Wednesday, 16 September 2015

Still Waters


This well is far too deep, deep and black,
a watery void.
These grey aging stones cling onto the surface
with bitter ambition.
Old and darkening adorned with olive-green mosses.

This well was built by my hands,
each stone laid under a waxing moon.
I am fated to drown beneath its brown shameful waters,
waters that flow so deep they touch
the very Past, Present, and Future.

I will sink ever further through stagnant tides
with my lungs overflowing and my eyes blind.
Sinking past the places beyond
the light of the living world

I will touch the solid core of the Earth with cold lifeless hands and wish that I did not feel.






Hello everyone 

'Still Waters' has been on my blog before - that was three years ago though (I don't like to put the same pieces on more then once).  It's in 'Alchemy' and is one of those poems that I always go back to whenever I read anything about depression. 

There is a reason I have shared this poem today. I know it's a bit late but 10th September was Suicide Prevention Day and I came across this poem The Morning after I Killed Myself by the very talented Meggie Royer. It really touched me and seemed to do the same with so many other people as it was shared around social media a number of times.

I have really struggled with depression during my life, although thankfully I have never had serious thoughts of suicide. Only the people who have suffered themselves will understand how it feels. 'Still Waters' is based on my own feelings and experiences with depression in that it sucks you under, smothers you - and not something you can 'get over' or stop feeling. 

To anyone reading this blog who is struggling with depression or any metal health problems I send you lots of love...



Happy Wednesday 






Tuesday, 1 September 2015

New Writing of the Month for September ~ Discarded Beliefs


'I was on the coast, in the north where the sea stays cold throughout the summer yet the beaches have a light solid warmth that gives way slowly to climbing heights of grassland, tough sinuous plants and rolling moors and hills - the kind of places people never think to stop and wonder. I was barefoot on a northern beach that was windswept and rustic even in the height of summer but the sun was scarring my skin, dancing on it and rippling like stray sparks.

I was deep in conversation with the sea as it claimed my toes and ankles, soaked into my pores. Whispering a greeting, naming those that had died and those who had been born since we last met. How the world had changed - how I had changed in so many ways.  I repeated the same last words over and over as I walked … ‘but we are still here, but we are still here’. It etched a memory into me of the familiar feeling of sand underfoot pulling away as the waves crept back but an unfamiliar one of peace.

Walking past shells and driftwood all framed in dark grains of sand I stopped to pull something buried as it glinted at me like lost treasure. Rosary beads washed clean by the tide, dark shiny stones resonating with faith. Further along the beach I found a small faded statue of the Virgin Mary, her features almost worn smooth.  I couldn't leave them to the sea, I couldn’t stop myself working my fingers over the smooth surfaces still speaking the words ‘but we are still here’.

I was drawn to a large pebble covered in runes and a drawing of Odin rolling in the surf - how I knew it was him I will never know - did he tell me his name? A reminder of the North's Scandinavian past - this part of England is still haunted by Norse gods and retold stories

...the discarded beliefs of the Northerners are everywhere.'




Hello dear readers and hello September!

'Discarded Beliefs' was inspired by my trips to the coast this summer with Carl - we have mainly been to Scarborough which is no where near as 'deserted' as the flash fiction portrays :) 


Carl in Scarborough 
The train journey up the coast to Scarborough is very pretty and it had me imagining and writing this piece in my head. I also read a lot of historical fiction and when they mention the North of England they paint a picture of very hardened rough people, slow to trust and stubborn in their beliefs. I can't help but smile and wonder if in some way they are describing some of my ancestors - some lines on my family go back to 1500s in Yorkshire.





Happy Tuesday