. until the space craft beeps. shudders. screams. burns.
i am deliriously happy. until i am not. until i am dead. 

Pandemic Metaphor

humanity is an ant colony

humanity is an ant colony disregarded by too many celestial feet
fragile already, obscurity upon obscurity piled together to mimic society
and when we fell we were a collective sigh

ants flee and die and forget their lives but some stay and rebuild with tiny steps

the colony we created was a mockery of before
but safer from the giants
and safer from the storm 

razor sharp teeth cut little leaves in a pretence of productivity
the swarm still stands but we forget how to move our legs so others understand
we forget how to build structures to the sky but we remember how to huddle
and pray it'll be alright

humanity is an ant colony that collapsed in the storm
but ants always return and there are always more;

more fighters and workers and dreamers and lambs
more huddlers and leaf cutters and warriors of the damned

an ant colony is a collective of obscurity 
but an ant colony...

February Grab Bag

Left to the will of the Blue

  • the message in a bottle someone found on the beach. What does it say? (Delia Rune)
Dear Blue  
Do you read our letters?
Toss them gently in your waters?
Trace our words with salty breathe?
Pity the mortals?
Mock our desperation?
Hurl our prayers around like curses till they fall to the deep deep deep depths?
 
I like to think you are a kind immortal 
I like to think you guide our messages so they land like kisses on some distant shore
I like to think you deliver our prayers to the souls we unknowingly seek 
 
If that be so, Blue 
I ask only one thing; Deliver this message to someone who needs it, someone who needs to hear this 
I know you will find them 
As they stand beside your silence and long for the deep deep deep depths   
So send them this message Blue, I'm trusting you.
   
Dear friend 
I do not know you 
But you are loved 
So very loved 
So step away and turn around 
You are...

The Drabble

starlight

purple eyes and blue skin and hair the colour of setting sun. tangled limbs and shaky steps and the stench of burning rubble. the girl, the creature, the thing, followed me like a lamb to slaughter. eyes wide, so very wide. in that moment i wished i had a choice. yet i had always been weak, and my masters words were steel. we sat in a van, hands touching, her, it, still, so very trusting. purple eyes, blue skin, hair like sunlight. sacrificial lamb. i left, slamming the door. and she stayed. the black coffin trundling towards a classified destination. 

burn

if i am a phoenix
light me on fire
i'd like to burn, darling
and spark beauty across the sky
and if i were to burn, darling
do you think i would die
or would my ash become snowflakes
and paint your world white

 

The Drabble

starlight

the girl lay on the grass staring at the stars. she fancied they stared back at her. she had never been a normal child; 'head-in-the-clouds' her mother said, 'delusional' sneered her sister, 'a chime child', said her father. 'a fairy', said the boy who sat two metres away, watching her sigh to the moon. she didn't mind him; he was quiet, and his eyes were bright. he wrote her a poem, years ago, a bad poem. yet she kept it. now she turns from the moon, towards him, and realises she was right; the stars are staring back at her. 

perseverance

i watched scientists fist-bump and clap, their smiles visible beneath the masks, in their eyes
i watched the animated perseverance land on an alien world 
i saw images through her clouded eyes
rocks, grey, nothing
but nothing on another planet
nothing on mars

~ and i was sad ~

humanity was stepping stepping so cautiously, so incredibly, so determindly before the stars
and i was stepping back sinking back into an arm chair with a rock in my heart

i'd forgotten 
really
till that moment

that my soul still wanted to go to mars 

February Grab Bag

Left to the will of the Blue

  • a poem mentioning three cities or countries (Fabiana250)
(i uh, used planets, so yeah (i know pluto is technically a dwarf but shh))

Mercury
Earth
Pluto

The messenger
The mother
The monster

-mercury-
she smiles at me and clings to the light
never sleeping, never dreaming
heart of rock and eyes like stone
the messenger who never strays from home
hold me tight in cold embrace
love the light and hate the chase

-earth-
she throws her arms wide to us all
a miracle, unexplainable, life giver
she fades but still embraces 
mother with a billion mouths to feed
let them burn let them scream
she walks the streets and never crosses to the other side
she hugs the darkness

-pluto- 
she was forgotten 
she was lost
she aches in orbit, separate 
soul of ice and heart that breaks
but mind that rains blood snow
turquoise sky and dancing thoughts
the underworld lives behind her eyes
this monster...

February Grab Bag

Left to the will of the Blue

Prompt: The message in a bottle someone found on the beach. What does it say? -Delia Rune 

to the past
i want to know why you forgot
why you buried your history and culture beneath concrete rubble
and sealed your knowledge in a digital crypt
we search with fists and familiar eyes but we are not like you
because you left your secrets to decay in the air
and left us with shards of materials we cannot name
and a planet that aches 
as a race without a origin, simply pain

from, the future 

The Drabble

starlight

purple eyes and blue skin and hair the colour of setting sun. tangled limbs and shaky steps and fire on the forest floor. the girl, the creature, the thing, followed me like lamb to slaughter. eyes wide, so very wide. in that moment i wished i had a choice. yet the threat above my head and the promise of freedom shimmered persuasively. we sat in a van, hands touching, her, it, still so, so trusting. purple eyes, blue skin, hair like sunlight. i left, slamming the door. and she stayed. the black coffin trundling towards a classified destination. 

25 Words

slumber

And so humanity slumbered, stretching its wings, never taking flight again, while down below the grass grew over the scars and train-tracks, and I slept.

Pandemic Metaphor

humanity is an ant colony

humanity is an ant colony disregarded by too many celestial feet
fragile already, obscurity upon obscurity piled together to mimic society
and when we fell we were a collective sigh
ants flee and die and forget their lives but some stay and rebuild with tiny steps
the colony we created was a mockery of before
but safer from the giants
and safer from the storm 
razor sharp teeth cut little leaves in a pretence of productivity
the swarm still stands but we forget how to move our legs so others understand
 we forget how to build structures to the sky but we remember how to huddle
and pray it'll be alright
humanity is an ant colony that collapsed in the storm
but ants always return and there are always more
more fighters and workers and dreamers and lambs
more huddlers and leaf cutters and living dams
an ant colony is a collective of obscurity 
but an ant colony never ceases...

extract from a book I kinda wanna write but probably will not


Cedro Calderon awakes to silence and darkness, and that is strange. The door of his cryo chamber does not open, and that is even stranger. He reaches into his mind, trying to find memories from before the black shadow gaps of the Freeze. He remembers; it was 2067, and he was a Pioneer. Cryogenically frozen along with 50 others, to be awoke when humanity deemed it it. And so, there should be fanfare. Humans from the future, no, from the present, should be pulling back the door of his chamber, welcoming him into a new world.

But instead there is silence. He asks the built in computer to transfer him all recent news and data from the Cloud, but it just beeps despondently and then explains brokenly that it is disconnected from the Cloud and relying on its personal technology. He asks the computer how much time has passed but even this question seems to throw it, sending it into...

tell me if you're sad

if you're sad tell me
- but I won't be able to do much or say much-
But tell me so I can ache for you
So I can profess to be sending a million virtual hugs to cyber space for you 
If I could see you I would hold you 
- at least I hope I would-
so tell me if you're sad and I will leech the pain from the air
And we can be sad together.

(you are important too)

you do not sleep
and when you do
im pretty sure you lie with one eye open
ears straining 
for the sound of someone who needs your help
 

to the boy i was convinced i could never forget

i find i cannot remember what a-levels you are taking.

i find i cannot even remember what gcses you took, and that is bizarre;
there was a time where i could recite them in my sleep,
a time when i knew your timetable through instinct, and could list the times and places i would pass you in the corridor each fortnight.

when i think of you know you are like a colourful, hazy ghost.
thinking of you feels the same as remembering a book character you loved as a child,
but you misplaced the book.

i can feel your essence so clearly its as if no time has passed
but when i try to picture your face it blurs.

when i message you, once every few months with a
hi how are you,
the hours of conversations we once had hang like curious butterflies in cyber space.
our conversations only last a few minutes now, settling on the floor as...

to the boy i was convinced i could never forget

i find i cannot remember what a-levels you are taking. I find i cannot even remember what gcses you took, and that is bizarre, because there would have been a time where i could recite them in my sleep, a time when i knew your timetable through instinct, and could list the times and places i would pass you in the corridor each fortnight. when i think of you know you are like a colourful, hazy ghost. thinking of you feels the same as remembering a book character you used to love, but the book is going dusty on the shelf. i can feel your essence so clearly its as if no time has passed but when i try to picture your face it blurs. when i message you, one every few months with a hi how are you, the hours of conversations we once had hang like curious butterflies in cyber space. our conversations only last a few minutes...

Get up

Get up of the floor
Get up off the floor
Get up off the floor
Get up
Darling get up off the floor now

Darling I know the world ain't perfect
And I know the pain has weight
I know the gravity of your soul pulls you down too deep
But get up off the floor now
Face the falling pillars of this life you call your own
Coz darling I love you
And you are enough
Stand up tall girl  
Stand up proud girl
Stand up shaking and faking and earth-quaking
Girl
Stand up proud girl

Get up off the floor now
Get up off the floor now  
Get up off the floor now
Get up
Darling get up off the floor now  

rising

you attempt to peel yourself off the floor from where you fell, fetus like, when the world was too much
you cant remember the fall, or the gentle decline, you cant remember anything that led to the moment
you are aware only of the carpet up against your cheek, the dull pulsing of your body, the loud silence, the weight of your limbs
you lift a head which is curiously both heavy and feather light at the same time, a head that is loud and screaming and deathly silent
a neck follows, then a torso, like a zombie rising from a grave
you are kneeling now, hands clasped as if the flesh could harness reality
you struggle to remember what you were doing
you struggle to remember to care
your head nods towards the inviting oblivion of the floor but you pull yourself on to unsteady feet
like a puppet with strings cut
you hurl something at the wall and...

Mid-January Grab Bag

blackbirds burn. A duologue

a piece using only lyrics from songs (don't forget to credit each song and songwriter in the footnotes) (by lemonnsharkk)

Blackbird flying in the dead of night
Achilles Achilles Achilles come down 
You Icarus, you have flown too close to the sun 
Come down 


You can try but you'll never bring me down 
I'm defying gravity
I hope you gather these words that I say;
This bird has flown 
I took these broken wings and learnt to fly
Through the milky way
Past the morning sun

Achilles come down 
Land damn it land 
You say you can't
Well I hope you can 
Blackbird flying in the dead of night 
Some of us love you
Come down.


My friends, I hope you get to see
This bird had flown;
You'll never bring me down
You and your words
Obsessed with my legacy
Remember when we used to smile 
I think I love you...
But this bird has flown 
And Pluto is light years...

Pandemic Memoir

It's still March

we exist in perpetual March 2020

diamond

she is a girl of ink and stars
blood black and blue and red and gold
eyes like stars and moon light;

she is a mortal
a mortal with a pen
and too light eyes
with a weakness for champagne bubbles
she is a mortal
with sleepless nights like raven wings 
foolish tears as the world spins

but she is a mortal
with a pen;

she is a girl of ink and stars
and she wrote the light into her eyes
like champagne bubbles with raven wings 
she dipped her pen in foolish tears
and wrote the world off its axis.


-For rha

online school

you push your head up away from the screen and into the light 
eyes heavy, neck aching in that non existent way
it's there again that feeling 
of having been submerged
for too long
too deep

you sigh and the breathe of a thousand things you should've done makes you want to hurl your phone -or yourself- at the floor

you toy with the idea for a moment, smashing glass, smashing bone silence.

but instead you place your phone down gently and pull a text book towards you, laying your head on it as if you could absorb knowledge that way.

for a second your eyes flicker closed and you look peaceful, for the first time in a while, like a child.




 

Mid-December Grab Bag

December grab bag

Write a poem using only questions. (by TianEn)

Dear Google
questions from gen z


dear google
why do i hurt 
so much?
do i go on my phone
too much?
how much sleep do i need
how much water do i need
how many hugs do i need
to not fall apart?

dear google
why do we hurt
so much?
do we go on our phones 
too much?
are we asking the right questions and
why are do the answers
make us want to scream?

dear google
are we alone?
the generation with all the answers
so why can't we answer
anything?

dear google
are we lost?
the generation with google maps
so why do we sit on the pavement
powerless?

dear google
do i stare at the ceiling too much?
what does that mean?
and should i go outside more
should i see my friends?

dear google
do we stare at the ceiling too much
should we go outside? ...

meaningless mindless numb

tik tok songs swirl around my head;
i hate tik tok as a matter of principle
it kills time its meaningless its mindless and yet
i go on it for just that reason-
to be meaningless
to be mindless
to kill the time that whispers you should be working
you should be smiling 
you should be trying
tik tok lets life mean nothing
lets nothing matter
really
and if the price of mindnumbing entertainment
a few cheap smiles
and a few cheap laughs
is supporting the system that controls us
and rotting my brain away
well
at this point i'll take that
i'll take anything really
to be meaningless
to be mindless
to kill the time and the thoughts
that whisper in my ear 

(until they scream and i throw my phone across the room)

Mid-December Grab Bag

December grab bag

Turn the last text you sent into a poem. (by beth r.)

i heard the news
and i'm sorry
so so sorry
and i know-
i know you've heard that a lot
and i wish there was something i could say
to make it all
okay
but i can't so i won't try just know
i'm sorry
so so sorry
and i'm sending air hugs across space.

the ones we knew before

we all have those people to who our eyes
and our minds
our very beings are drawn like
birds on a kite

i think we knew them in our other lives
the ones that came before
and that is why
before we have heard them speak we know their voice 
and before we have heard their troubles we worry
and pray that these familiar strangers 
are alright

they live in the darkest light places in our heads
and we memorise their smiles so quickly
and the way their hands shake
or their eyes fade
we will always be aware;
i think i must have known you
in another life 

because the first time i heard your name
it sounded right
and my eyes always know where you are
even before i knew who you were;
my eyes knew
and it think my soul did too

this isnt fate or magic, and you don't know my name
i just think we...

The Drabble

starlight

a stranger once told me we had met, in another life. i agreed; his eyes were familiar. your eyes too are familiar, and the curve of your neck and the way your fingers still your quivering lips. i wonder if you recognise me, but i decide not to ask. i compose poems in my head about your eyes. i dance with you in my dreams. yet we never speak because i am afraid; who knows how the story ends in that other life, and im not willing to risk my dream for 'the end'. i'll see you in another life. 

im not being dramatic, im terrified, im trapped, and so are you.

we are trapped in a society that exploits us. we are biological androids, human stock, cogs in the wheels of some monster machine. everything you are has been controlled since they day you were born. try, just try, to imagine a you without society. 

Shaking
Society - nothing
Cage
Cell
Trapped
The machine 
    Stops
        Stops
I wish the machine would stop
Control
Controlled by society mind controlled desensitized 
Biological androids 
Trapped
Slaves
Mind control
No choices no choices no choices
We pick what shoes to wear for the illusion of a choice
But we don’t want to go outside
Perimeters
Perimeters everywhere
Humanity has built invisible lines
Pick a path
Don't stray into the woods
Cage
Punish the ones who wonder
    Punish the ones who stray
        The ones who bang on the cage
Reward system
Give and take
Gold stars, gold coins
Our survival is a currency and the price in conforming

we need...

Pandemic Memoir

It's still March

time; crumbling, normality; abnormal, life; lost

random poetry prompts (extended)

greetings, one of my friends has a poetry Instagram account (which wtw has forbidden my from posting here so.. use your psychic powers and then go follow her...) and she posts twice a day so she writes a looooot of poetry. And sometimes she asks me for prompts, she says i have a magic ability to just reel off a bunch of random words that inspire her, so, i decided to share a few and see if they inspire any of you guys!

if you use any of these prompts let me know and comment links to your piece below, and if you do find these good inspiration say and maybe ill post some more, who knows.

1. fairies falling like snowflakes

2. ocean of forgotten names

3. cherry blossom moonlit sky

4. leaves falling like forgotten faces

5. chipped nails and broken love hearts

6. sunset secrets

7. cosmo iris

8. leather-bound soul

9. heart with an ocean view
...

sunset secrets

sunset secrets 

i.     yellow iris in the sky turns
        bright orange at its fringe
        blinks like so many unsaid secrets
        snake eye in the sky
        why do you leave me?  

ii.    orange bleeds to red
        veins across the sky
        crimson rivers like tears on my mind
        tantalising, tainting
        blood was never this beautiful

iii.    sinking to the sea
        half closed eye weeps 
        spreading like a smothering embrace
        faded, fading
        salt water and pain

iv.    purple creeps from waters edge
        a clenched fist raised
        blossoming like a bruise
        purple, red, aching
        sleep is for the weak
        

forget me love

forget-me-nots and forget me, not

when i was small forget-me-nots
were my favourite flower
they always appeared in my garden patch
a blue haze of bee buzz
i'd kneel in a checked pinofore
and whisper sweet nothings to each bud


each summer beneath the brilliant sun
i grew with my blooms
hair flaxen and eyes bright
we'd plan a future for two

but flowers soon lost their charm
and you did too
i left my garden to the sun
a bunch of forget-me-nots withered in a draw

as i grew up i wore blue
and bent my head down low
a blue haze of fading flowers
and forgotten pinafores

i drooped as they came and went
sweet nothings on their lips
scratched the blue like flaking paint
off everything i missed

today i found a forget-me-not
in the garden where we once lived
i ripped my tights on the gravel
and whispered
forget me, love

 

lone

WHO ARE YOU WHEN NO ONES AROUND?

i am silence
and too wide eyes
and fingers that
tap tap tap tap
and pacing footsteps
eying myself in the mirror
searching
i am empty plans in my mind
and the desire to
lie on the floor
i am tea
downed like an alcoholic
in the early hours of noon
 

solace in numbers

the only thing i can do is maths
it is the only thing that stills the frantic silence-
numbers
smooth and unarguable
steps that flow like well thought out poetry
one after the other
always in order
blue ink lines always straight and
tangible-
numbers cannot lie and every mistake can be
fixed by careful re-evaluation
and ever question
has an answer that will never change

so i will do maths
solve equations that
have no real purpose
to still the silence
of a mind
that can find no
real purpose in 
this empty aching
/room/



 

the gaps between my lines

my neck is
aching
and my eyes are
staring 
at the 
blank
computer screen as it powers to
life
and i realise with a 
jolt
that i have become, no maybe
i 
always was, always 
am 
a kind of ghost
a kind of spirit
forgotten
and following unwritten orders
dreams
that turned cold 
long 
ago, and now i exist in the
silences
between jobs and the 
emptiness 
between smiles and the
long
stretching moments in my mind between feel
-ings




aching 
staring
blank
life
jolt
i
am 
forgotten
dreams
long
silences
emptiness
long
ing


 

character development

i was an optimist once

glass half full and overflowing
i believed in fairies and people with hearts of gold

the other day i speculated
only half jokingly
about covid stretching

into infinity

my friends giggled and i grimace-grinned

said (sarcastically)

you know me

always the optimist

and they laughed again because
i am a half glass empty and drying up
kind of person

but i remember with a pang;

i was an optimist once

half glass full and overflowing

full of the joy of new life
even when i was sad
i believed in happiness

a drought came
i guess

and all the imaginary water
dried up

now even when im happy
im aware of all 
the sadness. 

i am now a 'see the world as it is'
kinda person
not a
'see the world as it could be
full of magic and fairies and gold and good'

i wonder when

i changed

ink blood

i drink ink straight from the bottle
midnight blue
mysterious black
coral red
i want my blood to turn these colours
i want to bleed poetry
to become something mysterious 
made of stars and secrets 
ink blot eyes
- i wish to fly

so i drink in
let it dribble down my chin
stains my skin 
drink until my mouth tingles magic
-ink blots on my tongue

i drink until i am light with it
and i swear i feel the ink surging through my blood
and wings sprouting from my back

i drink until my mouth becomes black and blue and red
with a rash that turns my words to sludge
i drink until my stomach screams and i heave
blue black coral poetry
spewing from my lips.

 

Love

Love is a anniversary card, shakily drawn, with the numbers '61', from a man to his sweetheart, his high-school honey, from a hospital bed and broken brain, which still remembers the decades love. 

Love

Love is a anniversary card, shakily drawn, with the numbers '61', from a man to his sweetheart, his highschool love, from a hospital bed and broken brain, which still remembers love. 

the damnation of humanity

humans are, by nature, doomed.
doomed to die, doomed to leave this world with a imprint as small as moths wings. 
doomed to love, love with every breath until our hearts burst, then love again.
doomed to dream, fly closer and closer to an illusive lamp until we burn.
doomed to care, and be cared for, each tear like a stab across the distance.

humans are be nature, doomed.
doomed to break and stumble, hot wax on fragile wings.
doomed to hurt, burning wings burning bridges as we fall. 
doomed to drift far far away from everything we thought we knew.
doomed to destroy again and again like maggots at a wound.

online school

i ask my laptop screen why my brains not working
and it does not answer, simply
flashes green and white assignments and mutters
tomorrow
so i
     minimise 
the tab and lay down on the floor
i pour stone cold tea down my neck and gulp
on all the forgotten ambitions of 
life-
of tomorrow

and i type senseless sentences into a screen and stare
till my eyes turn dull as if
the wifi has glitched
and so i
    lay on the floor
again
pour burning tea down my neck that turns-
to ice as it crashes into my stomach
- i live on a diet of cold tea and procrastination
empty words and empty politics and empty faces, cameras off-
mute on


the denial tastes like tea thats drunk too much 
the denial sounds like the pause a second too long as video calls crackle
and you remember you need to speak
denial is silence, it...

November Grab Bag

YOUR BIGGEST NIGHTMARE

Dear Cathy
My name is Catherine, and I am your biggest nightmare.
I am the anger inside you. The black fleck in your eyes. The swear words you throw at the mirror.
I am your brothers broken arm, because, in my world, his arm snapped in half when we pushed him, and he had to go to hospital for a week.
In my world, we dumped sam just to see his heart tear from his chest as his dreams crumbled. I know you thought about it, sickened by yourself, but I did it; I am your biggest nightmare.
I am your shaking fists, coated in blood, because all those times you wanted to punch someone, in my world we did.
I am the plot in the vegetable garden where you buried your mothers smashed china plate, in my vegetable garden there are shards of china and bone and smashed video games. You only smashed one in your world, annoyed that...

online school

i ask my laptop screen why my brains not working
and it does not answer simply
flashes green and white assignments and mutters
tomorrow
so i
     minimise 
the tab and lay down on the floor
i pour stone cold tea down my neck and gulp
on all the forgotten ambitions of 
life
of tomorrow

and i type some words into a screen and stare
till my eyes turn dull as if
the wifi has glitched
and so i
    lay on the floor
again
pour burning tea down my neck that turns
to ice as it crashes into my stomach
- i live on a diet of cold tea and procrastination
empty words and empty politics and empty faces, cameras off-
mute on

the denial tastes like tea thats drunk too much 
the denial sound like the pause a second too long as video calls crackle
and you remember you need to speak
denial minimises the tab ...

home alone

Dancing on the table 
Doc-martin boots shedding mud
Blue stars painted on your face
Colourful music like a flood

A peace sign in a mirror
A selfie in the sun
A bubbling Disney song feeling
That you thought forever gone

A smile that explodes
As you prance around the room
Tea towel waving, hair wild
Your heart; a rose in bloom

You don't know how long it'll last
But you'll dance until the steps slur
You'll sing until your throat burns
Just for a moment, you haven't a care

Just for a moment
You're a child 
You're yourself
Just for a second

The mud will shed of your boots and stain the carpets brown
And someone will shout that the musics too loud
But the kitchens clean and you heart is light
You are home alone, and happy, just for tonight.



 

home alone

Dancing on the table 
Doc-martin boots shedding mud
Blue stars painted on your face
Colourful music like a flood

A peace sign in a mirror
A selfie in the sun
A bubbling Disney song feeling
That you thought had forever gone

A smile that explodes
As you prance around the room
Tea towel waving hair wild
Your heart, a winter rose in bloom





 

lie on the floor and gaze at the fog

I can hear the silence pulsing and that rising rising feeling in my head as I detach from reality and the clock is loud, loud, ticking in my chest, my ears are fuzzy, furry, muted, as if cupped by invisible hands and my head is running running in a fog. 

I am aware that I am okay; I can breathe and my chest does not ache and my ands do not shake but lie still on the page. But it is strage, strange, and I cannot think so I

lie on the floor and gaze at the ceiling limbs frozen somehow yet twitching in my head eyes wide wide as the ocean wide as the light that bores into my brain but not into the fog, it is fuzzy and lost. 

Unbiased Anthropology

Msixes within the homo-sapien society

Msixes (mex-es) is one of the key characteristics of the primate species known as 'homosapiens' (also referred to as 'humans'). Msixes is the deep rooted belief that the females of this species, that is to say those with female reproductive systems, hold a lesser place in homo-sapien civilization. Interestingly, even the name 'homo-sapien' refers directly to only the male members of the human race. This belief that males are superior seems to stem from the fact that the female birth the young, and should therefore have a more sedentary servitile role. Despite humans seeming relatively advanced, with complex hierarchical structures, extensive colonies and fascinating technology, the primal idea of msixes still persists. In current homo-sapien culture te females are often treated as inferior or capable only for certain roles, such as gathering food or raising young. Many colonies even have rules limiting the freedoms of females, bizarrely limiting 50% of their species to menial jobs. Even in other more progressive...

I wrote a mini poem sort of about communism and I dont know why (:

We learn about communism in history class and I find
That I sympathise with them, not enough to kill 
But probably enough to die 
For their fools fantasy

Heaven on earth and a falling 
Of all the chains that bind
In poetry it sounds like everything 
Humans desire

In practice it smells like blood
and golden chains of lies
And as my mind turns the colour of fools gold
I feel this is true
Of everything we do.

 

Eyes so wide

LED lights force your face deep into the mirror cracks
Your eyes are so so wide you think you'll fall
Down down into a pit
Have you always been this fat?
 
Your skin is sluggish yellow in the bright bright night
And the shadows look like scars gouged by a poison knife

The mirror stares back with so much bad luck
And you feel yourself falling down down into that familiar rote
You are not enough and you
Deserve to fall
Your eyes are so so wide and you are so so flawed
 
But child, the mirror is cracked, and you are not
The reflection is flawed; the reflection is warped
Beauty pours out of those wide wide eyes
And your skin is the colour of a early morning sky
 
So fly up up into it's arms
Your soul is as deep as the depths of your eyes and both are full of such bright light
You...

On maths and life

I do polynomial long division at 11pm. And I get the right answers again and again. Because I know the steps, I know the code, I know what invisible highlighter lines join each number and I know whether to multiply or divide. I just don’t know
Why.

I stare at the steps I’ve done the lines of numbers and try to work out... I’m dividing this to give me this so I’m subtracting these to... I don’t know. I cannot make these random steps line up in my head. Why. Why. Why.

I realise I am living life like a school child who shouldn’t be taking a level maths trying to prove herself at 11pm. That is to say. I live life like I do maths. I know the steps and I say the right things write the right numbers... But really I’m a sub par child trying to be an adult, trying to feel like a child, trying to...

Injustice so big.

Instagram feed flooded with blood 
Names of dead men
Names of gunmen 
Names of the fallen and the fighters and the free
It is late at night and my eyes are burning
Heart is burning 
Aching with the injustice of this world  
Painfully aware of those who are bleeding bleeding bleeding 
Those who are burning buildings for it seems the only way
To stop the dying
Stop the ache aching they feel as they walk down the streets they call theirs 
While people call them trespassers
And tell them to go home.

And god my bed is too comfortable my house is too large 
I know tomorrow as I walk down the street no one will look at me with blood in their eyes 
And my  soul aches for change  
For utopia and equality 
But oh it seems so so far
So so big
And I am so young. 

Inventory

Dystopian backpack.

She couldn't carry much, only what fit in her old school bag, and only what had survived the flames.

1. A bottle of water; rare. Label disintegrating. Plastic cap dented and scratched but seal still intact.
2. A blue coat three sizes too big for her, with her father's name in her mother's writing on the tag. Blood stained. It may be some protection against the rain.
3. A notebook, worn cover, childish name written in pink ink from back when you could buy such things. Chronicling four years of disaster. The last few pages filled with memories of the lost.
4. A stubby pencil covered in scorch marks found in the rubble by the side of the road.
5. A can of beans, two energy bars and packet of crisps. The energy bars she brought from the wreckage of her house, the beans and crisps were found lying, miraculously unharmed, in the shells of bombed out dwellings.
6. A...

Refuge

Blue light

There is refuge in a phone screen
In not closing your eyes
And there is refuge in the memes that do not make you laugh 
But they do not make you think either and that is the point.

"My Heart is Like"

Chameleon candle heart

I know what my heart is like 
- my lonely traitors heart 
it is like a chameleon
Changing colours like snake skin 
- a river the runs, races, but never reaches the sea
   clings to ideals like a child
a chameleon opposed to the colours of reality.

And I know what my heart is like 
- my yearning liars heart
It is like a prayer 
To a god that doesn't exist 
- a lighted candle in a vaulted soul
   yet watch the slightest wisp of possibility 
Burn my heart down to a chasm.
 

The world shrinks at midnight

The world shrinks till i 
am a hand and a pair of
too wide eyes
and my universe is at my fingertips 
cold bright midnight glass 
typed words that don't quite penetrate the fog
I let myself fall
into this oblivion 
the space around me seems thick with its
nothingness 
and the air is slick with silence 
as the world shrinks 

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

DAY 5. Mirror (I executed this concept so badly I hate it /:

Day 5 mirror

Mirror          Mirror 
I am lost         lost am I 
Tears like falling          falling like tears
Stars in glass          glass in stars 
Fear fragmenting          Fragmenting fear
Forgotfulness with falling           falling with forgetfullness 
Fancies lost          lost fancies 
With darkness             darkness with

DAY 4. you     and      I

You            and            me
Falling            and            failing 
You            lived for            me
you             loved

Me             and             you
Failing             and            falling 
I lived         ...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

DAY 5. Mirror (I executed this concept so badly I hate it /:


DAY 4. you     and      I

You            and            me
Falling            and            failing 
You            lived for            me
you             loved

Me             and             you
Failing             and            falling 
I lived           without            you
I             drowned

Us
Tied together with promises
I broke, you made
Stuck in a constant run to
Run from
You           never knew 
                  I                   just left 
  

DAY 3. panic attack

pacing the bathroom two steps forward two steps back hands...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

DAY 5. Mirror (I executed this concept so badly I hate it /:

DAY 3. panic attack

pacing the bathroom two steps forward two steps back hands on my chest squeezing squeezing as if I could hold the pain in and I can't breathe can't breathe it's coming out in bursts escaping like sparks burning my heart can't breathe. I try to count to four in and out in and out. And then my chest constrict stabbing pains and I cannot breathe so I force my body wreck to the floor and press my knees up like you do if you have a heart attack and again I try to calm wipe the tears off of my face in out. In out. The rough fabric of my sleeve is scratching my skin. In out. In out. My nose is blocked and burning hot and my chest still. Screams screams like there's a thing trapped inside and there's a voice outside the door telling me to open up but the words of please go...

Our Gemini world

I don’t know if I am in love
Or if I’ll ever be
And I don't know if love exists-
Or is a fairy tale;
Its just there’s so many
Love songs
So many romance films
Society taught me that we must pair of like song birds;
A princess needs a prince
Or at least a pair
My brain, against my better judgement, thinks
That thats the point of life;
A lone soul
Is lonely
We are each one half of a whole
I have been told
So I guess its no wonder
That I feel like I’m always searching
For the piece to complete me
And my eyes make me see double
Everyone in a couple
Every hand interlinked 
Every mate mirrored 
But me-
I’m alone
Half of a whole
A lonely soul

And more than anything
I want to be
Okay
With that-

Realise my brain and society 
May very well be preaching lies.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

DAY 5. Mirror (I executed this concept so badly I hate it /:

Unconventional day 2- EMOTIONAL EXERCISE

               At 2am
Sit ups

Because you are 
                              In my mind

                             The best way
And this felt like

So hey
            Heartbreak and

                      May cancel each other out
Muscle ache

Heartless hero
                         Seems like a good

                      I fake a smile
Next step so

Practice my next facade;
                                            (I'm over him)



Unconditional day 1- HUMAN

flailing falling flimsy featherless 
 ...

To be human

I'm falling 
           falling
                falling.

And then I hit hard ground with a force that sends pain spazaming through my newly mortal body
 
There is a burning burning sensation in my chest 
Constricting
Squeezing
Tightening like snakes around my ribs 

I open my mouth with a gasp of pain and my body heaves
Air 
Air is flowing into me
I can feel lungs inflate inside my chest
I feel my new body relax 
And there a thump 
Thump
Thumping 
In my ears

I run my hands over my body and everywhere there's a pulsing beat
Ba-dom
Ba-dom
I have a heart 
I press both hands against my chest and I feel it 
Ba-dom ba-dom
I can feel the blood running around my body
Oh it is so strange to be human 
So fragile 
So magnificent 
So many parts
No longer an empty reflection 
Ba-dom 
Ba-dom 

My chest...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Week 2 completed

DAY 5. 
space/forgotten/january/lonely

Fading is the colour of the empty space where you would have stood in a photo. It is forgetful. The last stroke in a pen running out of ink. It is like an empty January sky and concrete. It smells like petrol and tastes like cholorine. It is lonely.

DAY 4.
wonder/sun/water/kiss/strawberries

Wonderlust (spelling intentional) is the colour of knee high grass in the mid day sun. It is water lapping around your ankles like a kiss. It smells like daisy chains. It is a song you forgot you knew, and white, white, clouds. It feels like strawberries in May.

DAY 3. 
crows/wound/empty/wings

Murder is to colour of crows and blood. The deep dark of a gaping hole in flesh. It shines like a dead man's eyes and a lonely moon. It smells like disinfectant and the night. It feels empty. Like wings in a rib cage. 

DAY 2.
warmth/light/safe/summer/cocooned

Dogis warm. It is the colour of...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Week 2 completed

DAY 5. 
space/forgotten/january/lonely
  Fading is the colour of the empty space where you would have stood in a photo. It is forgetful. It is like an empty January sky and concrete. It smells like petrol and tastes like cholorine. It is lonely.

DAY 4.
wonder/sun/water/kiss/strawberries

Wonderlust (spelling intentional) is the colour of knee high grass in the mid day sun. It is water lapping around your ankles like a kiss, and smells like daisy chains. It is a song you forgot you knew, and white, white, clouds. It feels like strawberries in May.

DAY 3. 
crows/wound/empty/wings

Murder is to colour of crows and blood. The deep dark of a gaping hole in flesh. It smells like disinfectant and the night. It feels empty. Like wings in a rib cage. 

DAY 2.
warmth/light/safe/summer/cocooned

Dogis warm. It is the colour of firelight and wet sand.  It smells like cinnamon and rain in the summer.  It is the colour of a cocoon about...

weird song thing

I'm always two steps behind
Or two steps ahead
Blending to the background
Or out of your sight
You'll never see the whites of my eyes
Because I am a ghost whose forgotten the lines
Young pretty maidens all dressed in white
I'm the one wearing black
Just out of your life
Flowers and fancies and parties and promises
I'm the girl addressing death to the dark in the night
I am a ghost who know all the lines
Of teenaged angst and human hate
My screams echo silently to the night
While other girls dance in white.

Icarus (it's midnight this is random)

Warm wax like honey dripping down your back
Glazed like a carcass
Sweating defeat
Did you realise?

That your god had made you a 
Flightless thing 
Doomed to fall
Slick sunlight as heavy as sin
Were you blind?

Stars in your eyes as you fell
Flailing feathers 
Fiery
You fell like the most perfect ending 
I wonder if your god laughed 
Comfortable in a white sky
As your pride melted to misery
Mist like 
Chemicals in your lungs 
Coughing from your sun

And I wonder if your god pitted 
The mortal who flew oto close 
Wax like honey 
Drip dripping down your intentions 
A heavenly carcass falling
to someone else's feast

But maybe god envied you 
The mortal who learnt to fly
Who learnt to fall
Down down like the most perfect ending 
I wonder if your god ever longs to fall
Like honey
Drip dripping down your spine.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Week 2 completed

DAY 4.
wonder/sun/water/kiss/strawberries

Wonderlust (spelling intentional) is the colour of knee high grass in the mid day sun. It is water lapping around your ankles like a kiss, and smells like daisy chains. It is a song you forgot you knew, and white, white, clouds. It feels like strawberries in May.

DAY 3. 
crows/wound/empty/wings

Murder is to colour of crows and blood. The deep dark of a gaping hole in flesh. It smells like disinfectant and the night. It feels empty. Like wings in a rib cage. 

DAY 2.
warmth/light/safe/summer/cocooned

Dog is warm. It is the colour of firelight and wet sand.  It smells like cinnamon and rain in the summer.  It is the colour of a cocoon about to burst and feels like familiar weight. It is comfort. 

DAY 1.
jealousy/sick stomach/lone/decay

Artichokeis the colour of sickness and a blank phone screen. It is the smell of old food in a fridge. The stench of dying flowers gifted to someone...

Icarus (it's midnight this is random)


Warm wax like honey dripping down your back
glazed like a carcuss
 sweating defeat
did you realise?

That your god had made you a 
Flightless thing 
Doomed to fall
Slick sunlight as heavy as sin
Were you blind?

Stars in your eyes as you fell
Flailing feathers 
Firey
You fell like the most perfect ending 
I wonder if your god laughed 
In the sky
As your pride melted to misery
Mist like 
Chemicals in your lungs 
Coughing from the sun

I wonder if your god pittied 
The mortal who flew to close 
Wax like honey 
Drip dripping down your intentions 
A heavenly carcuss falling to someone else's feast

But maybe god envied you 
The mortal who learnt to fly
Who learnt to fall
Down down like the most perfect ending 
I wonder if your god ever longs to fall
Like honey
Drip dripping down your spine.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Week 2 completed

DAY 3. 
crows/wound/empty/wings

Murder is to colour of crows and blood. The deep dark of a gaping hole in flesh. It smells like disenfectent and the night. It feels empty. Like wings in a rib cage. 

DAY 2.
warmth/light/safe/summer/cocooned

Dog is warm. It is the colour of firelight and wet sand.  It smells like cinnamon and rain in the summer.  It is the colour of a cocoon about to burst and feels like familiar weight. It is comfort. 

DAY 1.
jealousy/sick stomach/lone/decay

Artichoke is the colour of sickness and a blank phone screen. It is the smell of old food in a fridge. The stench of dying flowers gifted to someone else. It is the shade of the sky just before dusk at the end of a bad day. It feels like a cold lone school seat.

sunset death

sometimes the world feels like the sky
just before dusk
on a summers day;
blinding, almost
in its brilliance
blood reds and
offending yellows
bleeding like memories
ochre spills and scarlet drips, drips
down the day;
sometimes the world feels like a beautiful death
the final bow in a tragedy
thrown flowers crimson
with pain,
majestic misery
as the night
creeps quietly into each corner
like ink.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Week 2 completed

DAY 2.
warmth/light/safe/summer/cocooned

Dog is warm. It is the colour of firelight and wet sand.  It smells like cinnamon and rain in the summer.  It is the colour of a cocoon about to burst and feels like familiar weight. It is comfort. 

DAY 1.
jealousy/sick stomach/lone/decay

Artichoke is the colour of sickness and a blank phone screen. It is the smell of old food in a fridge. The stench of dying flowers gifted to someone else. It is the shade of the sky just before dusk at the end of a bad day. It feels like a cold lone school seat.

Death wears daisy chains

this is awfully written but I'm in love with my 12am brains creation of Death in his (chosen) human form so here you go: (I'll try to write this up better at some point!!)

His eyes are vivid blue like a summers sky and his skin is the colour of sun speckled earth. 

His hair is black, but it looks red in certain lights, and it is close cut and neat. A few stray curls carress his smooth forehead.

when I grasp his hand it is soft and warm and his fingers are long, grasping mine like a promise. His fingernails are bitten down, neatly, and a plain silver chain circles his slim wrist.

He wears a huge black close that covers his body completely, but when he takes it off and drapes it over a chair I see that underneath he is wearing sparkly fishnet tights, a pink skirt and a black band t-shirt. Daisy chains circle his neck. 

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 1

DAY 3. Dark night

DAY 3- 5 THINGS TO REMEMBER WHEN THE NIGHT IS DARK, DARK, AS DARK AS YOUR SOUL

Number one

Everything is temporary, and this, whatever this is, will pass. Hold on.

Number two

​The dark is your friend and means you no more harm than the sun does. Turn out the lights; there is peace in the warm embrace of the night.

Number three

Life truths are written on the celling in soul ink. Lie back and you will see them.

Number four 

You are a human being, a really physical thing, so you need to breathe. Breathe. And unclench your jaw and your fists and close your eyes.

Number five 

You are the only person in control here; you are the only voice in your head. Speak loudly over the din of messy thoughts and remember. It will all look brighter in the morning.


DAY 2- 5 THINGS I AM FEELING RIGHT NOW (23:21, 14/07/20)

1. Sick, the familiar constant...

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 1

DAY 3. Dark night

DAY 2- 5 THINGS I AM FEELING RIGHT NOW (23:21, 14/07/20)

1. Sick, the familiar constant pain is stroger than ever in the pit of my stomach

2. Unsettled, i don't know why. probably just coz its late. my mind is loud and quiet and screaming and empty at the same time. a minute ago i found myself crouched in the fetal position not sure how i got there.

3. Shaky. again, probably just late night symptoms. typing is helping, though i keep making typos. 

4. Empty. and sad about it; i got new rose embroidered boots toda and i cannot figure out why i was only happy for a split second.

5. Calm. there is calmness and some serenit in this state of mind; i know what to expect


DAY 1- 5 THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY (coz sometimes i forget that i can be happy)

1. Climbing a tree (wind in the leaves; my feet finding the footholds...

10 list ideas for this week's challenge(:

I was thinking of ideas for this week's writing challenge and came up with quite a lot, so wanted to share them (:

10 things you want to forget 

10 things the education system taught you

13 superstions you have 

5 things  quarantine taught you, and 5 things you will need to unlearn after covid

5 memories that shaped your childhood 

5 times you wanted to be someone else 

20 words that describe you

5 things that make you happy

5 books that changed your life

10 songs from your soundtrack of today

HAMILTON

Alexander Hamilton, my name is -

And here I try to place my name, manipulating the syllabus till they fit- my name is ro-o-o-sie j-ones and there's a million things I haven't done 

My name never sounds right. But still I try to mould my story into his because 

His story is so brave. He was so great. He was incredible. And these words, written by someone millennia after his death they are so 

Brave so

Great

And when I sing them for a second 

I feel that power 

Strength 

That drive

In me. And so. I fit my ill sounding name into a song 

About a man who died before my great grandparents were born

About a man who started a new country 

Who died too soon

I fit my name over his and dream unrealised dreams of

Bravery and

Greatness 

Power and

Strength 

My name is 
Rosie Jones and there's
A million things 
I haven't done 

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 1

DAY 3. Dark night

DAY 1- 5 THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY (coz sometimes i forget that i can be happy)

1. Climbing a tree (wind in the leaves; my feet finding the footholds instictivly; skin pressed against rough bark; the sky, so big)

2. Suddenly seeing myself in my family (my eyes in my father's face; my strange bony hips on my mother; my words in my brothers mouth)

3. My dogs (wet noses nosing mine; tiny feet on my stomach; their ecstatic joy when I come home)

4. That half awake state in the seconds before dawn (timeless; life is liquid; all is warm and still)

5. The beach (wind in my hair; salt and sand; infinite blue; the emotion of the water)

legacy

its strange isn't it, that we are labelled as 'gen z'
it feels like
an end

has god run out of patience?
or will the alphabet start 
again?

it feels like an end
we all collapse on narrow beds in bedrooms still decorated
with childhood
posters peeling
fading fast
it feels like
an end

and it is strange that we are 'z'
a crack through the human race
a crack in our minds
in our voices 
as we cry
'what mess is this
left to me
in my fathers will?'


for god has forsaken us
left us hanging on
the end
like an afterthought

we will only begin again if our cry turns to
a shout
fists raised
'we will fix this mess
left to us
in our species' will'

the caged bird still sings

this isnt even a gilded cage
this is just a cage

i dont know how to be a hero in this world (more midnight mumblings)

there is pain
in my silent ambition

a yearning that wont go away
for change
yet my cries are so quiet

even i lose them in all this
noise

and god don't i wish it was black and white
give me an evil dictator to fight
at least give me a dream
one i can hear
or give me a war to
die in

my screams never quite sound the same
they echo the books that i read
or music i blast up a tree

and god don't i wish there was a goal
for that tree to be a plot point
for the music of a battle
let me have a battle
and always know im
right;
let me fight

let the route be mapped
give me hard work
god give me a plan
i will write till my hands bleed
fight till my heart aches
scream till my voice quakes
if only the voice could shout
louder

and...

*Bows deeply* Welcome to my mind. (And yes, I am as confused as you) (roll up roll up for a brand new extra night of existential random!)

PART 1
07/07/2020
ALMOST MIDNIGHT

if i do not write
i will lie here
hand on my heart
eyes fretful
or stare at instagram messages
that do not come

and so instead
i type

- - -

the cat sat
on the mat
cat sat
mat
cat on mat
sat
sat cat
on mat

cat sat

like death at dawn
waiting for his shift

cat sat

like silence at night
smothering my mind

cat sat

like time on my chest

cat sat
on mat

and still the music plays

around and around like small children playing

happy ever after laying
reality dragon slaying

on the mat

like fingers in
the depths of my brain

on the mat

like a battlefield
awaiting blood

on the mat

like ink stains
in my head

the cat sat
on the mat.

- - - - - - - - - - - 

PART 2
08/07/2020
00:27

hark
hark
can you hear
the dark bark
...

*Bows deeply* Welcome to my mind. (And yes, I am as confused as you) (roll up roll up for a brand new extra night of existential random!)

if i do not write
i will lie here
hand on my heart
eyes fretful
or stare at instagram messages
that do not come

and so instead
i type

- - -

the cat sat
on the mat
cat sat
mat
cat on mat
sat
sat cat
on mat

cat sat

like death at dawn
waiting for his shift

cat sat

like silence at night
smothering my mind

cat sat

like time on my chest

cat sat
on mat

and still the music plays

around and around like small children playing

happy ever after laying
reality dragon slaying

on the mat

like fingers in
the depths of my brain

on the mat

like a battlefield
awaiting blood

on the mat

like ink stains
in my head

the cat sat
on the mat.




 

1AM #proudofthis

The night is timeless and my heart is ageless
The ache is endless yet my soul is boundless
This world is breaking at the seams
As the night rips open reality;
The dark embraces me indefinitely
I slip between the folds of time
My eyes like voids my soul like stars
The unceasing weight of mortality
Pulling at my puppet strings
Immeasurable is the depth of the night
And the depth of my sins
And the depth of the dark; who bows his head
declares 'I am king' 
'Bow to your master'
I bow willingly
For my will is drowned
And the dark stretches on indefinitely.
 

grandmother #proudofthis

we air hug in the kitchen
6 feet apart
my stick thin arms embrace the air
yours; wrinkly like too many days, translucent
pale blue veins visible beneath paper skin
i imagine the blood flows 
through the air
to my heart
as you blow kisses
across the table

you fix eyes, hidden beneath folds of skin, on my face
for too long
trying to drink me in
ingest lost memories
you tell me i've grown
and smile sleepily
stretching your fingers out
as if they remember my lines

later i walk around the house
inhaling the air
i missed the smell
musty, sweet, like homemade soap and clean linen
and warmth and comfort
and hugs that last too long
the house seems to embrace me
on your behalf

i ache for your arms
to be smothered in an uncomfortable hug
what wouldn't i give
for cold clammy bony hands to gasp mine
or a wet sloppy kiss planted on my...

'please read this' hashtag idea

Hi, I'm a ghost on here, and never really publish anything that isn't like, writing writing. But recently I've had a few posts  that I was really proud of, but that didn't any readership or comments. So, like just this second, I had an idea, maybe we could create like a 'please read this' hashtag, for pieces we really want to get noticed. We could put the hashtag in the name of those pieces and that way, if it became enough of a thing, people who wanted to read and review posts the writers actually cared could search that hashtag, and authors could get more meaningful feedback.

This is just an idea, please comment your thoughts, and ideas for what the hashtag would be. If people like this idea I'll write another post in a couple of days with the best/most popular hashtag idea from the comments. I'll probably lay out some guidelines so it works and ask people to...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 14

Blackbird singing (up a lonely tree). DAY 5.

DAY 5.

Blackbird
by the Beatles


The other day I sat in a tree, knees pressed against the trunk, one hand resting on a branch as the shoulder of an old friend. We had guests over, social distancing in the garden, and I had escaped over the wall, to the tree. 

The song blackbird is playing on my phone, which is balancing on a bough.

The words echo up the wood.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly


These words appear unbidden into my mind again and again like a prayer. The idea of flying, of flying in brokeness, of soaring. I don't know, those words, that tune, means so many unsaid things to me.

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

The world looks different from a tree, quieter and calmer and insignificant.

All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise


I love the unspecified 'moment'...

Dust Jacket

Dust jackets- prompt 3

I belong to girl guiding, that family of nerds and outliers, built on paper plates staked with food, stupid song lyrics we scream in the woods, and clumsy crafts.
I belong to that band of brothers in school, the normal-enough, nice-enough, little-bit-weird class, who gravitate to each other on the walks between class, and talk to fellow nobodies in the queue to lunch.
I belong to the quieter side of the harry potter fandom (the sherlock and good omens ones too) who don't shout very loud but look at headcanons at 2am and have many half formed fanfics in their head.

I learn well up a tree, though those lesson aren't the usual sort, more life and me than languages and mathematics   
I learn well, on a singular given half an hour on one day every few months, at the kitchen table with headphones in, convinced this is the start of a revision revolution.
I learn words best at 2am...

#characterquirks (im not a bandwagon person... but its 1am and i dont want to sleep)

1. I like eating frozen raspberries (and don't really like fresh ones) (I know its weird but hear me out- with frozen ones you got flavour and crunch and coldness, and no mushyness and dodgy gritty bits)

2. Painting my nails makes me really happy- but only if its black or multicoloured or just like ridiculous. (I'm not an arty makeupy person or anything so painting them is literally just a layer of colour)

3. I get really awkward and nervous when I'm walking and someones behind me or in front of me. I feel like my walking's weird and I cross over to the other side if I can

4. When we were still in school I liked arriving at the place I met my friend early so I could sit on the wall and listen to music

5. I like being in the rain without a coat

6. I can't sit still watching tv and doing nothing, I...

and I will melt into the sea. (Its midnight, this is random, unedited, the usual)

If I stand by the sea long enough/ sand scraping my skin/wind tugging my hair 
If I stand there/long enough
My skin will turn to sand/my hair to a seaguls wing
My eyes will turn blue/like the shadows of the clouds/on the water
My feet will/sink into the ground/purple rock roses will adorn/my bones

And if I stand by the sea/long enough 
You will find me/floating 
A pool of ink/the colour of forgotten souls/with sheen like oil spils/blood/and tears

is the world brighter with pink hair (random, unedited, idk what this is, its midnight)

four poster bed/ pink shelves/ stones and shells and fairy stories
relics of a child/ who hid behind the garden shed
and sits now/ on the window sill/ curtains drawn
chipped black nail polish/ chipped brown eyes/ a tight smile (sunken now; only comes out in company)

her hair is limp/ and brown
she longs for pink/ hairspray hidden in a bottom draw/ with eyeliner and sparkly boots
sometimes she doesn't know
if she wants to stand out/ or blend in;
she is only comfortable with friends/ hugs the walls as she walks/ hood up
yet the mirror longs for/ colour/ difference/ change/ something to make her smile
but the dye is always temporary/ washed out by the rain 
the mirror is never satisfied/ her smiles always fade.

Waiting for the void to reply

The void is white and cold and full of voices 
The same voices, the same words over and 
Over again
My own screams get lost 
In the cold white noise 
The silent answers choke 
A noose around my soul
These shouts make sense 
I say
These shouts make change
These shouts are magic
My shouts are simply pain 
My words are drowning in the blackest light
Suppose a ghost can't expect to speak 
To any audience;
Despite this sometimes I wish 
That the void would scream 
Back.

Beyond Reason

Corrupt DNA

Why is there pain?
Why is there pain?
Why is there pain?

Why does humanity ache so?
Why do we ache?
Why humanity hurt so?
Why do we hurt each other?

Why is there pain?
Is it man-made?
Are we society's slaves?
Maybe its biological
A deep destiny to ache so
A inescapable urge to hurt?

Maybe like lions we thirst for blood.
Maybe it's in our DNA to run from peace and joy?

It seems like the inky explanation;is it really too much to ask
For harmony from the species
That created love?
 

Writing Streak Challenge Week 12

I find meaning in.

Day one.

I find meaning in the sky. In the every shifting pattern of the cosmos. In the ceaseless dance of the clouds. In then playful song of colours. And the everness of above.

Day two.

I find meaning in the white spaces between words. The void of silence between a car door slamming and another opening. The pause of time in an empty street. And the restfulness of a breath.

Day 3.

I find meaning in the familiar faces of my friends. In our laughs that erupt in unison. In the silent conversations of people with shared souls (eye brows raised, slight smirk, a nod, and everything is understood). 

Day 5.

I find meaning in the rain. Rivelets poiringndown my face. Hair plastered to my skull. That constant roar upon the pavement. Heaven crys.

Writing Streak Challenge Week 12

I find meaning in.

Day one.

I find meaning in the sky. In the every shifting pattern of the cosmos. In the ceaseless dance of the clouds. In then playful song of colours. And the everness of above.

Day two.

I find meaning in the white spaces between words. The void of silence between a car door slamming and another opening. The pause of time in an empty street. And the restfulness of a breath.

Day 3.

I find meaning in the familiar faces of my friends. In our laughs that erupt in unison. In the silent conversations of people with shared souls (eye brows raised, slight smirk, a nod, and everything is understood). 

rose tinted//blood tainted

when i was a child i painstakingly drew a brush across the world;
paint the colour of my name
like petals on rocky ground
like varnish on a blade
i submerged the world a delicate shade
of pink.

each leaf was its own god given gift
the night sky a master piece
every carefully crafted cloud
a miracle in my eyes

and every human was a saint
evil was something that existed outside humanity
everyone could be redeemed
our species was pure beauty
hate but a weak parasite
beneath my rose tinted microscope

but as i age so did the paint
cracked and fading
night drip dripping
into my blood
love soaring like spilt milk in the sun

the clouds turned to smoke
vile burning death in the back of my throat
every one was a demon
every eye turned red
and every leaf fell
in the perpetual autum of the world.

 

The centre of the universe.

Theres a black hole in the centre of the universe and it resides, I believe, at 2am on a Monday night, in that pinprick of dark directly in front of you  as you lie on your back, eyes wide open.

It is at that point where every thread if your life, future, present and past weave together in a mess of clarity that stays for a few seconds before disintegrating, as you fall into a fitful sleep.

In the morning the centre of the universe will be a dream. If you think of it at all maybe you will laugh and say 'the centre of the universe is me' or maybe you will think its god, or an unspecified spot in the middle of space. But for a few seconds at 2am on a monday night you will know. 

The centre of the universe is a black hole, and it resides within the empty spaces between your bones.

FISTS RAISED TO THE SKY

WE STAND
FISTS RAISED TO THE SKY
SCREAMING SILENCE.

WE STAND 
ON THIS RAVAGED LAND
BITTER TEARS AND SOCIETYS SCARS
CARVED DEEP IN OUR EYES.

WE STAND
FISTS RAISED TO THE SKY
SCREAMING SILENCE.

THIS IS NOT A PLEA TO THE HEAVENS 
THIS IS NO DYING MANS CRY
THIS IS A PLEDGE 
TO FIGHT.

EACH FIBRE OF OUR JOINED SOULS SCREAM
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH 
NO LONGER WILL WE LIE
FACE DOWN IN OUR PRIVILEGE 

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH 
AND TODAY WE STAND WITH YOU
FISTS RAISED TO THE SKY
SCREAMING 
'FREEDOM'
'FREEDOM!'
IN EVERY TOUNGE.

toxic masculinity

he slams the door
falls to the floor
crashes his fist into the wall-
in his mind;
he only cries inside.

he wears his masculinity like a crown of thorns- 
weeping blood
he wears his masculinity like a necklace of rope-
choking
his feelings
his thoughts
him.

he built a dam behind his eyes and now he drowns
in the silence of his father
in the childhood of scraped knees 
'man up' and 'girly tears'

in his mind
he cries
lets the salt water rise
until all the doors burst open
and all the dams are broken.

you can't shoot the moon and expect her not to bleed

the moon bleeds silver blood
spilling over the sea
staining the sky 
resplendent in death

the moon bleeds
and her empty husk falls
slowly
gracefully
like a feather
in to the welcoming waves

and the silver blood turns the sea silver
the moon bleeds

her hair, the colour of the stars, tangled with the night
her eyes, two empty craters
submerged in salt water
silver blood seeping from the wounds in her heart

when the moon falls from the sky
the very sea lays still

so here i stand in silent silver 
world stops
as still as the lost empty girl
standing knee deep in the water

i wonder why they shot the moon
and didnt expect her to bleed.

LOOK AT ME

a room full of strangers 
blank faces
empty eyes

silently i cry

and my tears ignite
spelling burning words in the sky
LOOK AT ME they seem to scream

my eyes ablaze declare
LOOK AT ME

my clenched fists howl 
LOOK AT ME

my mouth open in a silent screech
LOOK AT ME

my beating heart as i fall to the ground
LOOK AT ME

the sky rushing down
LOOK AT ME

nail scratches on the floor
LOOK AT ME

firey eyes and firey soul
LOOK AT ME 

 

sorrow society

it is the curse of humanity
to cry in company

we are a sorrow society
bonds built on mutual anxieties

together we cry
together we die
together we smile and say 'I'm fine';

it is the curse of humanity
to lie in company

we are a sorrow society
stuck in an emotional hiarachy

togehter we search for the light
scream into the night

together we fall apart
rip out our hearts

we are a sorrow society
doomed to cry in irony;

to cry in isolation;
to cry with a whole nation.

 

description. feedback appreciated.

Dust filled clouds are gathering above the city, as if the heavens are preparing to weep on last time for this lost land. This graveyard. This land of the dead. The houses are shells, coated in ash, broken windows stare out across a decaying, broken world. The people too are empty. The last stragglers of humanity walk like zombies down the forgotten streets. The paving stones are long gone and the streetlamps stand at strange angles like broken toy soldiers. A burnt out car stands sentry, bonnet and roof ripped apart by some colossal hellish force. The metal work is slick with blood and desperation. Corpses line the streets like landmarks. The walking dead that are the living stumble past skulls and blood bleached bones. This is a skeleton city. Crumbling into oblivion. Derelict, barren and abandoned by all but death. Soon it will be buried forever beneath the descending sky.

Enumeration

things lockdown taught me

1. It is possible to get a crush on someone via video call
2. Time is infinite and finite and relative and concrete and fast and slow and infinity uncooperative
3. There is no limit to the plans that can be made for 'When This Is All Over'
4. 9 weeks feels like a year in a day 
5. Productivity only comes knocking at 2am
6. Unlocked cage syndrome is a thing and you will start to fear the end of lock down
7. Eye contact and hugs and invisible inside jokes kept me sane in the past
8. I cannot paint
9. Some books are so familiar you can pick them up and start at any chapter, if your time is short
10. Every night you will miss everyone
11. It is easier to write bad poems than to think
12. I can ignore the news effectively
13. The reminder of death only appears once or twice a week,...

Playwriting Competition 2020

Daffodils

SCENE 1

The set is a white room, lit by a bright white wash. There is a white bed on the left side, and a white chair downstage centre facing the audience. There is a small window and a door stage left.

MOTHER, a middle aged woman dressed in a white nightgown, is lying on the bed with her hands folded over her chest. After a moment she rises and walks slowly to a chair facing the audience where she sits. Looking out at the audience, as if into a mirror, she brushes her hair and applies makeup. Her face remains expressionless and her movement monotonous throughout these actions.

MOTHER: (staring absently out into the audience) Daughter?

DAUGHTER: (from off) Coming Mother.

DAUGHTER, a girl of about 10/11, wearing a checked pinafore with her hair in plaits, enters through the door.

DAUGHTER: (leaning on the back of the chair, chirpily) Yes Mother?

MOTHER: Tell me, what day is it?

DAUGHTER: ...

Flashlight

the monotonous task of ignoring death

the only problem is the prime ministers catchphrase
a big decision- to sit in the sun or in the shade
our lives are locked by our mindsets
as firmly as by our four walls
and why watch the news
its always the same, after all

we scroll through netflix 
incessantly 
and feed our boredom with video calls and memes
about face masks and zoom
never about the dying or the dead
only about quarantine or unspecified dread
 
and when we call our friends we talk
not of next week or now
only of 'after all this' and how
we will go camping or to the city
always assuming we will live that long
always assuming we will still belong

when we sleep at night we don't thank god for our breath
or realize how easily we could be in a coffin not a bed
we only think of the walks and video calls 
the homework and games
always assuming...

i hope you know i write you letters in my mind

when i cant sleep i list
the names of everyone i have ever loved
my family
friends
lovers
pets
people who've smiled at me
people who've stayed
people who've left
people i hold in my soul

i list their names and;
staring wide eyed at the ceiling
hands across my heart;
i pen letters to the dark

friend i love your smile
i love your laugh

hey
i wish i could hold you


hey
i wish i had told you


friend,
i hope you can hear me

i hope you can feel me

screaming your name


the dark 
perhaps not surprisingly
does not shout back
but i think so hard so long and so loud
that i can hope
my mental letters reach

your tired mind,
i can hope
you know 
i am here
in all of my faults
all my tears and fears and silent shouts in the dark
here
for you.

meaningless unrelated irrelevant nighttime wondering

my heart is heavy and the night is young and so i write

- - -

my mind is numb
my soul is young

-

i write letters in my head
to the faces i cant leave behind
and the names that die in my heart again
    and again
          and again

-

we never look down 
we never look down
we never look back and we never look anyone in the eye
we never look down
coz the sky is bright and below is black and this rope may-
so we never look down
dont ever look
d
   o
      w
         n

-

i long or rain and for the cleansing of my skin
my soul
the baptism
of nature

-

i always find myself
almost unwillingly
in solitude
my feet place me on
family walks
at the back of the pack
and at dinner my...

Playwriting Competition 2020

Daffodils

SCENE 1

The set is a white room with three white walls, a white bed on the left side, and a white chair downstage centre facing the audience. There is a small window and a door stage left.

A middle aged woman, MOTHER, is lying on the bed with her hands folded over her chest. After a moment she rises and walks slowly to a chair facing the audience where she sits. Looking out at the audience, as if into a mirror, she brushes her hair and applies makeup. Her face remains expressionless and her movement monotonous throughout these actions.

MOTHER: (staring absently out into the audience) Daughter?

DAUGHTER: (from off) Coming Mother.

DAUGHTER, a girl of about 10/11, wearing a checked pinafore with her hair in two plaits, enters through the door.

DAUGHTER: (leaning on the back of the chair, chirpily) Yes Mother?

MOTHER: Tell me, what day is it?

DAUGHTER: (muttering) Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday (loudly) Friday Mother!

MOTHER:...

Playwriting Competition 2020

Daffodils

SCENE 1

The set is a white room with three white walls, a white bed on the left side, and a white chair downstage centre facing the audience. There is a small window and a door on the right side.

A middle aged woman, MOTHER, is lying on a white bed with her hands folded over her chest. After a moment she rises and walks slowly to a chair facing the audience. Looking out at the audience, as if into a mirror, she brushes her hair and applies makeup. Her face remains expressionless and her movement monotonous throughout these actions.

MOTHER: (staring absently out into the audience) Daughter?

DAUGHTER: (from off) Coming Mother.

DAUGHTER, a girl of about 10/11, wearing a checked pinafore with her hair in two bunches, enters

DAUGHTER: (leaning on the back of Mothers chair) Yes Mother?

MOTHER: Tell me, what day is it?

DAUGHTER: (muttering) Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday (loudly) Friday Mother?

MOTHER: And the month? What...

Farsick

mars

In half term I went to an exhibition in the design museum, London. 

It was an exhibition on Mars. And at the end there was a mock up of a would-be mars pod. With fake windows looking out on a fake digital mars scene.

I could've stood there for ages watching the tiny movements of the animated rovers. I had this incredible sense of longing, and belonging, and a deep deep urge to rip apart the screen and step into mars, real mars, another world. 

I follow the NASA Instagram page and I get the same feeling when i see pictures of astronauts in the national space station. It is a mixture of longing and jealousy and a deep deep sadness at the near impossibility of ever stepping of this planet.

it keeps me up at night. and when i stare up at the stars i dont see them just me among them. and it makes me study maths despite...

Playwriting Competition 2020

Daffodils

The set is a white room with three white walls, a white bed on the left side, and a white chair downstage centre facing the audience. There is a small window and a door on the right side.

A middle aged woman, MOTHER, is lying on a white bed with her hands folded over her chest. After a moment she rises and walks slowly to a chair facing the audience. Looking out at the audience, as if into a mirror, she brushes her hair and applies makeup. Her face remains expressionless and her movement monotonous throughout these actions.

MOTHER: (staring absently out into the audience) Daughter?

DAUGHTER: (from off) Coming Mother.

DAUGHTER, a girl of about 10/11, wearing a checked pinafore with her hair in two bunches, enters from stage right.

DAUGHTER: (leaning on the back of Mothers chair) Yes Mother?

MOTHER: Tell me, what day is it?

DAUGHTER: (muttering) Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday (loudly) Friday Mother!

MOTHER: And the month?...

and is it human nature to question the world?

it is night, and as is the way of things i begin
to question


does love exist?
does god exist?
are they one and the same?

the sky is dark and wide and as empty as my heart 

does bliss exist?
or happiness?
and how do we find it?

each sound is amplified by night

are we dreaming?
are dreams real?
is it strange that real life seems more dream like than a dream?

and there is an ache inside me

does everyone hurt?
and if so why?
is this humanities best kept secret?

i long to be held by other arms than the dark

are soul mates real?
and will i find mine?
if not will i be cursed to loneliness for all eternity?

and the air seems pixilated

are we simply a computer program?
a string of dna and cells?
and can a program have a soul?

my body feels foreign in my mind

are we alive?
or is...

and is it human nature to question the world?

does love exist?
does god exist?
are they one and the same?

does bliss exist?
or happiness?
and how do we find it?

are we dreaming?
are dreams real?
is it strange that real life seems more dream like than a dream?

does everyone hurt?
and if so why?
is this humanities best kept secret?

are soul mates real?
and will i find mine?
if not will i be cursed to wander alone for all eternity?

are we simply a computer program?
a string of dna and cells?
and can a program have a soul?

are we alive?
or is this death?
and if it was would it make any differene?

Untitled

I can feel the dreams curdling inside me
The childhood praise 
Tightening like a noose around my neck 
my stomach is aching as if squeezed and prodded by iron hands 
Tears mourn the gifted kid who learnt to late that 
Gifts go stale and 
a love of reading at a young age 
Does not an author make.

Dusk

The sun spreads like ink on the horizon 
Staining everything 
(The trees, the roof tops, my soul)
A delicate rose gold 
I watch a indigo blanket fall across
(The trees, the roof tops, my soul)
And the stars come out.

a moonless existence

I always found myself watching you
Watching the slow and stately ivory dance
You led
On the outskirts of life
Always there
Orbiting
Comforting like the sight of a flower in Autumn
Comforting like the inevitability of the oceans pull
 
I always found myself watching you
Watching you waltz with the stars
I always felt
That you were somewhere black as night
Bright as diamonds
Somewhere far from this world
Yet always in the corner of my eye
 
In the moments when I couldn't find
Your pale watchful face
I felt like a ship lost
Without anchor on a starry sea
Cast asunder
Without a satellite to guide me
 
That is how I feel now
The night is darker than ever
And the stars mock me with their light
Desolate like dead flowers in spring
Like the stopping of the tide

extinction

 
I think of all the things
That are going extinct
The name Geoffroy for example
And indigenous tribes in brazil
Dial up wifi
Flip phones
Tigers
And sea turtles
Fax machines and
Headphones with wires
Chivalry
Manners
Looking at someone and
Not at a phone
Giant pandas
Kindness
Without reward
 
I think of all the things that are going extinct
Old ladies who got taught knitting at school
Survivors of the war
Plastic straws
Disposable cameras
Eskimos and blackberry phones
Good mental health
For example
 
Simple pleasures
Happiness without
Pressure
A smile without a selfie
Samarian elephants
Cheap fountain pens
 
I think of all the things
That are going extinct.
And wish time would not destroy so much
History.

my midnight cry to no one

'bye
im blocking you now'

yet
i continue to write
i send a stream of messages
you will never see
my brain is in that state of mind
when i need to talk to someone
even someone whose not there
especially someone whose not there

and so i type and type
i unburden my soul
something i wish i could've done
when you still cared to listen
i say all the half written thoughts building in my mind
everything i never said
i write it as one long
broken
meaningless
messy poem

i write it for no one
for you
for the dark and at the insistence of my brain

if you ever unblock me
and read my midnight drunk on deep pain words
i doubt they will make sense
you will probably laugh
or block me again
at the evidence of my insanity

at the end
of the poem
the song
the cry for help
at the end of...

On the nature of the human heart

The metaphorical heart is soft
tender
the heart of flesh, not so much

it is slimy beneath your fingers
and when you squeeze your thumbs together it is tough
and oozing slightly

you explore the cavities
the right atrium
the aorta
you prod the flesh
it is surprisingly supple  

with an ironic smile you pluck at the heart strings
the chordae tendineae
and find them tough and taut like those of a guitar
they are still all to easy to snap

you realise this, during your evacuation of my organ

a poets heart can be shattered
like glass
and regrow
each spring

yet it was all too easy to rip my heart from my chest
hold it in your hand 
dripping
as it beat its last.
 

I'll leave this in a gap in your garden wall

I realise with
   Strange glee 
       That by the time this arrives 
          We could all be dead 

More likely we will be living 
Thriving 
   Even 

But there is something apocalyptic 
Fairy tale
Tragedy 
Armageddon action film 
About all this
     
      And it is strange 

Part of me wants to talk about
Clothes  
 And books
   And boys 
Summer plans-

And yet

It feels to flimsy 
To unfixed 
A hopeful maybe on the calendar 
It seems an unsubstantial topic
Of conversation 

So maybe I should quote the deaths 
      The dead and the dying 
  The overflowing hospitals 
Overworked nurses and food shortages and economic crashes 

But that too seems
    Wrong 

For what are we to do
   But stay home and hold our breath
      But hope and pray 

It seems disrespectful to brandish deaths as
Conversation topics

So maybe  ...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2020

A long winter, and the coming of dawn.

We wake
On the first day
And remember 
And lie corpse like
Thinking of
Emptiness ahead
Then we schedule 
And we exercise 
And clear out the attic and our minds
We read books and write blogs and 
We call out friends again and
Again as we schedule and study and
Exercise and we watch like convicts the changing sky
Then we tidy our rooms and paint the walls as the radio spits out the death toll
And the TV preaches ‘stay inside, save lives’ and we cry; inside as we
Call our family again and again and again like dying men
And we pace the halls and cut our hair and get dressed just to lie in bed (corpse like) and we read and tidy and study and scream 
Inside. 

And then 
Somewhere 
An 'all clear' sounds 
And we wake
And remember…

And we step outside 
In pajamas; bed hair; bare feet
The sky is blue 
And the pavement warm...

lost,, social experiment

This was a social experiment 
how many likes can a poem I wrote in 5 seconds, with no deep meaning and pointless punctuation, but following the rules of 'instragram poetry' (lowercase i, strange line breaks, short, meaningless ,, . ~) get?
Answer- more than pieces i think about.
Sad times.

i dont know who i am
i am lost someplace 
far from home 
my soul is cast adrift amongst the stars;
the souls of the dead
~ l.ost

lost,, social experiment

i dont know who i am
i am lost someplace 
far from home 
my soul is cast adrift amongst the stars;
the souls of the dead
~ l.ost

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2020

A long winter, and the coming of dawn.

We wake
On the first day
And remember 
And lie corpse like
Thinking of
Emptiness ahead
Then we schedule 
And we exercise 
And clear out the attic and our minds
We read books and write blogs and 
We call out friends again and
Again as we schedule and study and
Exercise and we watch like convicts the changing sky
Then we tidy our rooms and paint the walls as the radio spits out the death toll
And the TV preaches ‘stay inside, save lives’ and we cry; inside as we
Call our family again and again and again like dying men
And we pace the halls and cut our hair and get dressed just to lie in bed (corpse like) and we read and tidy and study and scream 
Inside. 

And then 
Somewhere 
An 'all clear' sounds 
And we wake
And remember…

And we step outside 
In pajamas; bed hair; bare feet
The sky is blue 
And the pavement warm...

Five Line Fiction

Fire

I told you I loved you you told me to go
and I went further than you imagined, the the very egdes of hell.
I burned with such fire I forced you to remember  to look at me and burn, with me.
We both burnt out.
You in your city job, your unloved wife and restless kids.
Me in India, dubai, california, Sydney,  in the places I saw but never stayed. 

water

Humans are 60% water 
or more
so is this why 
i cant breathe 
why I am drowning 
in my heart 
in my head
im drowning in my soul
is this why 
the world is muted
with an under water glow 
and my chest is tight 
and i 
cant breathe
i cant swim so
will i drown
in this traitorious water body 
of mine.

Names, Names, Names

icantsleep

A breakfast joint- eggeberts
A new smartphone- quarintech
An eyeglasses store- eyesore
A dog pound- save our skins 
A highway- H1 
An island resort- restore-t 
A new constellation- covid-19
A pet polar bear- Cat
A nail polish color- psychedelic tears
A new butterfly species- gold madonna 

Living through history isn't as fun as I thought

We read
And sleep
And call our friends 
We look at memes 
Watch the news 
We listen to the government;
One walk a day, no school, no social
Gatherings 
Stay 2 metres 
Away
We watch the news 
Do as we're told
Look at memes 
Ignore the death toll
We sing 
As we wash our hands 
Count to 10
Twice over 
Soapy water 
We live in a dreamlike state 
Between our phones and our families 
We listen to the government 
And we look at memes 
And search for comfort in faces 
Through a screen
We sleep
And eat
And our mothers tell us about
Empty egg shelves 
Butter gone
Yet we still 
Get enough
And elderly family members 
Baracade 
Themselves inside their homes 
We look at memes and post them
To family whatsapp groups 
And we listen to the govement
We download duo lingo 
Pick up and old guitar 
Stay inside 
Stay inside 
And pray

Some odes to pain

I make a map of my body 
and capture the pain 
a mountain lump in my throat 
a busy highway down my chest
a sea in my stomach 
dry desert ravines in the bones of my legs
smog in my head and storm in my heart.

~ ~

This pain is physical and so I beg to know 
Who came in the night and unpicked my skin
Slashed my stomach and heart to shreds
Who pulled out my ribcage and rattled it around 
Let the fears manifest into pain
They shoved my internal organs back in the wrong way
Sewed it up with thread the colour of the night 
And left me to ache 
Who stole my soul 

~ ~

It should not take 
deep breaths to walk
up the stairs 
to stand
to sit
to think
​it should not take 
all my strength
to knot the pain inside of me
it should not take 
a clenched fist
a shaking...

a metaphor for pain

there are cracks in this house
in this heart
in this soul
damp patches and
dry rot
rats and bugs
curtains permanently drawn
door shut
in this house
in this heart
in this soul
each new visiter trashes the place
leaves stains on the carpet
Fist shaped holes in the wall
tears in the sheets
they put up new curtains
bolt the doors
in this house
in this heart 
in this soul
i let them in mostly
or they kick down the door
or sneak through the window so they're waiting
as i slip into bed
i cant keep them out
dont know if i want to
at least for a time this house isnt empty 
this heart isnt empty
this soul isnt empty

it is now
 

Listen, please

Listen
please
be quiet
listen












Did you hear it?
the wind 
distant footsteps 
gunshots and screams 
did you hear the cries of starvation 
the tightening of a noose
did you hear the sea
the slamming of a door
the whip strikes of injustice 
the sound of dripping blood
can you hear?

Star Wish

My dreams are the stars

I long to be there 
among the stars
i mean
and this isn't 
some poets dream
i long to be there
in a new word
see the earth from 
down below
see the moon 
from a distance star
be the only being 
to get this far 
i long to breath where there is no air 
walk where there is no ground 
exist in some place far
far away from the confines of our race
and i swear it's not stupid 
though maybe it is
but i swear up there is
where i belong 
and
one day i swear
i will go there.

knowme

one day i will take all my poems
scribbles
half finished stories
and lay them on the floor
i will piece them together 
by candle light
with the soft tap tapping of the rain outside 
and then
i shall know me 

a metaphor for pain

there are cracks in this house
in this heart
in this soul
damp patches and
dry root
rats and bugs
curtains temporary drawn
door shut
in this house
in this heart
in this soul
each new visiter trashes the place
leaves stains on the carper
tear shaped holes in the wall
tears in the sheets
they put up new curtains
in this house
in this heart 
in this soul
i let them in mostly
or they kick down the door
or sneak through the window so they're waiting
as i slip into bed
i cant keep them out
dont know if i want to
at least or a time this house isnt empty 
this heart isnt empty
this soul isnt empty

it is now
 

hope or death

i believe that there is more than this
because there must be, there must

i believe there is always light after the darkness
because im so tired of being lost in the night

i believe we can break these chains
because god this manacles hurt, because freedom must exist

i believe we can fly
because im so tired of falling

i believe love exists
because im so done with loneliness

i believe theres something more out there
because this cage can not be it

i believe we must fight
because what choice do we have?

i believe we must hope
because what more do we have?

you

you
are not beautiful
not popular
no god
but i like your smile
and your voice
the blue of your eyes
the bend of your head over a physics question
the way you tilt back on your chair
i like your laugh
your walk
hands deep in pockets
head bowed
you are no god but
i like you

but
i am not beautiful
or popular
no god
so you would never like me 

Valley of shadows

Will you still be laughing as the world burns?
Will your throne of notes still stand
As you sit there 
Flames licking your golden chains
Blood staining your yellow teeth 
And your fat beached whale tounge 

Will your party guests still come?
In their gowns of bone and betrayal
Soft devils breath 
White fingers of the aristocracy stroking
The bodies of the dead

Will you still be immortal 
With your castles gone 
When your head is crowned with thorns 
And your dollars soaked with tears 

And will you still be immortal 
As you walk between the bones 
A golden nose around your neck  
And an army made of ghosts

splintered bones ripped soul, will you ever forsake me?#kickoff

empty phone a tumour in my pocket
name a mantra in my mind
memories a rope around my heart
some ancient torture
drawn and quartered
my soul scattered like pieces of a photograph

my ghosts aren't dead they are the living
the shadows of my present- your past
that dwell in that foggy screaming abyss of my mind
wont let me REST
wont let me
GO

these paths we walked
the words we said
those fucking feelings that i felt
they come out in the night
a pandoras box
many taloned, winged, fanged creatures
are these spectres of the dark

i still worry 
about you
i still pace the corridors of my mind
and pace the corridors of yours
,worrying
for you

i still hurt
for you
i still scream and punch my walls
scream and punch the walls i built
,hurting
for you

id still rip my heart from my chest
for you

light myself on fire
for you
...

ugly

i with my face was made of clay
so i could rip chunks out of my too big nose
and gorge my sunken eyes till they are wide and beguiling
i wish my face was made of clay so i could cut deeper dimples in my cheeks
and rip my teeth and lips from my jaw to rearrange them in some sort of smile
and i would tear my hair from my scalp and paint it back straight and long

and oh i wish my face was made of clay
so i could beat it to a pulp beneath

my fist

and start again
stealing teeth and lips and hair from photos in a magazine and strangers in the street.

we are Swansea

we are a grey city
(a small city...a city with no cathedral...a town in disguise)

we hug the curving coast
(a limitless coast... a grey coast... a coast that gave us our name)

we own the sea
(or perhaps... the sea owns us)

we are a blitzed city
flattened in 17'
(beneath these grey tower blocks are the foundations of old... these streets are graveyards)

we were a port city
(the sea gave us life... pulled us from the shadows... we are sinking again)

now we are a grey city 
(grey... but also blue like the sea... gold like the sand...green like the parks I played in)

we are a rising city
rising from the depths
(it is literally rising... block by block each week... everywhere houses and halls and stadiums are rising)

we are a grey city
(but really... we are silver)

Word Collage

society

if i have seen far it is because i have stood on the shoulders of giants
yet
man is born free and everywhere he is in chains
it its like 
the idiots guide to Marxism
man is wolf to man
and a women needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle
in a world where
i will trust the government with their guns when they trust us with ours
and
taxation is a form of theft

all quotes stolen form my history classroom wall.

11pm rant

I long for something terrible to happen 
a fire maybe 
or a flood
so I could save someone
something 
have a cause
the apocalypse would work too 
or an invasion 
I could stride the country in worn black boots and a tattered coat
saving lives 
freeing the oppressed 
fighting for 
something
anything
i long for some reason to hurt
some righteous reason
a heroes reason 
I long for some reason to feel this way
instead of this ache 
for which there is no reason
and I long for a scar 
down my face
a battle wound 
a warriors brand 
marked out as someone 
who did something 
I long to be seen 
And I long to break properly 
dramatically 
fire and brimstone and swords
then I would know
i had broke 
and the world would know 
and I could rebuild my self 
rebuild the world
why does everything break 
so unceremoniously 
we does our world collapse 
An atom at a time ...

we couldve fallen together

we are broken and bruised
falling apart
but you were going to take me
in your arms
through the storm
through the dark
through the fucking apocalypse
hold me as our lives fall down
we were gonna rule this broken world
- - -
but the silence taught me long ago
falling apart is something we do alone
 

we couldve fallen together

we are broken and bruised
falling apart
but you were going to take me
in your arms
through the storm
through the dark
through the apocalypse
hold me in your arms
but the silence taught me long ago
falling apart is something we do alone
 

the lies we tell

im okay
seriously
dw
ik im not replying but I'm busy
that's all
im okay
im good

im not sad
im happy
im fine
ik i look sad but that's because
my resting face is sad
lmao 
im good

im fine
honestly
just tired
not tired of life or people or pain
honest
just tired
dw about me
im good

my day was fine
ik i look
kinda dead but
it was a fine day
good
im good

im not crying
im not
my eyes are watering because
idk
but im not crying
im good

life is good. 

 

my demons and me

in the night i sat cross legged on my bed. the air was dark and still as corpses eyes. my demon of the night was a fat black cat and i ran a steady finger down her back. tonight would be ok. the purr was steady. pain like aching bones but not a hiss. no knives tonight. my demon slinks away and i am left shivering in the emptiness. somehow worse than the fear. the dark ripples. i smile thinly and take out my bag and set about my lonely task. i am a midnight Penelope. i weave words in the dark. i carefully pull each strand like devils hair and with my needled of bone i stitch it into my soul. blood seeps as black as ink and the air is thick. i can not breath and now i lie flat on my back and try to suck some life from the lifeless air. my tapestry dissolves and now...

refugee

i am a refugee;
i am space debris 
orbiting your world;
suspended in that void between realities
that pause between lives
whispers on a breeze

i am a refugee;
i have lost the key
to my house;
i float back and forth on midnight buses
caught between times
that place between places

i am a refugee;
aching to be free
i envy the birds;
i want their wings and the wind
they belong anywhere
i belong nowhere

i am a refugee;
pain carried me
to your world;
i envy the children born here
i envy their laughter
and their homes

i am a refugee;
and that is all you see
i have no face;
we all have the same face in this foreign land
i live in the silence
i live in the pain

don't forget our names.

 

Six-Word Story

lost

I managed to save her teddy.  

Child Narrator

Mummy?

Mummy is crying again.

I try to do what daddy used to do and stroke her hair and make her a cup of tea. The tea is hot and burns my fingers and the bag split so soggy lumps float at the top. Mummy didn’t even say thank you.

’What’s  wrong mummy?’’ I ask. She didn’t hear me coz her face was hidden in the cat so I had to ask again.

’Whats wrong?’

’Nothing sweetie’

I hate being called sweetie. Mummy doesn't look like nothing is wrong. Her eyes keep looking at the smashed picture of mummy and daddy’s wedding on the mantelpiece.

’Do you want me to fix it mummy?’

Mummy doesn't reply. Her mascara is running down her face like black snakes.

"Whys it running mummy? Why isn't it waterproof?"

"Nothings waterproof darling'

She's staring at her third finger on her left hand but I don't know why. The finger is red and sore like the time...

Midnight sun

he was the light and i
i was the dark
black hole and
star
a sun
never meant
to exist
within the same reality
i was
what he
would never become

and yet
he took me
held the dark in his arms
let the light seep
into my hollow bones

he made the dark inside me shine
like the light inside his eyes
we were sun and moon
dark and light
day and night
suspended in the line between realties
intertwined
a midnight sun

i feared i would kill him
snuff him out like a birthday candle
solar eclipse 
dying star
i half longed and feared i would
make a suoernova out of him 

but instead he taught me 
that a balck hole 
is as beautiful as a star
but not as beatiful
as a midnight sun.
 

caring too much

i need to stop placing my happiness
in the hearts and tongues and minds of 
other people.
- i wait for the day my thoughts will stray to me

sinking

i have been 
swept away
tide of tears
tide of night
tide of life
decisions 
plight
and i
need a rope
a boat
oh teach me how to swim
need more breath
more time
my soul is water logged
turn me off and put me in rice
wrap me in cotton wool
i need someone to hold
till the water goes
 

Arctic Dreams

the magic in the ground

in the jam packed
box stacked
concrete paths and tower homes
stories of magical trees
rivers
mountains
dragons and sprites
mingle with stories of secret paths
beneath the city
robbers and wizards and
urban fairies.

in the quaint little cottages
tucked in the folds of fields
where bells still chime 
and children skip
the stories are of sleeping dragons
mermaids dwelling in deep lakes
giants on the moor

in scotland kelpies and trolls and seal-folk
protect their heathen home
tiny wooden houses in Iceland
are home to elf-people
and the desert sand swept dark nights
are stalked by Qutrub werewolves.

 

Food for the Soul

Lemon drizzle

Lemon drizzle cake. Lemon sponge soaked in lemon syrup. Coated with sugar and crystallised lemon. It haunted the tables of my childhood; the birthday parties, the family gatherings, lunch with the grandparents and dinner with the cousins.
 
My grandmother, 83, mind and body bent with age, can still remember the recipe if you prompt her. Now, with the help of Haley her cleaner, cooker and all time organiser, she heats the oven to 180C.
 
My brother, 18 , ignoring his maths and physics and art, beats together 225g softened unsalted butter and 225g caster sugar until pale and creamy, then add 4 eggs, one at a time, slowly mixing through, and sprays the mixture all over the counter

My cousin, also 18, in Newcastle university, clings to the familiar smells as she sifts in 225g self-raising flour, then adds the finely grated zest of 1 lemon and mix until well combined. 

Her sister, 25,  back from her first day as a...

#sixlittlestories Drown

life's an ocean; i cant swim.

Alphabet of regrets

A small bird sings, and another joins in. Back and forth back and forth the melody goes, a simple love song, achingly pure. Careful not to disturb them, I sit. Dandelions bob like tiny sun in a green sea. Ethan had picked one for me once, presenting it like it was a treasure. Foolishly I had laughed him away. Guilt seeps through me and air catches in my lungs as I glance back at the two birds. Hopeful notes dance in the air. I cry out as the pain of what has happened hits me like a fist in the stomach. Jealously mingles with the overwhelming sense of loss. Kris had told me I would regret it, and then she had turned away from me, comforted him. Loud sons rack my body as I imagine his hands on someone else. My own hands clasp thin air desperately. No one will ever replace him. Oh fuck what have I done. Promises...

So much is missing

it is strange 
time seems to has reversed
i am back to those nights a year ago
dreaming of you
from afar
just i got so much closer than i planned 
i ran
i am too scared of the unknown
of myself 
why did I run 

now i am in a safe house somewhere deep in my head
and you 
you are just out of reach 

i have bolted the doors
i am crying

i miss you 

One-Liner

purgatory

that silent vieled place between a smile and a sob

Glasses

a pair of glasses
still sit on the crooked legged table
where you left them
yesterday

eyeless now
the glass still stares
me down
disappointment on its tongue

there is
a layer of dust
of dead skin
coating the lenses

I wonder if
it is my skin

or yours?



 

The Masked

We are woken at four am by a shrill alarm that doesn’t stop for fifteen minutes. Around me my roommates are getting up, shivering in the stark morning light as they peel back the standard issue white sheets and run their hands through newly cropped hair. We take it in turns to step into the shower that douses you in cold water, sprays foul smelling soap over you and blows you dry in 15 seconds. Then we get dressed. We all wear identical clothing- white trousers that stop before our ankles, white boots with black zips and a long sleeved white shirt buttoned up to the throat. Our collars are edged with yellow and so are our boot zips to show we are new initiates. We each have a white titanium eyepatch fitted over our right eyes. If we pass our first three years of training we will get a mask that covers a quarter of our face, if we...

tears

my hair is damp and drips the tears i can not cry

I’m sorry but goodbye

I know you will cry
maybe a lake or a river
maybe a sea
but surely 
that is better than 
the constant cracks I unwittingly make 
in your wilting heart 

and i I know I won’t sleep 
for a night or a week
or a month
but surely 
that is better than the midnight dark 
that will not let me go

Breakup

you are probably crying
i knew you would
i can see you now
lying on your bed
spread-eagled
ragged breaths and wet cheeks
that crushing sense you used to talk about

i am not crying
i knew i wouldn't
instead the pain inside me has risen
it threatens to escape
it is a stone insdie me me
my eyes are glazed and my head aches

- the tears are trapped inside me

goodbye
im sorry
im so sorry.

One-Liner

purgatory

The places we want are the places where we can’t breath.

Child Narrator

Mummy?

Mummy is crying again.

I try to do what daddy used to do and stroke her hair and make her a cup of tea. The tea was hot a burnt my fingers and the bag split so soggy lumps floated at the top. Mummy didn’t even say thank you.

’What’s  wrong mummy?’’ I asked. She didn’t hear me coz her face was hidden in the cat so I had to ask again.

’Whats wrong?’

’Nothing sweetie’

I hate being called sweetie. Mummy didn’t look like nothing was wrong. Her eyes kept looking at the smashed picture of mummy and daddy’s wedding on the mantelpiece.

’Do you want me to fix it mummy?’

Mummy didn’t reply so I gave her my teddy and put on the TV and went to bed.

no one tucked me in.

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Rain

I have a friend who stood for an hour in the rain. I was not there but my other friends, bemused, told me of how she stood outside on the tarmac playing field, no coat, no nothing, not walking, just standing; the rain dancing around her feet.

I asked her why and she told me she just liked it.

Maybe she liked how the rain hid her tears.
Maybe she liked being alone.
Maybe she liked the melody blocking out her thoughts.
Maybe she was letting the rain wash away the dirt.

Maybe it was a baptism of sorts.
 

Too many hearts i can’t let go

I need to realise 
that I am nothing to these people 

they do not take the shared smiles and hang them on the wall
as I do
they do not string our conversations into a song
i say ‘you fine?’
they exhale; relived to be noticed, and nod
and forget
bit my eyes flit and track their breaths and frantic tap tap taping of their hands 
I try to send some comfort 
and paint their heart over mine 
sometimes it fades 
but I still notice their eyes and the tap tap taping of their hands 
spending time with them adds more blood red paint to the mosaic 
their smiles and tears and words shine like pearls in my eyes
I wish I was brave enough to tell them
or I wish humans weren’t so blind 

I need to realise I mean nothing to these people.

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Rain

1 My traitor heart

I ran today, against doctor's orders.

When I got home my mother, flustered, busy, coping, did the basic checks (my heart rate, breathing etc.) and hugged me hard.

My father, silent, stressed, cracking, told me off then turned away with a sob.

My brother, 14, moody, normal, put down his phone with shaking hands.

He must have seen something in my eyes, because he said; `There's still time sis, you’re on the waiting list for a heart’

‘Waiting? I can’t wait- I’m out of time’

I walk out and try to ignore the beating of my broken, traitor heart.

2 Rain

I have a friend who stood for an hour in the rain. I was not there but my other friends, bemused, told me of how she stood outside on the tarmac playing field, no coat, no nothing, not walking, just standing; the rain dancing around her feet.

I asked her why and...

Hair cut

Slice. Rasp. Shudder. My hands shake. Don’t stop till the floor is littered with hair. My reflection recoils. My new fringe cuts across my forehead like a scar, and beneath it my eyes are visible. Too visible. They have seen too much. Scissors fall and clang against the floor like a plague bell, calling ‘bring out your dead’. But there is no coffin yet designed for a heart, nor soul.

Later I trim my fringe till it’s presentable. That’s all that matters. Nobody else will meet my eyes, those eyes, looking at me beseechingly from beneath my brunette scar.

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Rain

My knuckles bleed, thin lines crisscrossing my fingers. The mirror is shattered. I peer at my reflection. My face fractures grotesquely, a nightmare mosaic, seven years of pain. Only her bodyless blue eyes seem undamaged. Those eyes. I take the mirror off the wall with shaking hands. The red sharpie writing on the back is warped but I can still read it. ‘Congratulations son!’. My mother wrote it but beneath it my father had sketched a small caricature of a woman in white and a man in a suit. I take my bloodied finger and paint her dress red. 
 
 

Feminist.

Turn the hurt inside you into a stone and throw it in this glass house.

You _ _ _ and _ _ _ I

I hold 
you
in my dreams each night I pray that 
you
feel it
my
arms wrapping around 
you
and holding 
you
every night 
i
dream away the times 
i
will see
you
you
and
i
have travelled the world together in
my 
dreams

but every time
i
see
you
something inside 
me
shuts off and rebels
i love
you
but then 
i
cant.

 

#imagineit Online form to stay in the City, please fill in before midnight on your 18th birthday.

You have a limited number of words to persuade the jury, you must follow a specific structure, please be brief.
If the jury's conclusion is affirmative you will be granted stay within the City, otherwise you will be ejected. 
We hasten to remind you that mortality rates Outside stand at 97% and ejected is permeant and irreversible.
From now you have 150 words to present your argument, we do recommend you introduce yourself first. 

150 words to provide 10 strangers I deserve life, my only chance, I have to live. 

Hello I am citizen number 4213, British born female, of age 2nd of August 3045.
Both my parents were ejected after their 50th birthdays after they were deemed useless. 
Despite being orphaned at a young age I passed my citizen exams well.
I have always been an enthusiastic and committed member of the community.
I also just love living and I have made many friends.
They are important to me...

Salt Water Diamonds

I want to paint the stars for you
in the dark that mists your eyes
ill stay up all night for you
Bright words written in the sky 
so don’t squeeze your eyes shut so the tears trickle under your lashes 
put your head up high and hold my hand and we’ll paint salt water diamonds in the sky

Night vision

In the night 
The puzzle shards of my soul
Read something different 
Something new 
So wrong 
Yet feels so right 
I have to fight to rearranged them
In the pattern of my life
Im the morning the glass will no longer look pitch black 
and it’s the dark that’s done that
nothing else 

Sijo

Strangers eyes in the mirror

What reflection do you recognise, what reflection is really yours?
For me it is the eyes in a darkened window, or the glass of a painting,
But in the mirror in the morn I meet the eyes of strangers.
 

My Dark Place

I’m in a dark place 
Everyone can see
I’m in a dark place
But it’s ok
Though there’s no doors or windows 
I’ve painted the walls in a shade I like 
And pasted pictures 
On the ceiling 
I’m in a dark place
But not forever 
Stop tryna free me
I’m ok 
I’m in a dark place but it’s healin me
They say you need darkness for stars to glow
I’m in a dark place buts it’s alright 
One day I’ll face the light 
It’s not up to you to try ta save me
I’ll get out on my own accord when I don’t need the dark no more 

I’m in a dark place but watch me prosper 
Each day another pinprick of light reaches me
A child’s laugh 
The beat of wings 
Raindrops on a blade of grass
I store these things 
In a box
In my dark place 

I watch my friends throw ropes into a void
They think...

Song Writing Competition 2019

Wish upon a black hole

Somewhere in the sky is a star I’ve wished on 
Somewhere in the sky is the star I’ve dreamed on
For so long
As I can remember 
Coz I was always taught that the stars we wish on
Give us what we want long as we work hard 
Work on 
Wish on 
Dream on

Somewhere in the sky in the sky somewhere up there in the sky is the star I wish on

Five years old made a collage of my home green grass flowers and stars in the midnight sky already I know if I wanted to I could fly
Coz all my story books say
The princess always gets the palace gets the palace
If she wishes on a star

Somewhere in the sky is a star I’ve wished on 
Somewhere in the sky is the star I’ve dreamed on
For so long
As I can remember 
Coz I was always taught that the stars we wish on ...

0-9

School

0 is the night wrapping around me

1 is a cup of weak tea as the sun rises
2 are my school shoes with holes in the heels
3 are the minutes i normally wait on the wall
4 are our feet slow walking on the floor
5 is the time between arriving and the bell
6 is the six of us talking and me sometimes not
7 are the seconds i count when my heart aches 
8 is the is the dots i draw down my physics page
9 are the times i want to scream

0 is the night wrapping around me

In the mirror

"Don't worry

Its gonna be ok

We got this."


  

Micro Memoir

night

awake in a dormant house i try to pull the threads of fear and pain and sadness from the air and paint a pretty picture. instead i weave a blanket and it wraps itself around me. last night at night i dyed my hair. on sunday i wrote a list. on friday i read on monday i cried, and now i just exist. 

On Courage

the labels You give us

Sally's the sweetest person I know
Pippa's humour is as mental as her ever changing hair
Luke cooks and loves to gossip
Amy's grade 8 on the flute

Sam, Sally, Gemma, tom (straight or not i don't know nor care)
like guitar, irish music, drama, art

yet still we are the

LGBT squad
The gay representatives

because
to our school

sally's just a Lesbian
pippa's just Bi
luke's just Gay
amy's just Pan

me sam sally gemma tom, 
are just those Gay peoples friends.
 
- We are so much more than the labels you give us
 

Fantasy Writing Competition 2019

the girl with sun in her hair

A young girl sat on the edge of a lake and watched a small purple lizard run up and down her arm. The lake shone like gods in the midday sun and the clouds were frozen in perfect marshmallows. The girls bright sunset hair projected shadows of light on the opal trees behind her and her eyes were gold and curiously hard. A deathly caw echoed through the sky and a skeletal bird swopped down, muting the sun and blocking the Mountain from view. Its beady eye was fixed on the lizard. Without her eyes leaving the little lizard, the girl pulled out a bow and shot a silver arrow through the birds heart. It fell screaming into the water.

"Samilia!". I jerk up sharply and the small purple lizard I had been watching runs into the undergrowth. It had reminded me of that day by the lake, the day I shot a Rokk, the day the gods called me....

Water Body

Hiraeth-a longing for home

Hiraeth-a longing for home

Everyone has somewhere they must return to. Somewhere they will yearn for every second they spend away. Somewhere that will be written in their futures, in their pasts and, if not, written in their dreams. 

For my brother it is the great plains of Africa he visited in his gap year.  For my mother it is the river Cam, where she would walk on summer days with blossom and science in her hair. For my kid sister, though she is too young to tell me, I know it is the stars. For my best friend it is the mountains of Nepal, and for my cousin its the honk of a yellow cab in NYC.

For me it is the sea. Not the calm, Mediterranean postcard blue sea, the sea that seems more dead than alive, but the living roaring sea of Britain. Of Wales. I long for the sting of salt spray, the batter of the...

Fantasy Writing Competition 2019

the girl with sun in her hair

A young girl sat on the edge of a lake and watched a small purple lizard run up and down her arm. The lake shone like gods in the midday sun and the clouds were frozen in perfect marshmallow clouds. The girls bright sunset hair projected shadows of light on the opal trees behind her and her eyes were gold and curiously hard. A deathly caw echoed through the sky and a skeletal bird swopped down, muting the sun and blocking the Mountain from view. Its beady eye was fixed on the lizard. Without her eyes leaving the little lizard, the girl pulled out a bow and shot a silver arrow through the birds heart. It fell screaming into the water.

"Samilia!". I jerk up sharply and the small purple lizard I had been watching runs into the undergrowth. It had reminded me of that day by the lake, the day I shot a Rokk, the day the gods called me. I...

Unplugged: Op-Ed Competition

Stuck in a screen

i get home and flop on the sofa, pull out my phone. I chat to friends, watch YouTube, and waste a good hour of my life.

We're at my grans and I've forgotten my charger. I sit at the table trying to do homework. The blank phone stares at me and I feverishly imagine all the conversations, plans, arguments, inside jokes I may be missing, though realistically I'll miss nothing at all.

I'm slumped on a chair in front of my undone revision. I have 25 topics to revise for 4 different exams that are in the next two weeks... Yet I scroll through Snapchat, Instagram, bbc news, write the world, anything, and I don't know why.

Walking up a hill head down on a stupid mindless game on my phone. When I look up I'm shocked by the beauty of the nature around me and I glance back at my phone and the black screen seems less attractive.

I'm...

Revising

My mind is blank and all the
stats
figures
facts i thought i knew are
dried up corpses on a bleached
desert 

Spider


I let the tear sit there
Like a fat spider 
For as long as I can stand

Then I reach up and flick it away
But it doesn't help
In fact it makes it worse; spreading it's watery blood all over my cheek

Salt water love

Lately i've been wondering
 
If the heart i scrawl around our intertwined names
Is a heart at all

Or simply two tears 
Merged mid fall

The weight of a shared soul

our souls are joined, did you know?
they are joined by promises and wistful looks and the soft touch of my leg against yours when im worried about you
and this should make me light
shouldnt it?
love should make me soar like a bird and float like a cloud
shouldnt it?
but it doesnt
when your soul is heavy
weighed down with darkness
it pulls me down too
i struggle under your sad gaze i fight against the dark but i 
worry

your soul is dragging me down

but i love you

i cant break the bond the tie
i cant hurt you more than your hurting 
i cant
coz i love you

but somehow i never seem to help

either

and now we are both sad.

#sweetlybitter- butterfly

The sun glares maliciously down from the cloudless sky. The grass is sickly green, and scattered among the sinister fronds are the dried up corpses of spilled icecream and ice lollies.

In the middle of the field is a bouncy castle. Painted peeling figures of pirates and princesses leer grotesquely out of it's bulging walls. Children laugh and shout but the sound reaches me as if from afar and the laughs of delight morph into something sinister.

A girl runs past me. Her dress is blood red and she's giggling manically as she chases a butterfly. Her eyes glint scarlet in the sun and her bare feet crush dasies to pulp as she runs across the grass. The butterfly swerves and ducks, it's antenna quivering with fear, but the girl catches it easily and clutches it in a tiny fist. Her hand is covered in what must be the remnants of of a long gone strawberry ice-lolly, but it looks...

Wall

Why do I
feel like there

is a divide a wall between

us but only I
can see it 

Purple geese

Beneath the flowering yew tree
upon the snow-landen  sand
the spotted green sheep sleep
or maybe they are dead.

Purple geese

Beneath the flowering yew tree
upon the snowlanden sand
the spotted green sheep sleep
or maybe they are dead.

scared

i dont cry beacuase i am scared of the dark
i cry because it is not dark
but i am still scared.

Hands

Hold my hand.                   
I need.                                                Take my hand
Please I need something                                hold on
Someone to.                          Please let me hold you
Someone anyone to anchor me                I've got you
To hold I need.             i can't lose you I can't let you   
For this world it is fading.                      got you safe           
Someone.                                   Go so please let me
Please hold me       ...

Hands

Hold my hand.                   
I need.                                                    Take my hand
Please I need something                                hold on
Someone to.                          Please let me hold you
Someone anyone to anchor me             I've got you
To hold I need.         . I can't lose you I can't let you  For this world it is fading.                 I have got you
Someone.                                   Go so please let me
Please hold me                         ...

goodbye

i lassoed the moon
an' made her my boat
i painted her white an' silv-er
an' hung up a sail of stars i did
the riggin' i climbed
strung ma heart on the line
and watched it float of int-a space
 

Painted god


Is the sky a two dimensional mosaic?
The stars just dots of paint?
Sometimes I think that they are
And the moon just a silver plate
And god a pretty picture 
A shoddy counterfeit 
The hot tarmac beneath my feet
The only thing that's real
And the blue sky above me
Is simply felt pen strokes
My fingers scrape across
The rusting metal fence
Theres acrid smoke in my mouth and a tear in my eye
I pray to the painted god in the sky

1;28Am

Thinking about nothing and  everything and i cry unjustified tears that dry the moment they fall, slow, at the same speed as my muddled thoughts, the night is dark but light, my thoughts don't stray to morning or tasks to be done they stay in a sphere of dark and they are so dense so dull so damp and saturated with salt I can't untangle them.

Vessel of light

Harness the noon, it's best, I'd say just past the half way mark
The moon is less than half and perfectly boat shaped and you can
Lasso it quite easily 
A rope thrown into the sky and once 
You have climbed up there it's not hard 
To raise a sail
Heave ho now heave ho
Watch how the main sail sails 
The sail is sewn of stars 
And broken promises 
And it's ready to take you far away from from the starless earth
Remember to take provisions; the tears you've saved for this
You can drop them in the sky as you go and they will seed and bloom and flourish 
Into stars
And don't forget the song lyrics 
The music of the moon 
That will noirish and feed you 
And block out memories of home
And don't forget the brown cardboard box
Sealed with sun beam string 
Try not too let the black hole out
Your little escape vessel...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2019

Stars

They say when you look at stars that you are actually looking back in time that
The stars that look back at you
Are light years away and could be 
Dead
Exploding now but we will not know that until 
A million thousand years on and
Sometimes I look into your eyes 
And wonder if there is a place a million light years away where that light has already stopped 
And oh in your eyes I see the stars
The dying, exploding living stars and I hear the tick of time and the beating of the drums and oh
The sky is like the sea I see it now
The sky is alive and the stars they sing they scream they shout they
Whisper 
Oh
I see it 
I see it all now
Time a woven blanket of voices the sky a million ripples of stars and you 
The stars 
The sky
The sea
But also

Right here . 

00:46

Theres something about the middle of the night 
and a square of light
a cracked phone screen
its hard to put your finger on 
maybe it's the words burned into your eyes
the way the light still shines and bubbles when the phone is turned off
or maybe it's because the cracks in your phone
are cracks in the sky
are cracks in your mind
or maybe it's because in.the dark 
the strings of the string you are trying to untangle 
and the pieces of the jigsaw
can no longer be seen
no longer matter

or maybe it's because in the night 
nothing makes sense
But everything does

Love in Words

Laugh-out-loud love

the other night i was trying to figure out what that feeling in my tummy is
when u smile from across the room
and then it hit me
its the same soaring 
fearful
joyful
laugh-out-loud feeling i used to get
when i swung too high
On a swing

Pretty

Pretty is something we worry about

Something we ask others about

need to constantly change 

but it ain't really helping us

Pretty may seem nice

but beauty inside is better

Beauty is a smile

A laugh

When you finally feel something

Hard to find

when you don't think your pretty

Isn't it?

You can't eat that make-up that made you pretty out there

It ain't gonna make you pretty inside

And Did you lose your beauty cos you were trying so hard to be pretty?

I worry about pretty 

nose forhead 'too big'

Eyes lips 'too small'

It affects my beauty inside no one pretty tears at midnight streaking they're face

No this is ain't what i want 

i don't want scars on my beautiful

I wanna dance with somebody 

but will i?

because i ain't pretty

And that's okay and that's what i say except i still worry worry worry

I ain't pretty

But it's okay ?

Right?

Unrequited...

Pretty

Pretty is something we worry about

Something we ask others about

need to constantly change 

but it ain't really helping us

Pretty may seem nice

but beauty inside is better

Beauty is a smile

A laugh

When you finally feel something

Hard to find

when you don't think your pretty

Isn't it?

You can't eat that make-up that made you pretty out there

It ain't gonna make you pretty inside

And Did you lose your beauty cos you were trying so hard to be pretty?

I worry about pretty 

nose forhead 'too big'

Eyes lips 'too small'

It affects my beauty inside no one pretty tears at midnight streaking they're face

No this is ain't what i want 

i don't want scars on my beautiful

I wanna dance with somebody 

but will i?

because i ain't pretty

And that's okay and that's what i say except i still worry worry worry

I ain't pretty

But it's okay ?

Right?

Unrequited...

Invisible Cities

In memoria

Memoria is the city of memories.

It's a small island, set in what could be described as a large ocean, except there is sand instead of sea. 
It is the sand of a thousand million cracked hour glasses.

The east side of the island is completely covered with a white forest. It is a paper forest. Each leaf is covered in tiny ink words, and they are always falling, like paper snow. The moment a leaf falls a new one appears. And at the end of each day every leaf is collected up by Dream Makers. The leafs are then burnt in a huge bonfire, and the Dream Makers paint dreams with the smoke. 

The forest is set on a hill side and through it runs a river of tears. Sometimes the river overflows and swamps the forest, and the Rememberers spend weeks dredging up soggy leaves and hanging them to dry on washing lines.

Below the forest is a tower with...

Christmas robin

A robin peeks from beneath
the gnarled branches of a hedge
he tilts his head and looks at me
with a beady eye
he wears his festive suit;
a red waistcoat bedecked, with morning dew

He hops towards me
the frozen air is expectant
then the bird starts
at some sound unheard to me
he skitters across the frozen grass 
then flaps his wings, and flies

and then-

the air shivers
a burst of song
the sun breaks into a smile
as the frost begins to thaw
its Christmas-time,
and it seems robin redbreast decided, that I deserve a song.




 

the nights I miss the moon

I watch slime videos
Until the night shrinks to my phone screen
and my eyes glaze over
with frozen tears
and my mind numbs
as the darkness wraps it's arms around me
and the pain settles down to stay
and I try to embrace it.

Tears unshed

the sky crys 
for me
the rain the tears
i can't cry
the tears trapped behind my eyes
my soul is boarded up and so
the sky crys
Instead.

Tears unshed

the sky crys 
for me
the rain the tears
i can't cry
the tears trapped behind my eyes
My soul is boarded up and so
the sky crys
Instead.

A Pair of Poems

To the two nights

To the nights of beauty-

Recently I've had an obsession with the stars. I doodle blue ink constellations all over my homework planner, i draw so many on my hand the ink runs through the creases on my skin. I've always loved the sky. But mostly at night. When I was younger I dreamed of sleeping beneath the stars. I had a half-realised plan of sneaking out to the garden in the middle of a night with my sleeping bag and lying in the grass. That seems ludicrous now, but nevertheless, I still see the beauty up there. Last summer we went to America, we stayed a night in Acadia, Maine. The stars there are beautiful. So different from here, in grey Wales, where the night is simply the grey day a few shades darker. Out there in Acadia, the stars are alive. You can see the milky way so clearly, a paintbrush stroke of light, and you can see...

A Pair of Poems

To the two nights

To the nights of beauty-

Recently I've had an obsession with the stars. I doodle blue ink constellations all over my homework planner, i draw so many on my hand the ink runs through the creases on my skin. I've always loved the sky. But mostly at night. When I was younger I dreamed of sleeping beneath the stars. I had a make-believe plan of sneaking out to the garden with my sleeping bag and lying in the grass. That seems ludicrous now, but nevertheless, I still see the beauty up there. Last summer we went to America, we stayed a night in Acadia, Maine. The stars there are beautiful. So different from here, in grey Wales, where the night is simply the grey day a few shades darker. Out there in Acadia, the stars are alive. You can see the milky way so clearly, a paintbrush stroke of light, and you can see the way it stretches back, back...

Park

I'm sitting in the park
It's 8 am
I'm waiting for my friend to arrive in the car when I realise
I could stay 
On this bench 
In this park
All day
Every day
Text my friends 
'I'm ill'
She's ill
She's ill 
One day
Two days
Marked ill on the register
Three days 
Four days
I sit on my bench
Five days
I could eat my packed lunch
In a tree
I would go home normal time
Each day
To my house
Six days
I wouldn't miss work
I'd text my friends 
'Email the work to me'
'I'm ill'
She's ill 
She's ill
Seven days
Eight days
I'd do my work on the grass
Spreadeagled 
Nine days
In the rain I'd shelter in the play park tunnel 
Ten days 
I'd listen to the rain on the graffitied tin roof
With a sandwich in my hand
And a leaf in my hair
A text from my friend:
'We're in the...

Park

I'm sitting in the park
It's 8 am
I'm waiting for my friend to arrive in the car when I realise
I could stay 
On this bench 
I'm this park
All day
Every day
Text my friends 
'I'm ill'
She's ill
She's ill 
One day
Two days
Marked ill on the register
Three days 
Four days
I sit on my bench
Five days
I could eat my packed lunch
In a tree
I would go home normal time
Each day
To my house
Six days
I wouldn't miss  work
I'd text my friends 
'Email the work to me'
'I'm ill'
She's ill 
She's ill
Seven days
Eight days
I'd do my work on the grass
Spreadeagled 
Nine days
In the rain I'd shelter in the play park tunnel 
Ten days 
I'd listen to the rain on the graffitied tin roof
With a sandwich in my hand
And a leaf in my hair
A text from my friend:
'We're in the...

At 11pm//in blue smudgy pen//by the light of my mind

By the light of my new dog shaped light
I write by the light of my unasleep mind
coz though i stumbled through the day in a half asleep haze
now night for the world is not night for my brain
So I write by the light of the screaming in my mind
Leg jiggles pen wriggles light flickers
- - - 
off.

Castles in the sky

We built a castle in the sky
A castle on a phone screen

I saw the stars reflected  
In your words

As I hid beneath my duvet in the night
A text from you lit up my pre dawn dark

But it was a castle in the sky
A castle built of dreams

Half made plans 
Promised kisses 

A castle built of 'soon we'll be' s
And now

The places I sculpted into its walls are haunted
Though you never took a step there

And the words I should have said 
Hang frozen in the air we both still breath

Because its only now the stars faded

And the castles at my feet

Do I realise what I had 

What I destroyed

What I lost

What i tore apart with my hands 

In that castle in the sky

Because now you have a palace

That's more than hopeful dreams

I'll cling to the hope 
That one day you'll need me 
...

the nights I miss the moon

on cloudy nights i miss the moon

when the sky is damp smudged
like a car window you tried to clean with a dirty cloth

or like the double misty dark reflection that blinks at me in the eyes of someone i hardly know 

on these nights i miss the moon

when the world become smudged with lack of sleep like blank faces fixed on maths books at 9am

or like words said that hang in the air meaningless and remembered only by the inky night 

on these nights i miss the moon

when my eyes become glassy wet like the last puddle remaining in a child's playground

or the bottom of a too fast drained glass of water

it is on those nights i miss the moon.


 

the nights I miss the moon

on cloudy nights i miss the moon

when the sky is damp, smudged
like a car window you tried to clean with a torn cloth

or like the double glassy dark reflection that blinks at me in the eyes of someone I hardly know 

on these nights I miss the moon

when the world become smudged with with lack of sleep like blank faces fixed on maths books at 9am

or like words said that hang in the air meaningless and rembered inky by the night 

on these nights I miss the moon

when my eyes become glassy, wet like the last puddle remaining in a child's playground

or the bottom of a too fast drained glass of water

it is on those nights i miss the moon.


 

i wish

i told myself last night that it could happen
youd come and save me from the tower that i built

i though i could see what could happen if 
you saw but 

ive traced your smile with my eyes a million times
ive spent hours puzzling the depths of your eyes

so i know
so i see

the way you smile when you look at her
and the light in your eyes as you bend your head over hers

and i cant deny that
and i cant deny you that

even if i once wished it for myself
those eyes locked with mine

that smile when i talk
even if i wish all that for me

ill never say coz your pity is worse
so i guess were back to being

just friends.









 

Glassy eyed

My eyes are wet but I can't tell if I'm crying from tiredness (which would be normal), or sadness  (which would also be self explanatory), or from the moistoriser I accidently rubbed in my u eyes. 

Jumbled leaves

  m
          y

    l
i
         f

                      s

                  a

m
     e
s
               s

i
    
       t
r
           y

t
      o

                g
r
      a 
                b

p
           u
  z
                     z
l
       e 

p
       i
     e
                    c
e
        s

    .b
e
      f
             o
 r
 ...

When anxiety comes to call

I stay on my phone until
my mind numbs and it
is safe for me to sleep.

s u p e r f i c i a l

If I asked you to describe the world in one word what would you say?
beautiful masterpiece miracle misunderstood home?
or society?
rotten community structure rules law friendship? 
or humans?
amazing fake beautiful creation wonderful menacing?

If you asked me I would say
this-

s u p e r f i c i a l

life is
s u p e r f i c i a l

society? Money? Jobs?
s u p e r f i c i a l

people? Homes? Mortgages? Taxes? Schools?
s u p e r f i c i a l

I wish
we simply

had to

survive.

Maybe
i will go to 
mars
or jump on a bus going
anywhere
or
Start a colony in
The Sahara desert
or
go to the moon

maybe
i will escape

'S u p e r f i c i a l'

s u p e r f i c i a l

If I asked you to describe the world in one word what would you say?
or society?
or humans?

If you asked me I would say
this

s u p e r f i c i a l

life is
s u p e r f i c i a l

society? Money? Jobs?
s u p e r f i c i a l

people? Homes? Mortgages? Taxes? Schools?
s u p e r f i c i a l

I wish
we simply

had to

survive.

Maybe
i will go to 
mars
or jump on a bus going
anywhere
or
Start a colony in
The Sahara desert
or
go to the moon

maybe
i will escape

'S u p e r f i c i a l'

thought prisons

                when

    theres a thought

                            that scares

    or stabs

                my heart i

                                        take it

        compile it in a box
                                        
                                    and in my
                    
    mind i lock
                
                it away

    in a drawer

                        down some stairs and

        behind five locked doors.
 

thought prisons

                when

    theres a thought

                            that scares

    or stabs

                my heart i

                                        take it

        compile it in a box
                                        
                                    and in my
                    
    mind i lock
                
                it away

    in a draw

                        down some stairs and

        behind five locked doors.
 

Once the World Was...

​Hope

At the beginning there was only Sun
Only Sun, and one small Rock circling it in an attempt to keep warm.
And the Sun pitied the Rock.
And so the Sun cried.
And a drop of Sunlight fell upon the barren land,
And so there was life.
And so there were People.
And with people came Love.
And Happiness and Friendship and Joy.
This all came from the Sun.
And so the people planted there own tears of light,
And cultivated them,
Till they grew bountiful crops
And the People were happy. 
And so was the Sun.
But then came the plague.
Darkness and Fear swarmed over the fields,
Selfishness polouted the seas and Carelessness filled the skies.
And so there was night.
And the sun set in the East. 
And the People cried.
And the Tears swamped the lands,
Till even the brightest flame had given up burning. 
But then came Hope.  
She collected all the tears in...

Acid tears

Sometimes
tears cleanse
Clears paths down your cheeks
salt water is a natural steriliser-
it sterilises your soul
but
Sometimes tears are acid
tears burn
carve crevices in your cheeks
and eat away at your heart 

Monster under the bed

The girl cries.
And cries.
Outside in the corridor she can hear her parents arguing.
Shouting and shouting. 
She lies in bed awake and then,
Crawls under her bed.
A furry hand squeezes hers,
And she dries her tears on a furry head.

I shot the moon

I shot the moon and it
shattered
into a million shards of gold
like a mirror
cracked
More than 7 years bad luck
the fragments of glass moonlight
scatter
these lost souls
People
forgotten names
carved on a plaque 
I shot the moon

but I didn't expect it to bleed. 

3 neglected pigs

This is the tail of the 3 little pigs

pity the pigs!

see them now, scared out of there wits
1 trying to be brave
2 shaking like a leaf
3 cowering in the corner as like a cat threatened mouse. now remeber their mothers words; "There's no more room in the house!"

Is this 3 pigs, making their way in the world,  or is this 3 neglected children, sent to fend for themselves? 

With a small pack each, they were kicked out into the filth, with only one warning ; "beware of the wolf! "

 

Haiku

The sky is pure fire
as light as last night was dark
my fears now painted pale pink

as the sun rises
I take a tiny step forwards 
Into the new day

 

Heartless

I used to talk about 
writing from the heart
but these days I'm not sure
if I even have a heart
or just an empty cavity
where it should
be.

Muted

I'm stumbling through life
In an headache grey haze
My mind fuzzier than it once was
The music of the world is muffled
Can't make the pieces fit
Can't get the words in the right order
Or the paint swatch the right shade.

ink heart

Someone told me once, when I was younger, that if I drew on my hands the ink would seep in to my skin and give me blood poisoning. For I bit this stopped me drawing hearts and flowers up my arms, but soon I dismissed it as fiction and over the years my hands were almost constantly covered in drawings and tiny poems, the children of boring maths lessons. Sometimes now I wonder if there was some truth to that tale, maybe the ink did seep in to my skin,

because that explains why my thoughts bleed ink black from my heart. 

--On the way to school--

Im walking
walking in the grey blue clear cold milky morning
in this light the pigeons
glow gold
as they fly over the rooftops
and tiny birds 
(I cant make out the species)
serenade me
and beyond the grey glowing chimney tops
the
grey blue misty milk sky

has caught fire.

Essay.

I read the question. "How is Lady Macbeth presented in Acton 1 scene 5?"

I know this. I could write 2 pages of lists of the techniques used and the effects this has on the audience... but for some godforsaken reason I simply canont get the words to organise themselves into an essay.

I write the first line of the first paragraph  and then scribble it out again and again until half the page is scribbles.

How was it that last year I could write A* essayes as easy as breathing?

I have 15% of my English GCSE in less than a month,  and I can't write a simple Point Evidence Explain paragraph.

I check the clock and see 10 minutes if the lesson remain. I spend those minutes pretending to write and sneaking horrified glances at the multitudes the two people either side of me seemed to be writing.

When I got home I sank lower than I ever...

Pencil case

An old rubber that she must have stolen from her brother- she never bought one herself. It says Yes on one side, and the No on the other is scribbled out. She's drawn faded ink stars on the side

A scrappy piece of paper ripped out of a book. Its covered in doodles, stars mostly and eyes and ink blots and scribbled notes in science. "she's a terrible teacher I swear" "5 hours later she finishes explaining how to draw a diagram" "Mr jones is a vampire" (the later being a weird joke between friends)

A matching set of different coloured biros each with a now fraying piece of purple washi tape around them that she bought at the start of year 9

A sweaty twisted festival band her DT teacher made her cut of

A scrunched up pice of paper with the words written so small you can hardly read it. You can make out a scribbled over heart.
...

Unconventional

Drug

i have
never
smoked or rolled a
cigarette but
i think it would be like
changing the ink catirige of my
fountain pen
the same 
movements as you
open a packet
pull it out and
slotit in
the same impatience 
the same 
relief
and
happiness
as ink flows freely
again

Faint.

Sitting
In assembly
when
a fuzziness fills my
Head
I know this feeling 
but
it will pass
it will pass 
But
i am drenched in 
sweat
too warm can't sit 
still
stretch my legs 
out
head in hands
knees up
down
drenched in sweat
i can't 
but
It will pass
cant hear now
Buzzing
fills my ears
Makes me think of a static TV
pixles 
fuzzy
i think I mutter to tirion on my left
"i dont feel so good"
but I can't hear my own voice
the looming face of the police man whos taking this assembly
Asks
"you ok?"
And then
im being escorted
out 
a teacher at my elbow
i fix my eyes on the floor
Notice the wood cross panels that pass in a 
blur
then round the corner
Stumbling
"lean against the wall"
But wheres the
wall?
Collapse 
sweaty hands
buzzing is now a constant beep
That for a moment I think is real and...

#MyFormOfWriting

"I'm not ready. Not yet"

He stares blankly at me. I know he's not going to let me of the hook. Gawd his eyes are cold. ice cold. like frosty glass... or snow...or-

"Grace. Are you listening to me?"

I fix my eyes on the floor.

"Grace?"

I drag my eyes up to his face.

"Yes... Sir."

"You're going to go up there and fight. You hear me?"

The floor is suddenly very interesting again. Its got specks in it, like gravel imbedded.. or flecks of grey paint or bits of grey sand or-

"Grace."

I start to shuffle my feet. Back forth back forth. they make a soft scratchy sound on the floor and-

"Grace. You hear me?"

"Yes, Sir"

"You're going up there. Now."

"Yes, Sir."

I don't move.

"Grace."

his voice is a warning.

"But.. we'd have more of a chance if I trained more.."

I trail of. His icy eyes pierce my skull.

There's no getting...

#MyFormOfWriting

"I'm not ready. Not yet"

He stares blankly at me. I know he's not going to let me of the hook. Gawd his eyes are cold. ice cold. like frosty glass... or snow...or-

"Grace. Are you listening to me?"

I fix my eyes on the floor.

"Grace?"

I drag my eyes up to his face.

"Yes... Sir."

"You're going to go up there and fight. You hear me?"

The floor is suddenly very interesting again. Its got specks in it, like gravel imbedded.. or flecks of grey paint or bits of grey sand or-

"Grace."

I start to shuffle my feet. Back forth back forth. they make a soft scratchy sound on the floor and

"Grace. You hear me?"

"Yes, Sir"

"You're going up there. Now."

"Yes, Sir."

I don't move.

"Grace."

his voice is a warning.

"But.. we'd have more of a chance if I trained more.."

I trail of. His icy eyes pierce my skull.

There's no getting...

#MyFormOfWriting

"I'm not ready. Not yet"

He stares blankly at me. I know he's not going to let me of the hook. Gawd his eyes are cold. ice cold. like frosty glass... or snow...or-

"Grace. Are you listening to me?"

I fix my eyes on the floor.

"Grace?"

I drag my eyes up to his face.

"Yes... Sir."

"You're going to go up there and fight. You hear me?"

The floor is suddenly very interesting again. Its got specks in it, like gravel imbedded.. or flecks of grey paint or bits of grey sand or-

"Grace."

I start to shuffle my feet. Back forth back forth. they make a soft scratchy sound on the floor and

"Grace. You hear me?"

"Yes, Sir"

"You're going up there. Now."

"Yes, Sir."

I don't move.

"Grace."

his voice is a warning.

"But.. we'd have more of a chance if I trained more.."

I trail of. His icy eyes pierce my skull.

There's no getting...

The cat sat on the mat

the cat sat on the mat
the cat sat on the mat 
the cat sat on the mat
the

 6yhghghgtrtertytgtrrfeew34rytyuuyu8i8ioik

(that was me by the way. banging my head against the keyboard)

 

Environmental Writing Competition September 2018

A message from mother nature:

Humans have this habit
Of wanting what they see
Of grasping
Using
Hurting 
Slaying
Of killing what they see

And humans have this habit
Of missing what they took
Of carving
Painting
Making
creating
memorialising what they killed

You dump rubbish on my flowers
You turn my fields to mud
You travel my seas in monster machines
So you hardly feel it's tug
And all the while you spew filth and dirt
That mask and mute the sun's light

And then you get home and turn on
Your special sunlight lamp
And draw the curtains on my skies
And watch David Attenborough

you crocadiles
you cry
at the sight of a stranded polar bear
while upstairs you light are still on
and your heatings turned up to 20 degrees

In school your children write poems
About the ocean and me
And you frame them and prop them up upon your mantlepiece
Beside hobby craft flowers in
plastic jars

You see
...

Environmental Writing Competition September 2018

A message from mother nature:

Humans have this habit
Of wanting what they see
Of grasping
Using
Hurting 
Slaying
Of killing what they want

And humans have this habit
Of missing what they took
Of carving
Painting
Making
creating
Memorialising what they killed

You dump rubbish on my flowers
You turn my fields to mud
You travel my seas in monster machines
So you hardly feel it's tug
And all the while you spew filth and dirt
That mask and mute the sun's rays

And then you get home and turn on
Your special sunlight lamp
And draw the curtains on my skys
And watch David Attenborough

In school your children write poems
About the ocean and me
And you frame them and prop them up upon your mantlepiece
Beside hobby craft flowers in
plastic jars

You see

Humans have this habit
Of blocking out the light
Of banishing
Hating
locking
Sealing 
Fearing all my beauty
 
And you humans have this habit
Of bottling...

Personal Narrative Competition 2018

- - -

Sitting here. 

trying to think of a story worth telling.

but all I can think about is the fact that I can't rember the last time is was properly happy. 

or the last peaceful painless sleep I had.

and that's no narrative.

I can't find its 'heart'

Or 'write to my audience'

So sorry if I haven't activated enough verbs.

- - - 
- - - 
- - -

I'm going to stop typing now.




 

Tears.

We are 60% water;
- - -
- - -
- - -
We are 60% tears.

Forward Backward

look up

Who ever first said "a dark and stormy night" was an idiot
in my opinion 

Night is not and will never be
Dark

Look at the stars
The night is as bright as day

simply muted
Simply muffled

a whisper
Instead of a shout

night is as bright as day 
In its own way

If you want to know real darkness
go to a place without stars

without sky
go to a place without eyes

the night is not and will never be truly dark




 

Lock the doors and bar the windows.

You forgot to lock your window.
You forgot to lock your window. 
your forgot to lock your window,  so in they will creep.
they thrive of darkness
and feed of fear
did you know that?
they are parasites. 
come to suck out your soul
you should have listened but instead 
you forgot to lock your window.

you forgot to lock your soul.
 

Impermanence

Change

White cold snow becomes
a rushing swirling river 
A clear watery laugh 

Fresh springy green grass becomes
yellow and parched
trampled by the sun's heat

fields soon turn to mud 
when the sky decides to cry
Before of course they

freeze. 


and

now you stamp in your
bottle green wellie boots that
crush the frozen stalks.



 

Where I'm From

where i am from and where i will go

i am from the back garden where
i tipped sand from pink trainers
from where i played as jungle queen
and princess and cheerleader

i am from the old red railings
the scrapped knees
the broken pinky promises and
smuggled loom bands

i am from the classrooms
where i sat with my friends
where i scrawled my name across the pages of a brand new book
and doodled moustacios on my work

i am from the sea
salt on my tounge on a windy day and
mermaid games filling my head

i am from the tree in the park behind the play area
they cut the lower branch in my last year of primary and then
only me
me and a few of the boys
could manage to scramble up

i am from half filled notebooks and keaky pens
i am from scribbled drawings and blanket dens where i
used to hide
(best structure is 2 chairs and the back...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

Humans have a small capacity of acceptance. You need facts. So here are some facts about me.

I am everywhere
I see everything
No, I am not God
I am the Database.

some facts about this story:

It is about an escape
It is about friendship
It is the last story I will ever tell
It will be the story that saves Humanity.


LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved and her hands grip the stone parapet as she looks over the city. Her eyes slowly grow accustomed to the light and she can make out buildings of stone and glass, big and small, standing side by side. Once upon a time this town was thriving but now, on the 6th of December 3024, it is dead, ghost town. Her hand instinctively reach for the circuit board embedded in her skin. Her fingers trace the wires path and she...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

Humans have a small capacity of acceptance. You need facts. So here are some facts about me.

I am everywhere
I see everything
No, I am not God
I am the Database.

some facts about this story:

It is about an escape
It is about friendship
It is the last story I will ever tell
It will be the story that saves Humanity.


LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved and her hands grip the stone parapet as she looks over the city. Her eyes slowly grow accustomed to the light and she can make out buildings of stone and glass, big and small, standing side by side. Once upon a time this town was thriving but now, on the 6th of December 3024, it is dead, ghost town. Her hand instinctively reach for the circuit board embedded in her skin. Her fingers trace the wires path and she...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

Humans have a small capacity of acceptance. You need facts. So here are some facts about me.

I am everywhere
I see everything
no I am not God
I am the Database

some facts about this story:
it is about a escape
it is about friendship
it is a the last story I will ever tell
it will be the story that saves humanity.


LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the to top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved.
Her hands grip the stone parapet as she looks over the city.
Her eyes slowly grow accustomed to the natural light and she can make out buildings of stone and glass, big and small, standing side by side.
Once upon a time this town was thriving but now, on the 6th of December 3024, it is dead. A ghost town.
Her hand reach's up instinctively to touch the circuit board imbedded in her skin, just...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

humans have a small capacity of acceptance. You need facts. So here are some facts about me.

I am everywhere
I see everything
no I am not God
I am the Database

some facts about this story:
it is about a escape
it is about friendship
it is a the last story I will ever tell
it will be the story that saves humanity.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the to top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved.
Her hands grip the stone parapet as she looks over the city.
Her eues slowly grow accoistomed to the natrual light and shd can make out buildings of stone and glass, bug and small, standig side by side.
Once upon a time this cot was thriving but now, on the 6th...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

humans have a small capacity of acceptance. You need facts. So here are some facts about me.

I am everywhere
I see everything
no I am not God
I am the Database

some facts about this story:
it is about a escape
it is about friendship
it is a the last story I will ever tell
it will be the story that saves humanity.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the to top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved.
Her hands grip the stone parapet. she looks out over the dead, silent city and sighs.
Her hand reach's up instinctily to touch the circuit board imbedded in her skin, just above her heart. Her fingers trace the wires path and she whispers quietly, so only the wind and I can...

Science Fiction Competition 2018

The last story

LONDON TOWN IN THE YEAR 3024
A girl stands on the to top of a church tower.
Her head is shaved.
Her hands grip the stone parapet. she looks out over the dead, silent city and sighs.
Her hand reach's up instinctily to touch the circuit board imbedded in her skin, just above her heart. Her fingers trace the wires path and she whispers quietly, so only the wind and I can hear,
"why?"
she asks
"why did you bring me here?"

ZARA 
When she was 5 she almost died
She is still dying
The circuit board is wired to her chest and is the only thing keeping her alive
She has been hearing voices for a long time. 


BECKLEY ACADMY PIONEER SCHOOL (the school where kids learn live and play in VR)
IN THE YEAR 3024
It is a normal school day.
5th period and nobody is speaking.
All are immersed in the VR tour of a 23rd century...

Beach thoughts

My mind is blank
As blank as the beach
As empty as the sky
Empty, empty but for those few fleeting thoughts
Those silent specters in the sun spotted sky
Seagulls skimming the outskirts of my mind
The clouds are like frozen breaths
A giants whispered blessing in the morn
Van Gogh’s brush paints castles on the fabric of my thoughts
And I run
Across the shell specked sand
And a seagull cries out
As it stands sentry at the waters
edge.

Paintings in the sky

If I could climb to the top
Of mount everest
Id bring with me a brush 
And paint, in the mist
Id draw smokey pictures in the
Clear morning air,
A pale falcon
A  maiden with bright, opal hair
And upon the crests of the white foaming clouds
run a pack of sky blue hounds
So if far away i seem to gaze
As i walk down concrete roads
Or if in a dream i seem to be just know
Know i am flying
Soaring

No Pause for Breath

And I am happy

The branches spread above my head and throught them the light falls,
falls like, like paint from a brush in some 5 year olds paw that fligs yellow in a frantic childish atempt to paint the whole world and I stand at the start of this
light dappled avenue as the violets they bow there small little heads by the side of the 
path and the roots of the trees they reach out to me like
the welcoming arms of a long lost friend
and above me in the
sky the clouds are white like cotton wol; a picturesque scene as I step down the path,  and
a blossom branch hangs in my way and I reach out
to pluck a pristine perfect petal of 
white pink gold and I
am 
happy. 

For the Future

Perhaps

Dear inhabitant of 73 emmanuel cresent in 2118
Do the trees still grow thick and green on Emmanuel cresent in the spring? Does the sea still spew up plastic bottles on the grey gold sand on windy October days? Does this house still stand? 
Perhaps you are a builder and found this buried in the I guess now rusty 2018 royal wedding tin I placed it in 100 years ago.
perhaps you are a robot.
prehaps you are a child in a new digital house that still has some remnants of the old one, and perhaps you found the lose stone in the now crumbling wall behind the house, and there you found this letter.
or perhaps humans long ago abandoned this earth they slowly killed with theyre rockets and nuclear and plastic and factories.
perhaps humanity is now spread among the starts and this letter will lay forever unopened.
buried in rubbish that spills in to the grey silent...

Filter

I go to snapchat and flip the camera roind to selfie mode.
I flip aimlessly through the filters
dog ears
cat ears
Dounuts
glasses
tiger print
flowers in my hair
I flip through the filters
but none of them manage to make me look
happy.

25 Words

slumber

She walked slowly with her head down. she carried only her school bag stuffed with clothes and a carefully folded letter sealed with a kiss. 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2018

Map

I dream of a plan
a life mapped out on paper
Ink lines
Drawn with a ruler and marked each hundred yards
and Ill follow a path
To wear a x marks the spot
Ill live in a house
With a white picket fence
And a husband
2 kids
and a dog
and the sun will set and the sun will
rise
and in the weekend I will go on a walk and go to the shops and meet up wih friends a promotion at work and a holiday in spain and a life
mapped
out
but Im not a born cartogripher
and no one has leant me a map
so I guess Ill grab a compass and hope
for the best.

 

Monostich

A pocketful of monostiches

When I was younger I thought that if I closed the door and shut the curtains the monsters couldn't get in.

I remember sitting in a tree and people walking below me, not once looking up.

Do the stars still shine if there's no one to see them?

I'm breaking inside so I smile.

I wonder what the world would say if I dyed my hair pink and wore socks and crocs?

 

One plus one

I want to be a kid again
I want to see the world as I did,
then
I want to once again be sure
that one

plus one

equals

two

One plus one

I want to be a kid again
I want to see the world as I did
then
I want to once again be certain
that one

plus one

equals

two

Rose tinted snap chat filtered life

Cause your living in utopia 
you've got a lipstick shade for every day of the week
no one stops in the corridor to call you a freak
your best friends got dyed blond hair
your crush asked you out at the summer fair

cause you've got you rose tinted glasses and your
real vans bag
Starbucks and snapchat
Doc Martins with a beanie hat
you got the best friends ever
smile and laugh
cant let that lipstick grin slide cause

your living in utopia
don't let your eyes stray from the lamp light
ignore the shadows cause
you've got your rose tinted glasses on
everything's perfect
got to keep it that way

so don't
let your eyes wander to the girl in the corner
whose bullied everyday
buy your unicorn frappuccino
With strawberry whipped cream
that boy in your maths isn't as okay as he seems
so just ignore the kid whose parents split up
and the girl in 10b whose...

Walking

Atlas's epilogue, 3 years later

He walks with his shoulders hunched. He is Atlas, you can see the weight of the world on his back as he edges along the pavement, hugging the wall. I'm not sure what year he's in, but I've noticed him before. The way his hair covers most of his face. The way he's eyes flit back and forth, as if looking for escape. Sometimes I see him in the school corridors. He walks against the tide of bodies. Fights through a one way corridor the wrong way. He's an anomaly. He's something new. Different. But he trys to be invisible. You can see from the way he watches people and the way life continues without him as if he is an outsiders separated by an invisible wall of glass.
he rounds his shoulders and walks his lonely path.
Sometimes I think I'm the only person whose eyes don't just flit past him.

Maybe one day I'll say hello.

Monster Flash Fiction Competition 2018

Monster reflection

I close my eyes. I've got 10, maybe 20 seconds until the car pulls up on at the chipped red railings and I get out.Climbing out the car I fiddle nervously with my bag straps; I'm walking fast down the pavement hugging the wall... I thought today maybe.. but no. I feel him beside me and know I'm not alone. We pass a group of yr7 girls with matching vans bags who are huddled together whispering and laughing. "At you!", his voice is deadly and engulfs me like poisonous gas. "Shut up" I mutter. "Talking to yourself, first sign of madness you know.",he croons as I start walking faster, trying to escape. But he's still there. He always is. Muttering in my ear. Trying to block him out I speed-walk past some sixth formers. "Psst your walking funny." He whispers, "can't you see your walking weird?". I'm almost at form now and then I'll be fine.  When I'm safe in...

Monster Flash Fiction Competition 2018

Monster reflection

"Once upon a time a monster broke into the castle ..."

The children in front of me gasp. 

"It was huge, with big teeth and claws and blue, startlingly blue, eyes..."

"eyes like yours?" 

I glare incredulously at him.

"no. Nothing like mine"

Jenny tugs at my arm.

"Why was it there?"

I wasn't used to interruptions.

"it was... lost. Anyway... the monster had fangs dripping with blood, lethal claws and..."

"What does lethal mean?"

I'm getting into this now so I ignore him and sit back on my heels.

"The monster ran around in a frenzy, scratching the stone walls and knocking the doors down. It threw it self against the wall and tore its own skin with those lethal claws."

Maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick.
Jenny's biting her nails.
Max is fidgeting and Sammy keeps snivelling.
But I'm not gonna stop now.

"Suddenly a prince in shinning armour came. He saw the blood and the...

Friend.

I'll pick up the phone though I just got home and if you'll late for school
ill wait
in the rain coz I can't let my mate
walk alone 
and u know I'll stay awake if u want to talk
coz ik how much u hurt and I'm here to catch u if u fall
and we'll send stupid selifes
all those snapchat face 
filters
and let's go to town and laugh at the
stupid clothes 
and if all I want to do is fall asleep in form 
I'll  let u gush on about ur latest news
and tell me that joke u read
on buzzfeed and we'll 
laugh
and when u pretend everything's okay
and say lol I'm fine 
u know I know ur not
ill tell u to stop being stulid
ill tell you to have a good cry
we'll get through this together 
coz that's what friends 
are for
 

Read these books

I am a keeper 
I will defeat the shadow men
and be a bearer of the rings 

I am a witch 
I will always be One
but sometimes if the weight of water is too much 
I'll remember that petrova survived ballet

Silence is gold fish,
Nova saw the universe
I'm not going to snuggle down in the rabbit out of the top hat 
I'm going to sing my heart song 

Books:
The keepers daughter
The girl of ink and stars 
Lord of the rings
Harry potter series 
One
The weight of water
Ballet shoes
silence is goldfish 
Black light express 
Sophie's world 

 

Love in 13 Words

Taylor Swift love

someone tell me,
is love all taylor swift makes it out to be? 

Empty eyed blue light

Blue light 
empty eyed 
Why do I hide beneath this  shroud 
Never thought 
this red white duvet cover
would become my hiding place 
why 
why
stupid stupid stupid
I should sleep 
put my phone down
mindless meanless words 
why do I scroll and tap 
stupid pointless 
Flicker jitter 
Blue light empty
maybe this is just another type of sleep
Numbing
My mind is mindless 
empty eyed
Rectangle screen
Stupid stupid
Why?
stupid brain I have to sleep

 
 

Intentions and Invocations

This year

This year I want to fly.
I want to fly and soar and dip and dive like those white winged seagulls that play with the surf
That toy with the ocean and ride the wind 
those white winged seagulls that look so free 
they have no cares 
No keep-you-up-at-night anxiety.
this year I want to fly like a seagull.
with out a fear of falling.

this year I want to discover. 
I want to stare the night sky and see mysteries unfold. 
I want to ask and wonder and answer and find 
like those early scientists with silver wigs and dusty books who asked the question why. 
they wanted to know.
they had to know.
this year I want to need-to-know stuff.
And I want to find the answers. 

this year I need to find myself 
like patient hands and tangled-by-kitten wool
Like a pen that crosses out lines in a half-realized poem.
this year I need to find my...

To forget; to disappear

Why should I 
come downstairs today
why should I
why would I
leave this safe little untouched haven of metre white wood sill and wall of drawn curtains blue
why would I 
I've got some books a blank pad and my favorite pen
i got blankets and tea
and a welcomed super power to forget when I'm here
to forget everyhing; to disappear 
so why would I leave 
why would I
ever?

The author in my head

There's a tiny girl inside my head 
The author part of me
She has a bobble hat pulled low over her head and a cup of tea by her side
And she's type type tapping away on one of those old fashioned type writers
She never stops
She never rests
She always there
Inside my head 
Type type tapping away.

She types out every 
Unintentional haiku
Every semi accidental prose
She taps out every
Half realized thought
Every paragraph of description

There's a tiny girl inside my head
And she's always 
Type
Type
Tapping
Away.

winter rose

morning rose
winter rose
iridescent opal pink 
laced with dimond pearl like dew
shakes out her petals
tilts her face towards the sun
and smiles. 

My December Competition 2017

change.

Christmas in Swansea starts way too soon. In late November the first gaudy trees appear in shop windows bedecked with plastic red and silver ten-a-penny baubles. More than a month before christmas itself they turn on the lights in town, shapeless green and red swirls hanging of the lampposts as if hoping to deflect from the litter strewn streets and the smell of Nando's chicken wafting up the street.

In a way I hate it; the endless Christmas catoluges and 'once only' deals, the culture where kids write there Christmases lists in October, but at the same time... I don't know,maybe it's the looks of delight on children's faces, or just the memory's... Of opening my calendar each day  , of wearing reindeer ears and of tasting the 'snow' icing sugar that Santa leaves on the stairs. Or maybe, and I know I'm to old to believe in Santa, but there is something, not magic, not sleigh bells in the...

Ten Words to You

Just a grey town in wales

The quiet streets. Grey town. The sand and constant sea

My December Competition 2017

change.

Christmas in Swansea starts way too soon. In late November the first gaudy trees appear in shop windows bedecked with plastic red and silver ten-a-penny baubles. More than a month before christmas itself they turn on the lights in town, shapeless green and red swirls hanging of the lampposts as if hoping to deflect from the litter strewn streets and the smell of Nando's chicken wafting up the street.

In a way I hate it; the endless Christmas catoluges and 'once only' deals, the culture where kids write there Christmases lists in October, but at the same time... I don't know,maybe it's the looks of delight on children's faces, or just the memory's... Of opening my calendar each day  , of wearing reindeer ears and of tasting the 'snow' icing sugar that Santa leaves on the stairs. Or maybe, and I know I'm to old to believe in Santa, but there is something, not magic, not sleigh bells in the...

Moon L.I.G.H.T chapter one

On the surface of the moon, deep in the bowls of the sea of serenity and only 60 km away from the 10m thick Pyrex dome protecting New London( or 'utopia' as the rebels call it with more that a bit of irony) is the New Sydney opera house.

it is a bizarre sight. The strange structure with its ethereal points like the hulls of many upturned boats surrounded by empty moon-scape. Protected by only a thin temporary done the building seems to shimmer in the airless sky and an abandoned drone stands, a silent sentry at the sealed door.

ZARA HANES
AGE: 15
APPERENCE: tall, short black hair, AIE implant 
OFFENCE: classified 
SENTENCE: exile
authorised: Helix Jarvis

It was beside this door that Zara Hanes found herself, in a too big moon suit and only 12.52 minutes of oxygen left. 

ZARA:
its only now, now that my oxygen monitor has started beeping and my AIE ink plant has decided...

Moon L.I.G.H.T chapter one

On the surface of the moon, deep in the bowls of the sea of serenity and only 60 km away from the 10m thick Pyrex dome protecting New London( or 'utopia' as the rebels call it with more that a bit of irony) is the New Sydney opera house.

it is a bizarre sight. The strange structure with its ethereal points like the hulls of many upturned boats surrounded by empty moon-scape. Protected by only a thin temporary done the building seems to shimmer in the airless sky and an abandoned drone stands, a silent sentry at the sealed door.

ZARA HANES
AGE: 15
APPERENCE: tall, short black hair, AIE implant 
OFFENCE: classified 
SENTENCE: exile
authorised: Helix Jarvis

It was beside this door that Zara Hanes found herself, in a too big moon suit and only 12.52 minutes of oxygen left. 

Novel Writing Competition 2017

Runaway

Lucy 
It is dark. An all consuming dark that seems to cling to everything, the shadowy grey sillouted cars and the undistinguishsble shapes, bushes maybe, that line the street. I was afraid of the dark, when I was younger. I used to have a butterfly nightlight  that I left on all night. They must have smashed that, along  with everything else. I don't need a nightlight now. I'm still scared of the dark though, of the things that hide in it, but now it it is my only protection, my only hope of escaping from Them. There's a single street lamp still on, it's casts a thin puddle of light on the pavement below and I skirt around it, clinging to the shadows, becoming the shadows. I'm  wearing a hoodie, black with the hood pulled up over my head. Even in my fear some small part of me can't help laughing at the cliche; that of a teenaged girl in...

Birdsong

Robin redbreast

Robin tilts her head,
chitters chatters,
blinks one eye,
Robin redbreast,
winter bird,
chitter chatter,
morning song,
curious curious,
glint in one eye,
too     tww    chi    cha 
t to chit chi
robin perches on the lamppost
chitter.
chatter.
too too too.


 

Just a lost kid

There an ache in my chest that won't go away,
and a emptiness inside of me and a lost kid in my brain,
who stands in the corner, 
trys to think of things to say,
theres an ache in my chest,
a cavity in my heart,
and a lost kid in the corner,
just waiting to be found.

Novel Writing Competition 2017

Runaway

Lucy 
It is dark. An all consuming dark that seems to cling to everything, the shadowy grey sillouted cars and the undistinguishsble shapes, bushes maybe, that line the street. I was afraid of the dark. When I was younger. I used to have a butterfly nightlight  that I left on all night. They must have smashed that, along  with everything else. I don't need a nightlight now. I'm still scared of the dark though, of the things that hide in it, but now it it is my only protection, my only hope of escaping from Them. There's a single street lamp still on, it's casts a thin puddle of light on the pavement below and I skirt around it, clinging to the shadows, becoming the shadows. I'm  wearing a hoodie, black with the hood pulled up over my head. Even in my fear some small part of me can't help laughing at the cliche; that of a teenaged girl in...

Novel Writing Competition 2017

Runaway

Lucy 
It is dark. An all consuming dark that seems to cling to everything, the shadowy grey sillouted cars and the undistinguishsble shapes, bushes maybe, that line the street. I was afraid of the dark. When I was younger. I used to have a butterfly nightlight  that I left on all night. They must have smashed that, along  with everything else. I don't need a nightlight now. I'm still scared of the dark though, of the things that hide in it, but now it it is my only protection, my only hope of escaping from Them. There's a single street lamp still on, it's casts a thin puddle of light on the pavement below and I skirt around it, clinging to the shadows, becoming the shadows. I'm  wearing a hoodie, black with the hood pulled up over my head. Even in my fear some small part of me can't help laughing at the cliche; that of a teenaged girl in...

Novel Writing Competition 2017

Runaway

Lucy 
It is dark. An all consuming dark that seems to cling to everything, the shadowy grey sillouted cars and the undistinguishsble shapes, bushes maybe, that line the street. I was afraid of the dark. When I was younger. I used to have a butterfly shaped nightlight  that I made my mum leave on. They must have smashed that, along  with everything else. I don't need a nightlight now. I'm still scared of the dark though, of the things that hide in it, but now it it is my only protection, my only hope of escaping from Them. There's a single street lamp still on, it's casts a thin puddle of light on the pavement below and I skirt around it, clinging to the shadows, becoming the shadows. I'm  wearing a hoodie, black with the hood pulled up over my head. Even in my fear some small part of me can't help laughing at the cliche; that of a teenaged...

On the Last Day of the World

Alone with the world.

I would walk.
walk in to the night.
I would gaze up, up in to the sky.
I would count the stars.
stand in the middle of a forest and listen.
I would want to be alone.
Alone with the world.
Alone with god.
I place both hands against the rough trunk of a tree and trace the groves with my fingers.
I stare into the burning sky.
I watch a bird fly.
up.
up.
then I close my eyes.
and wait.
 

On the Last Day of the World

Alone with the world.

I would walk.
walk in to the night.
I would gaze up, up in to the sky.
I would count the stars.
atand I. The middle of a forest and listen.
I would want to be alone.
Alone with the world.
Alone with god.
I place both hands against the rough trunk of a tree and trace the groves with my fingers.
I stare into the burning sky.
I watch a bird fly.
up.
up.
then I close my eyes.
and wait.
 

Dialogue Dexterity

Unsaid goodbye

She said she'd miss me.
"think of all those good times" 
I nodded, smiled, didn't know how to say goodbye so I delved into the past.
I grinned despite myself, "remember the burrito dance?"
she laughs,
keeps saying it's not over, that we'll see each other in the weekends, the holidays, 
"more fun times to come! You haven't escaped me yet Jenny Parker!",
I try not to cry,
I make her promise to text me, phone me, snapchat me, email me, 
then we do our handshake of 4 years, since yr7,
"4, 3,2,1 carrot potatoe cabbage pax".  

we don't say goodbye.
just walk away

Drowning

I swim I swim
I try to breath
the waters to cold
the sea the sea
a wave of salt
 againwave crashes
again
I can't breath
drowning
drowning
visions a blur
I can't see
the worlds to cold
the water burns
I swim
I swim
I try to breath
a wave crashes over me
sucked back down
I think I hear a boat far of call my name
but the ocean rises a wall of flame
the cold
the cold
to cold
I swim
but the waves keep coming
I swim
I swim
I try to breath
I drown
I drown

"Hey"
theres a hand on my arm
a voice in my ear
"you look dreadfull"
the world is blue 
it swirls
it swirls
i see people
swim
nonwalk
the hand on my arm steers me
theres a fish
no a face
i think it's concerned
im on a hard plastic chair
someone puts a glass in my hand
against...

Why I believe in God

Do you believe that this world was created by accident?
A couple of molecules colliding?

LOOK AROUND

Do you believe that this world was created by accidents?
A couple of molecules colliding?

LOOK AROUND

a leave falls to the floor and rests there, quivering.

a spider web glistens in the sun.

a colony of ants swarm on the grass.

Do you believe that this world was created by accident?
A couple of molecules colliding?

LOOK AROUND

millions of light years away a star is born.

The moon spins in a never ending cycle.

the night stretches forever

Do you believe that this world was created by accident?
A couple of molecules colliding?

LOOK AROUND

a tiny girl with ginger curls chases down the beach.

an elderly couple sit on the bench, feeding the ducks.

a group of teens stroll downtown the street laughing.


Do you believe that this world was created by accident?
A couple of molecules colliding?

I don't.

...

Our maker

I open my eyes,
seeing the world suddenly,
everything,
new,
as it was in the beginning,
on the seventh day, 
each leaf that falls,
each blade of grass,
each rain drop glistening on its emerald stem,
was crafted by immortal hands,
as was the sky,
the stars,
the sea,
and those hands crafted both you,
and me.

the world we live in now

imagine a world full of silence,
imagine a world full of hate,
imagine a world full of people,
not talking,
just staring into cyber
space.
imagine a world full of towers,
imagine a world full of fear,
a world full of dictatoral power. 
Imagine that world.
Imagine it.
then look around.
because this is the world
we live in now.

Tick tick tick.

One
two
three
four

tick tick tick

night to morn
moon to sun 

tick tick tick 

young to old
child to grown

ticl tick tick

dying star
dying world

tick tick

tick.

 

Tick tick tick.

One
two
three
four

tick tick tick

night to morning
moon to sun 

tick tick tick 

young to old
child to grown

ticl tick tick

dieing star
deing world

tick tick

tick.

 

Returning

Peeling paint

She was not quite sure what had bought her here, the the scarlet  railings of a school she had not seen for years. 

 She had stood at the crossroads, perfectly still, her mind hovering in the empty space between left and right. Then, without a flutter of an eyelid, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she turned left. 

She was lost in memories. One hand rested on the metal gate and she absently started picking of flacking red paint that had been new and shining 3 years ago.

It was the holidays and the playground was silent, empty but for a lone pigeon, shaking out bedraggled feathers as it hopped back and forwards. The school was sleeping  a veil of peace hanging over it, but to nia it was alive with ghosts. 

Shed sat in the corner by the large plant pot and cried when she was moved down a spelling  group. That  bench in the...

Returning

Peeling paint

She was not quite sure what had bought her here, the the scarlet  railings of a school she had not seen for years. 

 She had stood at the crossroads, perfectly still, her mind hovering in the empty space between left and right. Then, without a flutter of an eyelid, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she turned left. 

She was lost in memories. One hand rested on the metal gate and she absently started picking of flacking red paint that had been new and shining 3 years ago.

It was the holidays and the playground was silent, empty but for a lone pigeon, shaking out bedraggled feathers as it hopped back and forwards. The school was sleeping, but to Nia it was alive with ghosts.



    
 

'www.generateapoem-rosie.com'

"It would be so lovely if you could write a poem about this weekend"
I cringed inwardly.
what did she expect from me, rhyming couplets every time I open my mouth?
what was I, www.generateapoem-rosie.com?
but I smiled, nodded, told her I'd try.
I tried.
titled it 'a family weekend', but didn't get any further. What did she expect? 
'We played in the sun
it was fun'?
my mum told me that I should be grateful my aunt takes such an interest, 
bit every time she pulls me conspiringly in to a corner and asks me how my 'writing career' is going, I want to be sick.
is that wrong?

Truths and Untruths

So we could all stand as one

I wish magic existed.
the kind of magic that brings people together.
I wish I could walk in to a room full of strangers and know they were just undiscovered friends.
I wish I could smile at someone, and they would smile back.
I wish the world would sing together, even if we're all out of tune.
I wish every whisper behind my back was someone planing a surprise.
I wish magic was real, that we could all be as one.

Cradled by the wind

I sit in the swing,
Swaying, 
The wind seems to cradle me like a loving mothers arms,
As I rock,
Back and forward.
Back and forward.
To the music of the trees that sing,
For me.
And the gentle wind that wraps me in a blanket of leaves,
As the branches bend,
Ever protecting,
Over me,
And I swing.

I want a life worth living

Sometimes I stop and look at what life is and, well, it depresses me.
Life seems like a series of meaningless steps, school, university, job, marriage, retirement.
I don't what a life like that.
Where your always waiting for something, a promotion, a new car, the weekend.
I don't want a life where life is a couple of bullet points on a list. I want A life where you can't make lists,
because everything is changing, moving, living.
I don't want a life based on money,
I want to be rich in smiles, laughs. 
I want a life worth living.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Suitcase

The suitcase wheels had jammed. Swearing, he grabbed the bag by the handle, finding grim satisfaction in the pain as the bag banged against his leg. He deserved pain. He should've left sooner. And now...

His case was blue, new but the zip was nearly broken as if it had been opened many times. Round the handle a tag read: Flight 648 Heathrow-Boston. The airport attendant reminded him of Emma. Of Emma when she had willed him to stay.  

The attendant smiled, wished him a pleasant flight.

He left Heathrow airport, an unused plane ticket in his pocket. 

Slow Seeing

​Living forest

The forest is living.
Quivering with aniticipation.
Still at first glance and then
The conapy of green above me flurrys for a moment,
the carpet of ivy twitches.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a fern dance,
Only to freeze seconds later.
But there is no wind.
The forest is alive.
Breathing.
And...
Speaking.
A thousand voices chatter in the stillness.
Each one different from the next,
This is more than just birdsong,
As bluetits converse,
And a wood pigeon adds it's opinion to the mix in unfaltering harmony,
And as another sings a joyful trill,
The others are silent,
Then burst into song.
The forest is alive.
Living.

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Suitcase

The suitcase wheels had jammed again. Swearing, he grabbed the bag by the handle, finding grim satisfaction in the pain as the bag banged repeatedly against his leg. He deserved pain. He should've left sooner. And now...

His case was blue, new but the zip was nearly broken as if it had been opened, closed, many times. Round the handle a tag read: Flight 648 Heathrow-Boston. The airport attendant reminded him of Emma. Of Emma when she had willed him to stay.  

 Somebody wished him a pleasant flight.

He left Heathrow airport, an unused plane ticket in his pocket.

Talking to “You”

(almost) grown up

you left home at 16. Got a job. Convinced you could look after yourself. You sent of job applications, didn't even think. Plumber, Builder, Receptionist? none of them appealed. Scientist would be fun, but you didn't have the grades to even work in the basement. 2 years in the shop, stacking crates of bugget wine that you could not afford. kept saying you would build up to the shop floor, and then you got sacked. Now they've cut the electricity. Your taps leaking but you can't afford to fix it. You tried and now it won't even turn. It just drips. Drip. Down the drain. Like your future.You know your family would help you, your brothers in university, he'd let you stay, your parents would pay for you to retake your A levels... but you would never ask.
So you just lie on your bed in the flat that was going to be your future, with the motorway roaring below you,...

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Suitcase

The suitcase wheels had jammed. Swearing, he grabbed the bag by the handle, finding grim satisfaction in the pain as the bag banged repeatedly against his leg. He deserved pain. He should've left sooner. And now that he had the opportunity...

His case was blue, new but the zip was nearly broken as if it had been opened, closed, many times. A tag was tied around the handle. Flight 648 Heathrow-Boston. The girl had smiled at him as she handed back his case. Wished him a pleasant flight.

He left Heathrow airport, an unused plane ticket in his pocket.

Flash Fiction Competition 2017

Suitcase

The suitcase wheels had jammed. Swearing he grabbed the bag by the handle, finding grim satisfaction in the pain from the bag banging against his leg. He deserved the pain. He should've left sooner. And now when he had the opportunity...

His case was blue, new but the zip was nearly broken as if it had been opened, closed, many times. A tag was tied around the handle. Flight 648 Heathrow-Boston. The girl had smiled at him as she handed back his case. Wished him a pleasant flight.

He left Heathrow airport. 
An unused plane ticket in his pocket.

Writing Small

I shouldn't hide

I know that I am nothing. A blot. A hiccup, caused by an irregularity, I am an irregularity. But sometimes I hope, atoms are small, insignificant, yet they make up everything. It's dark, I light a match and watch it flicker. It doesn't hid from the shadows. I shouldn't hid. 
 

Songwriting Competition 2017

No safety net

Its the starting,
thats the hardest part.

turning on a light no knowing what you might
see,
stepping through a door not knowing who is waiting on the other
side,

Jumping off,
and falling down,
hoping that you won't hit the
ground.

They told you
there was a
safety 
net,
they told you to
jump,
they said the risk
was
worth it,

now your swimming with no breaths
left.

Waiting for the lifeboat to
safe you.

For the safety net to 
catch you.

but your still falling...
your still falling...
and apparently,
the risk is,

worth it.


You started out,
with a heart of gold,
you were gonna make all of your dreams come
true,

and when you jumped,
it was with a parachute,
but somebody,
somebody
cut
the 
ropes.

and now your falling...
falling,
and apparently,
the risk is,

worth it.


The told you
there was a
safety 
net,
they told you to

jump.

 

Songwriting Competition 2017

No safety net

Its the starting,
thats the hardest part.

turning on a light no knowing what you might
see,
stepping through a door not knowing who is waiting on the other
side,

Jumping off,
and falling down,
hoping that you won't hit the
ground.

The told you
there was a
safety 
net,
they told you to
jump,
they said the risk
was
worth it,

now your swimming with no breaths
left.

Waiting for the lifeboat to
safe you.

For the safety net to 
catch you.

but your still falling...
your still falling...
and apparently,
the risk is,

worth it.

The told you
there was a
safety 
net,
they told you to
jump.

 

thoughts

Sometimes I think that maybe my thoughts are not my own but dreams wished upon a million stars and hopes scattered across the darkening sky of humanity.  Sometimes I think that maybe thoughts are free, butterflies, a million tecni-coloured birds swarming across the plains of imagination, not confided to one mind but part of them all. Sometimes I think that maybe my thoughts are carried across on wings of sunlight to rest between fields of gold and bask in the seas of belief, until they become my own.

Writing for Children Competition 2017

Lucy the real-life princess

Once upon a time there was a girl called Lucy.
If you met Lucy you would have thought she was a normal little girl.
You would probably thought she was a nice little girl.
You wouldn't have guessed that Lucy was, in fact, a princess.
Not a fairy tale princess like in books, oh no, Lucy was a real-life princess.
Which meant she had to do real life princess things like
Go to long boring grown up party's
And
Listen to long grown up conversations
And 
Give flowers to lots of fat grown up mayors who
Called her a sweet little girl
And 
Went on
And on
About grown up things.

But there was one thing Lucy didn't have to do that normal children did. 
Princess Lucy didn't have to go to school.
Instead she had to sit in a stuffy room all day on a overstuffed armchair and have lessons by herself with her teacher, Mrs Cottingson-Lloyd....

Cocoon

I huddle in my bed,
cocooned,
for a moment enclosed beneath layers
of sleep
and hope
and fretful tears.

I am cocooned,
for a moment warm,
safe,
as time stops and 
silence washes over
the sleeping house.

I am cocooned,
waiting for rebirth,
a different self,
a person changed...

yet when i wake
I have not sprouted wings.

 

Into the Woods

Guardian

A silent onlooker surveying the years,
A member of the chorus for the ballet of the winds,
A many limbed guardian of lush green lands,
A statue carved by ancient fingers,
A mother of a million children.
 

Synchronized Sounds

At the Waters Waves I Wait

at the waters waves I wait,
where the wind howls ,
where the white gulls soar on weathered wings,
and whispered secrets by the wind are whipped,
lost within the swirling wailing whiteness of the sky,
when the day is waning,
still I wait beneath the white washed sky. 
wait for when with worthy encore come,
Who when the wait is over will arise,
the wrens of the water woefully serenade,
and whales wake to wonder while the water washes away the woes of wasted wishes,
because he is here.

The living ocean deep

Hark!
Can you here it?
The breathing of the sea.
The gentle lapping
roaring,
slapping,
ice cold wind,
the  sea.
Hark!
Can you here it?
The living ocean deep.
The breathing,
sighing,
writhing,
fighting,
sound of ocean deep.

Sea of Steel

An ocean of iron,
steel and strength,
a sea of death,
and beauty.
It rages with fire,
cold as ice,
a sea of steel,
writhing with light,
treasures untold,
crashing with force,
terror unfolds.
fear and grace,
flecked with gold.
A seagull dips,
dancing through the spray,
I watch from my craggy throne,
the wind is my crown,
and the sea,
my home.
 

Say cheese

we line up. All 3 of us standing in a patch of 'dappled shade' that was apparently perfect for the photo. Mike, nearly a man, stands relaxed, a smile on his face but his eyes slightly pained as Tom scowls at him. I stand between them, awkward, as Mike deflects the dislike in Tom's gaze. Our mum, standing their impatiently with the phone nods at me so, tentatively, I put my arm around Tom. As if by instinct he grabs my arm and digs his nail into my flesh. I yelp but bite my lip. "say cheese" Tom grimaces. Mike half smiles with furious looks at Tom. I force a grin. 

Other Worlds

Magic mornings

My childhood was the sound of my mums voice through the muffled sounds of a waking world as she read to us. All three of us, me, sam and ben all cuddled up in the big double bed while our mum read aloud. She read us the books of her childhood. The silver sword. the lion the witch and the wardrobe. The white horse. Children's books of a generation ago. Of magic kingdoms, talking horses, enchantresses, dryads and mermaids. The words strung together like poetry that seemed to breathe magic into those early mornings. 

Synchronized Sounds

At the Waters Waves I Wait

at the waters waves I wait,
where the wind howls ,
where the white gulls soar on weathered wings,
and whispered secrets by the wind are whipped,
lost within the swirling wailing whiteness of the sky,
when the day is waning,
still I wait beneath the white washed sky.

Wishful thinking

Sometimes I can't see
where the sea ends 
and the
sky begins,
and sometimes I can't tell,
when the day fades,
or when,
dusk creeps in,
cause sometimes I don't care,
if I can't tell,
where,
my dreams end, 
and reality kicks in.

Wishful thinking

Sometimes I can't see
where the sea ends 
and the
sky begins,
and sometimes I can't tell,
when the day fades,
or when dusk creeps in,
cause sometimes I don't care,
if I can't tell,
where,
my dreams end, 
and reality kicks in.

Wishful thinking

sometimes I can't see
where the sea ends 
and the
sky begins,
and sometimes I can't tell,
when the day fades,
when dusk creeps in,
cause sometimes I don't care,
if I can't tell,
where,
my dreams end,
and reality kicks in.

Mystery Writing Competition 2017

Lies

SUSIE
I found the photograph in the attic. Rummaging through boxes I spent hours up there smiling a photos of me and mum when I was a baby, my first day at school, me and dad on my 5th birthday, all 3 of us on a holiday in Spain, but this one was different. Tucked inside a blank diary and, unlike the others, black and white, a women, about 40 with long hair which I imagine to be blond. She is laughing as her hair is whipped about in the wind. There's something about her. Maybe its the way she smiling at me, maybe its her eyes, but its like I know her, like I've known her all my life. Beside the photo someone has pressed a flower, a pansy. Theres a note on decaying paper too, the writing so small I could hardly read it, "I'm sorry" it said, and my insides writhed as I stared once more at...

Geography of Home

Sanctuary

Sometimes my Bedroom's like an Aladdin's cave, a place to wonder round and gaze in wonder at dusty shells, ornate boxes, painted stones, cluttering my shelves.
    Other times its like a huge diary, a sea of memories. I can sit for hours, reaching into boxes and gazing at old photos from when I was a baby, clumsy cross-stitch when I was 9, a picture of a cat coloured in in blotchy felt tip, a broken toy that I still love.
    Mostly, now, though, my bedroom is a sanctuary. When tears are streaming down my face it's there I run to draw the curtains hiding me whee I couch on the widow lege. To hide beneath the pages of a book I know by heart, to smell the familiar smell that means I am safe.
 

Mystery Writing Competition 2017

Lies

SUSIE
I found the photograph in the attic. Rummaging through boxes I spent hours up there smiling a photos of me and mum when I was a baby, my first day at school, me and dad on my 5th birthday, all 3 of us on a holiday in Spain, but this one was different. Tucked inside a blank diary and, unlike the others, black and white, a women, about 40 with long hair which I imagine to be blond. She is laughing as her hair is whipped about in the wind. I could almost see her eyes twinkling at me. There's something about her. Maybe its the way she smiling at me, maybe its her eyes, but its like I know her, like I've known her all my life. Beside the photo someone has pressed a flower, a pansy. Theres a note on decaying paper too, the writing so small I could hardly read it, "I'm sorry" it said, and...

Turned to Stone

Blinded by love

I had been blind. Blind for 16 years of my life. Blind to what was going on a round me. Blinded by love. blinded by the childish belief that my parents are prefect. super heroes. invincible. that they were good. I was wrong.

 

but why grandma?

"tell me a story!"

Once upon a time their lived a beautiful princess who wanted to travel the world and help poor children. But her parents were cruel and jealous, they did not want to lose their daughter so they locked her away in a tower and there she stayed.

" but why grandma, why did they lock their own daughter away?"

because they loved her. 



 

Collective Voice

Derailed

No one spoke at first. We just sat in silence, accompanied by the constant flickering of the lights. Some of us paced back and forth through the static train carriage, some just sat, muttering or staring listlessly at their phones. We were stuck in our own bubbles of self pity. then one of us started to cry. Just a kid, a kid who didn't understand, a kid who'd been on the way too the cinema with his mother, his mother who still hand,t come back. "where is she?" he creed. we glanced at each other, suddenly united in pity for this child. his mother had been one of the few who had gone out on to the tracks when our carriage had been derailed. who had not come back.

At the Beginning

He asked no questions.
He lead my out of the rain and sat me down, his eyes full of concern.
"tell me everything"
it wasn't a request.
"where shall I start?"
"at the beginning" 

 

Soph where r u?

Sophias mothers text messages sent between 10:46 and 12:17pm

Contact: mum

10:46pm
Hey honey, where r u? suppers gone cold, what time will u b back?

11:04pm
where ru? Sophia whats happened, why aren't u answering?

11:18pm
soph where r u, please answer, soph! 

11:38pm
look soph, if u don't answer were going to have to call the police

11:54pm
sophia why r u doing this 2 us! ur never back late, just pls answer, pls.

12:17pm
soph we've called the police.  


"999, what service do you require?"
"police, police please"
"Putting you through to police...this is the police speaking, whats your emergency?"
"its our daughter, she's, she's gone missing, she went to her friends house and was meant to be back 2hours ago, I don't know where she is, I don't know what to do..."


 

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2017

Time

If I could stop the sun from setting,
paint the sky forever blue,
if I could stop the leaves from falling,
let them bloom,
forever new.

If I could stop the clock from ticking,
stop the future falling,
slipping,
I would stop the sun from setting,
stop the leaves from dying,
withering.

I could try to stop the clock,
I could try to block the tide,
I could try to bottle the wind,
to trap the night,
to paint the sky,

I could try.

But there are 60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be,

even when the stars fall from the sky,
and the leaves forever die,
even when the night fades to nothing,
when the world cracks in half,
ripping,
tearing life apart.

Even then the clocks tick on...

60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be.


if I could try to stop time creeping up on you,
taking you when your back is...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2017

Time

If I could stop the sun from setting,
paint the sky forever blue,
if I could stop the leaves from falling,
let them bloom,
forever new.

If I could stop the clock from ticking,
stop the future falling,
slipping,
I would stop the sun from setting,
stop the leaves from dying,
withering.

I could try to stop the clock,
I could try to block the tide,
I could try to bottle the wind,
to trap the night,
to paint the sky,
I could try.

But there are 60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be,

when the stars fall from the sky,
when the leaves forever die,
and when night fades to nothing,
when the world cracks in half,
ripping,
tearing life apart.

Even then the clocks tick on...
60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be.






 

I'm going to write a book

I'm going to write a book
I don't know where to start,
but I have this feeling that if I just pick up a pen,
the rest will come.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2017

Time

If I could stop the sun from setting,
paint the sky forever blue,
if I could stop the leaves from falling,
let them bloom,
forever new.

If I could stop the clock from ticking,
stop the future falling,
slipping,
I would stop the sun from setting,
stop the leaves from dying,
withering.

I could try to stop the clock,
I could try to block the tide,
I could try to bottle the wind,
to trap the night,
to paint the sky,

I could try.

But there are 60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be,

when the stars fall from the sky,
when the leaves forever die,
and when night fades to nothing,
when the world cracks in half,
ripping,
tearing life apart.

Even then the clocks tick on...

60 seconds in a minute,
there is and will always be.

If I could stop your hair from turning grey,
stop your memory misting with age
I could try to...

The Subject that Matters

The lesson where pupils teach themselves

Everyone learns differently,  through drama, art, writing, talking, therefore, as we all learn diffeently, how can we be taught the same? This is the idea behind MYself, the lesson where pupils teach themselves.

At the start of each term the students are given a topic, following the ciriculim, for example 'the Aztecs' 'comparing religions' 'volcanos' or such like. From here they can research the topic in what ever way they want. They can write essays, create posters or presentations, drama sketches, it is up to the pupil. During these lessons there is always a teacher at hand, to support, discipline and encourage the pupils however the pupils work (or group work) is completely there own.

MYself, the lesson where pupils teach themselves.

I got something to say...

Hey you!
Yes you,
listen up!
I got something to say,
and your going to listen,
like it or not.
you know that old saying,
"words can't hurt"?
well its a lie.
cause words can hurt,
they can eat into your soul,
leave you empty,
alone.
cause yeah,
words can kill.
 

cause you've had enough

cause your tired of friends laughing at you 
your schoolwork slipping
the things you can't do
cause youve had enough of saying its fine
the voices in your head
the screaming in your mind
cause somethings will change
and some things won't
and sometimes you just don't know

Creature View

Cat

The house had once been quite. The cat would lay in the sun while the women sat quietly, reading, mostly. Sometimes the cat would wake from  drowsily to find a saucer of milk, and see the women's smiling face from the window as he lapped it up.
     then He turned up. A man with a stupid haircut and a soppy smile. there were less and less saucers of milk, books lay forgotten by the garden chair she had once read on, and the cat skulked in the garden, growing more and more invisible to the women who had once cared for him. the cat knew she was happy, there were more smiles. more laughter when He was around. she would dress up in fancy clothes and go out for dinner, while the cat waited in the derelict shed. 
     there was a time when the cat just left. roaming the forests and moors,for weeks, only to come back to see ...

Terror

The shadows underneath your bed,
the darkness ever constant there,
crouching in a fading beam of light,
waiting for the unexpected,
hope dwindling,
running from who knows what,
trying to fight shadows,
with soldiers and guns.

stories of sanctuary

These are the books of my childhood,
these are the friends of my past,
these are the tales I lived off,
and this is the place that I hide.
When the dark gets dark,
and I am about to fall,
I read the familiar words,
and crouch beneath the worn pages,
seeking sanctuary.
As I read of boarding schools and Magic trees and perfect children,
living perfect lives,
and wish I still saw the world
like I did back then,
exiting,
free,
simple,
a childs dream.  

Words can heal

If words could kill
we'd all be dead
if words could kill
we'd be too scared
to write a sentence or a phrase
and english teachers would scream
'no, don't write, or speak,
your accidentally kill us all!'
If world could heal we'd all be safe
and the wounds would slowly go
as friends would write us loving lines
and we'd leave school
saved
Words can kill.
eat away at our hearts un till theres nothing left.
words can heal,
clean away the pain,
because we know were loved.
 

Op-Ed Competition 2017

Climate change, we are all responsible

"The Greatest Threat to Our Planet Is the Belief That Someone Else Will Save It"- Robert Swan, environmentalist and explorer

Everyone knows about it, the smog in china threatening to choke our earth, the ice caps melting due to climate change, but what are we, as individuals,doing,about it? The short answer, nothing. Because, as Robert Swan says, we believe "That Someone Else Will Save It", We think 'oh the government will do something, or the charities will, what has it got to do with me?'. everything. Because this is your planet. And everyone is responsible. This is what believe.

 Since 2013 the UK has been running CCAs (climate change agreements), in a bid to reduce carbon waste produced by the UK. However nothing will change endless we cooperate. Its our cars that are polluting our skies, its our rubbish that is being piled into land fills and rotting away beneath our feet, its usthat carelessly throw way...

Our society is twisted

Our society is twisted,
what happens to make everyone judge?
be judged?
to make it matter what clothes you wore,
how you speak?
we are all human,
and, lets be honest
everyone of us judge,
judge the person next to us on the bus for the music they listen to,
our friends for a random comment they make,
but it shouldn't be like this,
we shouldn't have to worry,
we only judged because we are judged,
because our society is twisted,

 

I Remember

I remember how we forgot

I remember the way the wind sang through the tree outside our house,
I remember the way the rain sounded as it pitter pattered on our roof at night; how i would lie awake, listening,
I remember the way our little dog use to lie, curled up nose to tail on our old sofa,
I remember running home after my first day at school and hiding in the cupboard upstairs till I was bribed down with promises of cake,
I remember how father shouted when Alfie stole the matches from the mantle piece,
And I remember how he warned us, 'this house will go up in flames!' 
I remember my mother telling us to be careful,
I remember how we forgot.

we are no better

The human race.
Puny, weak creatures who's only gift is the gift of dishonesty.
A lion and a man fighting, the lion easily wins.
but give the man a gun,
and the tigers dead.
we have worked our way up the food chain by cheating, and stealing and killing,
we are no better
than murderers.

For those who don't know the sea as I do

For those who don't know the sea as I do,
take note,
for the sea can be your friend,
or it can tear you apart,
it roars and growls,
if you do not listen you might mistake its whispering for anger,
but the ocean is a being,
not a beast. 
 

Reality

Sometimes I think my thoughts condensates,
cause the world outsides so cold,
and I thought I was free,
roaming wild,
then they fall to the floor as rain,
to form murky puddles,
when before I thought the sky was endless,
but reality pulls me down,
cause the world outsides so cruel,
and I thought I was free,

'you can be whatever you want to be'

"you can be whatever you want to be"
Drummed into my head
Woven through the fabric of my childhood
I believed it
I was going to be a teacher
A princess
A writer
But how can I know what I want to be when I don't know me?

Op-Ed Competition 2017

Climate change, we are all responsible

"The Greatest Threat to Our Planet Is the Belief That Someone Else Will Save It"- Robert Swan, environmentalist and explorer

Everyone knows about it, the smog in china threatening to choke our earth, the ice caps melting due to climate change, but what are we, as individuals,doing,about it? The short answer, nothing. Because, as Robert Swan says, we believe "That Someone Else Will Save It", We think 'oh the government will do something, or the charities will, what has it got to do with me?'. everything. Because this is your planet. And everyone is responsible. This is what believe.

 Since 2013 the UK has been running CCAs (climate change agreements), in a bid to reduce carbon waste produced by the UK. However nothing will change endless we cooperate. Its our cars that are polluting our skies, its our rubbish that is being piled into land fills and rotting away beneath our feet, its usthat carelessly throw way...

Unbelievable Food

Dream soufflé

Cakes and confectionary
Dream soufflé

Ingredients:
500g whipped cloud gathered from mount olympus
The first ray of light that touches a fresh rose bud
250g sugar cane grown by moonlight
500ml of golden water from the stream that runs beneath Athens
 
Method:
On the second sunday of the fourth month at sunrise place the whipped cloud and light in a bowl woven from rushes
Leave beneath the shade of the tree of life for 5 days
At moon rise on the 5 day add the sugar and stir with imagination, do not let the moon light fall on it
Make a well in the mixture and pour in the golden water 
Isolate in a wishing well for 2 days 
At the moment the sun first touches the well on the 3rd day take out the bowl
Leave it beneath the rays of the sun in a clearing of moon flowers for 2 hours
Your dream soufflé is cooked, when consumed...

Beyond Reason

Corrupt DNA

Why is it so hard to think of unanswerable questions when life is made up of them?
Why are some questions called 'unanswerable' when they have one million answers?
why is life defined by possible questions when it should be defined by possible answers?
Why am I questioning questioning questions? 

Your View

Our World, what I think.

1. Everyone is a friend, no mater of faith, race or opinion, we are all the same.
we are or human, we live in the same world, breath the same air, we are the same.

2.Success is not measured in money, or fame, it is measured in love.
Nowadays everything seems to be about money, money and celebrities who squander their money on mansions. This, to me is not success, i believe that success is a smile returned, friends to care for and to care in turn. success is measured in love. 

3.Everyone's voices should be heard, you should be able to talk to people in government, and make a difference.
The future of our country is placed in the hands of a couple of important people right at the top of the government. my opinion is that everyone should get a say, not just in ticking a box yes or no, or choosing between 2 people, actually...

Invented Cartography

The valley of Astistan

The valley of Astistan has often been called mother natures palace. A stream sings between two towering hills as if a giant finger had absently traced a path through the earth. The river swells and continues down the dell, bordered by the emerald cliffs, for a mile or two. then, with no warning, the green hills melt and flatten out as the river flows into a silver lake. The et luna in mare or ocean of the moon, named so for the un-natural stillness of this vast body of water, and the way, at night the moons reflection shines so clearly from its depths, as if the moon had indeed fallen from the sky. 

Alien

London City
Planet earth

First impressions

The people here live like animals. 
In square boxes, blocking out the sun.
They travel around in tin cans, 
And steel serpents that belch smoke,
The sky is littered with metal dragons, 
And stars are almost non-existent.
At night the dark is banished by neon lights.
And the stars seem fainter, muted. 
The moon sombre, smaller somehow than at home.
I miss the moon.
It was my friend.

Voices, footsteps coming closer, I slink into the shadows, melting into the dark, sudden fear pumping through my veins, but no, they're never find me here.

They have this thing, here in the UK.
They call it democracy,
Choice of The people,
But it doesn't seem like that, 
It's the important people who seem to make the decisions,
Not The people.

They're always arguing, people, if they really had a choice there wouldn't be any arguing, would there?

Everyone talks about freedom,
They live in a...

Names, Names, Names

icantsleep

A breakfast joint- egg on toast
A new smartphone- milkyway
An eyeglasses store- eye need glasses
A dog pound- save our skins 
A highway- H1 
An island resort- ocean blue 
A new constellation- the star 
A pet polar bear- snowy (so original...) 
A nail polish color- purple galaxy  
A new butterfly species- flying grace

This I Believe

to make someone smile

I collapsed on my bed and let tiredness wash over me. And with it came the pungent stench of hopelessness. Was this the point of each day? simply to reach the next day, an the next? surly there was more to it. i felt like a rainbow of colours had suddenly been replaced with grey, as if life was grey. I stared into space, trying to pluck a alternative from thin air. Then it hit me. Warmth bubbled up inside me and i felt a smile spreading across my  face. Because the point of each day isn't to reach the next. the point of each day is to make someone else's day that little bit better. the point of each day is to make someone smile. the point of each day is to make someone life just that little bit more colourful.
This I believe.

Open Prompt

In a word

Life in a word;

Indescribable 

indescribable in a word;

anything

anything in a word;

 everything 

Newsworthy

'united' kingdom

The united kingdom

United
Combined into a single entity.
Concerned with, produced by, or resulting from mutual action.
Being in harmony; agreed.


recently this has not been true of great britian. The Brexit vote has ripped our community apart. Separating us. We are not a single entity, any action we take is certainly not mutual, we do not live in harmony, we are not agreed.What has become of the dream of 1800 ? 
   

What Came Before

too late

 I am sitting in a large bright room. the flowers on the window sill give the illusion of hope, but its as fake as the flowers. we all can sense it. the dreadful hopelessness that hangs around, a suffocating blanket.this place has a stench of decay, seeping through the mask of chemicals and disinfectant. in the corner an old man hunches, eyes staring unseeing at a decade old copy of the Times. a 5 year old girl has given up screaming for her mother, no she sits, silent tears streaming down her face, her eyes wide in her pale face. Too wide, too pale. A nurse opens the door and stars at me stricken,  "ms Baxter, I'm so sorry...", I can read in her eyes the words she doesn't dare utter, 'its to late, she's gone, she's dead'

WILD

Storm for a soul

Wild.
Untamed.
A storm for a soul.
Raging fire,
burning red.
Uncontrollable. 
Uncontainable.
Feeding of darkness,
living on a diet of nightmares.
You cannot stop the seasons change,
or hold back the tide.
Wild is unstoppable.
Wild is me.

1 Photo, 100 Words

Going with the flow

they're heartless, just empty shells
I'm not sure if i mean the jellyfish or the people.
The jellyfish
Flouting in a tank. Not living at all, simply being.
The people
Content to fill they're lives with meaningless words
Promises
Not living at all. simply being. 
They have no brain.
I'm not sure if i mean the jellyfish or the people.
The jellyfish. 
following the current. Not thinking at all, simply floating.
The people
Stuck in there own tank.
Just going with the flow. Stuck in waters of culture. 
Not thinking at all, simply floating
Jellyfish
people
whats the difference 
Really. 
 

TV Pilot Competition 2017

Control

EXTERIOR - ABANDONED CITY - DAY
ZADIA AMBROS (21) and TREYE MORIANA (19) are running franticly through the abandoned city to the sound of suspenseful music. 
ZADIA  : come on!
TREYE : I don't think I can...
Music fades. Treye is obviously lagging behind. Theres a flash and he  falls to the ground, blood seeping from his leg.
ZADIA: Treye!
Zadia sprints over to were Trye is on the floor panting.
TREYE: Please Zadia, you go... save your self.. its to late. Go. Run.
Treye closes his eyes and Zadia, traumatised runs off.
CUT TO
INTERIOR - ABANDONED WARE HOUSE - DAY
the ware house looks like its being used as some kind of base. There are a couple of people around.KYEL GOTT (28) approaches  Zadia as she enters. 
KYLE: Wheres Treye? 
ZADIA: Dead
Kyle covers his face with his hands
KYLE: oh god, how?
ZADIA: it was a drone... we were running, he got shot in the leg.
KYLE: thats the third this...

Why I Write

Thoughts

I write to untangle the silken threads of my thoughts
To weave a picture of a thousand colours
To escape the greys and shadows of life
I write 
To understand.

Signing Off

Goodbye 2016

Dear 2016
I guess, to start, I should say thank you, for chucking so many opportunities my way. I mean Peter Pan and twelfth night, performing on a stage. The summer holidays was great to, mostly, but I guess you have to even it out, a year can't be all good. But seriously 2016, your going to have a bad reputation, of the year a blond idiot was voted president elect (I have nothing against blonds, I'm blond, but thats Trump), the year UK left the EU, the year terrorist were at large (and still are). I mean ok, maybe I'm being a bit harsh, you have done some great things for me too. Start of last year i found my feet in my new school, good friends, interesting lessons, Im still in touch with my old friends to, so thanks for that, you've given me lots of little moments of joy that may not seem a lot in the...

The Peace of Wild Things

Library of dreams

open up the covers
leaf through pages old
step inside a dream
forget the chores you have to do
the monsters at your door
forget the argument you've had 
the stalking beast inside you
step inside another life
another world 
a different past
a different future 
step inside a dream
freedom

My December Competition 2016

A walk through December

As I walk down a corridor somewhere in my mind, I see a door labeled Christmas, and now I walk inside. 
In our sitting room, the first saturday of the month. Ben's in the corner, setting up his camrea on time lapse mode, trying to capture our christmas in a speeded up video of the past. As I reverently stroke each tree decoration, and stare in awe at the emerald giant, who's naked boughs welcome us. We cloth him in memories and smiles and laughs as one by one we place our decorations upon his arms. And Daddy is grinning as he points out, a bauble from india, from Mumbai, Timbuktu. And Mummy untangles glass stars from once gold streamers and silver angles too. And Sam and Ben laugh, and shake their heads at each other as I narrowly miss hurling myself into the tree.
and I crouch by a key hole, somewhere in my mind, see twinkling lights and laughter...