There is something soothing yet macabre in watching you weed: pull up life from the ground only to discard it atop the compost. Perhaps it is the control you exert, life and death growing weary in your palms - perhaps it is the reminder of how indelicate human nature is, how brutally we shake … Continue reading Weeds in the patio cracks
I love imperfect things: calloused hands, lying mouths, holes in the plasterboard, smeared bathroom mirrors, using a pint glass for the roses, illiterate spellings of sorry, tepid water and lukewarm feelings, confusing the consonants in love and lose. I cherish imperfect things in lieu of a reflection I still cannot love: calloused … Continue reading Pint glass – half empty
I walk through the woods and imagine it full of books: novels returning home, pages between roots, words manifesting within fleshy, breathing bark, dappled light adorning every dust jacket with sun spots as leaves curl around well-thumbed spines, earth settling into bookmark ribbons and wrinkled, ink worn skins. Poem: © Kristiana … Continue reading Home
September and I’m twenty. I’ve phoned my mum, 100 miles away, because I’m frightened I’ll die. My hands feel suspicious and I cannot trust my reflection, so tying myself to a Promethean rock seems the only option. I should be living in technicolour - I should be living with joy bursting between fingers and … Continue reading Promethean Sin
The light burning through the window fades - every cushion, floorboard and painting loses colour, the walls merge with the air and everything becomes a meld of grey and beige. The rain begins, then the hail. Ranks of interminable storm clouds throng, heavy, obscuring the light, refracting it upwards, away from our hungry eyes … Continue reading Goddess
Rain falls for the first time in weeks and the sky is a muzzled grey: every bloom and green field is diminished by half and the cat tracks in mud and wilted blossom from the trees. Life falls into monochrome - a sleep-deprived dimness as I watch each rivulet weave a fairytale down the … Continue reading Larkin sadness
I can hear it at midnight I’m on stage with my publishing team my family, friends I look into the crowd and say there’s someone here who isn’t on my team she may not have my last name but she is definitely part of my family Somebody who pulled me out of a rough time … Continue reading I can hear it at midnight ft. Devereaux Frazier
I haven't written a poem in days, but I read Lord of the Flies today and now I would liken walking into the woods, into a deep forest, beneath a suffocating canopy, to being sucked, boneless, into the maw of a blackhole - a savage emptiness as ebony as Jack's merciless pupils and Roger's desire … Continue reading The maw
Scientist say Orca possess an emotional intelligence far superior to ours - which makes me wonder if this stone in my chest would be a hundred times larger if I were a whale - which makes me wonder if I would cease to breathe, if it is possible to be crushed from the inside out … Continue reading The emotional intelligence of Orca
This week’s FVR prompt.
The top three responses will be shared this Sunday coming; so you have plenty of time to write and share your inspired piece in the comments below.
Happy writing!
Kristiana
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