Tag Archives: writing

Unnamed, 30/04/2017, 22:30

Words pinch through my veins itching inching their way along
Cracking ribs and shaking heart
I am fire
On fire.
Trapped in glass
Suffocating
Screaming.
I can’t move for the labels lassoed around my wrists.
You see me. Do you see me?
Burning.
You can’t hear me.

Should Paddington Bear go home?

CONTAINS SPOILERS.

So.

Paddington Bear.

Where do I start?

Well, if you’re anything like me, you will have cried from beginning to end. Continue reading

Planetary Annihilation

Pull Saturn’s rings
down over and around my curves.
Hair splaying,
burnt to ash by our sun,
as I writhe in stars. Continue reading

Slug

Not silver,
But grey.
The trail leads behind me.
Not a lining,
But shame.
One giant foot
Encumbered with modesty,
That covers every inch.

Flight Cancellation

I cannot rip
this love from my bones.
Thorns puncture fingers
like a skewer
through a dead bird,
I can hear the skin
burst. Continue reading

The Death of Coleridge

Stefanie looked out from the large rock she stood high on. Everything was grey. The sea didn’t shine sapphire but glooped together liked liquid steel, instead of an azure sky above, the clouds gathered ashen, the stone, once warm and smooth, now seemed cold and sharp as sediment gathered in the cracks.
“Coleridge.”
“Hmm?” Stefanie turned around to see Continue reading

‘The lunatic’ in response to Charlotte Smith’s sonnet

This poem is written in response to Charlotte Smith’s ‘Sonnet: On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headland Overlooking the Sea, Because It Was Frequented by a Lunatic‘.

Cursed with reason
you remain bound
like corset to body.
Ribbon wound tight, Continue reading

Haiku and development

I wrote this piece in my Writing Poetry module at University. We were asked to write down an experience or memory in 50words, then to condense it down to 20words, and then to transform it into a haiku. Continue reading

Insomnia

Insomnia,
I see through you.
A black night
creates a blackened mind. Continue reading

I remember Nelson Mandela

I was eighteen years old, when on the 6th May 2010, I walked with my Grandma to the voting booth in our village. “To exercise our right to vote,” she said, “is to exercise our freedom. A freedom that many people still don’t have.” Continue reading