I play hide and seek with myself: concealed behind bed sheets, curtains and the lines drawn in childish crayon across my face. I giggle in the darkness then trace the oyster edges of my bones in the mirror - whisper “I am still here.” Here, despite the fact you rest your head against my back … Continue reading Object Permanence
Today, on Thursday, 1st October, (aptly National Poetry Day) Olivia Snowdrop celebrates the release of her debut poetry collection, Snowdrop: A Collection. Below is an interview with Olivia and there will be details about where you can buy the collection and follow Olivia, as well as a link to my advance review. KRISTIANA: Snowdrop: A … Continue reading An interview with Olivia Snowdrop
You arrived at the beginning of me, a life spent so lonely in quarantine, bobbing in the breeze so effortlessly, bubbles pop blue like the sky and the sea. I watch you come in twos and threes, loved up in ruffled up feathers and yellow smiles; swallowing the sunshine, golden syrup, before drifting upon the … Continue reading A Sonnet for Bluetits
after Sylvia Plath Silence shudders through the room, yet I find forgiveness, whilst carving sculpture into my tomb. We love like gargoyles in gloom, painted grins for hearts bleeding. Silence shudders through the room. I search for bones and flesh, a womb to call my own, whilst whittling sculpture into my tomb. … Continue reading Mad Girl’s Love Song
I haven't written about being in the bath in a while. Larkin wrote about lambs whilst I write about the pink between my toes; wondering if when I was born I knew I would be raised for the slaughter. My lamb eyes blinking, drinking in the sun. Until I learned how to drink bathwater. … Continue reading My lamb heart
My pale, baby face blooms unseen in your bedroom mirror; I watch you, beautiful woman who is not yet mine, dancing in the scent of summer and hypnotised by half moon shadows playing across creaky floorboards. It's Friday night and you shake off those playground blues, put on your high heeled shoes, too dark … Continue reading Friday nights with you, before me
What struck me about Reynold’s first collection, How Best to Stage a Breakdown, was how viscerally and honestly she wrote about mental health. Mislilac builds upon this sturdy foundation and flourishes. Reynolds’ style has matured further and her voice is exceptional and unique. There is something so very honest in Mislilac even though most of … Continue reading Review of Mislilac (Thinker), H. M. Reynolds
Alluding to the posthumous album of spoken word by Tupac, Shay Belt’s The Rose That Never Grew From Concrete is a collection which ruminates upon and explores the self. Through her poetry, Belt seeks to find a sense of self and belonging. Consequently, the journey the reader embarks upon is tumultuous as Belt writes about … Continue reading Review of The Rose That Never Grew From Concrete, Shay Belt
after Emily Brontë & Emily Dickinson Hope makes herself comfortable in the dark. the moon has run away Even if she looked up, she would not see the sky but for the hairline crack in the lid of the jar. Her wings no longer flutter; they collect dust like swollen sapphires found glistening in … Continue reading Hope
Ryan’s first poetry collection, sweet hearts, was a debut of softness and love. Ryan wrote tenderly about the intricacies of falling in love with yourself, someone else and the world around you. the reckless kind is a triumph of a follow up. In this collection, Ryan bares more than she did in sweet hearts and … Continue reading Review of the reckless kind, Bella Ryan
