Tag Archives: art

‘If you are a nettle, then I am stung.’

These are undoubtedly the sweetest and most profound words that have ever been spoken to me. Although perhaps formed in an air of jest, I believe they tell and acutely accept the very nature of what it is to, and be in, love.

To love is to accept that humans have the capacity to inflict pain and are, in so many other ways, flawed.

It also encapsulates how love isn’t a bed of ever blooming flowers. It is, by definition, the extremity that incorporates the entire spectrum of feelings and emotions. Love can indeed sting but it can also blossom. It can grow in the quiet corners of our mind until it becomes impossible to ignore- releasing its unruly consequences- much like the spurs of nettles.

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Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.

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Biological warfare
Chugs the biting
Froth of my
Love
Left to rot.
For you, prey,
Dupe,
I am cruelty
Softened by
A soured milk
Complexion.
And if you so
Choose to
Seize my honing
Hand, and fall for my
Affection,
Sweet misery.
Bliss.
Venomous
Kiss.
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This year I have the pleasure of festively earmarking my blog with the ‘Christmas Tag’. I received this tag by a favourite blogger and poet of mine whose ‘technological challenges’ I do not mean to rub in, but by clicking here, it will send you to his blog.

1. Have you ever had a white Christmas?

I don’t doubt that one of my eighteen Christmases was spent under a white sheet of those cold mounds that hold limitless potential. More memorably, perhaps, was a particular ‘white birthday’ I had a few years ago where my party involved a few more snowmen than had first been anticipated.

2. What is your favourite Christmas song?

Though I shamefully admit that most Christmas songs prove to bring out the Ebenezer Scrooge in me, there are a few songs which I don’t mind hearing on that familiar premature lead-up to the 25th of December. These include ‘Fairy Tale of New York’ by the Pogues and Kirsty McColl, ‘Pipes of Peace’ by Paul McCartney and Lennon’s ‘So this is Christmas’.

3. Do you open any presents on Christmas Eve?

This questions sparks a question of my own- does anyone?! Though I wouldn’t call myself conspicuously pious over Christmas traditions, I’d say it was nicer to keep up the suspense for as long as possible.

4. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?

Not even Coke’s plastering of the reindeer’s names on their bottles has lead me to be completely sure of all of them. In fact, I get a bit stuck after Rudolph. This is when you cross me off any potential Christmas Pub teams!

5. What holiday traditions are you looking forward to the most?

This year I was a waitress donning a rather flash Santa hat.. dressing up is possibly my favourite tradition through the Winter months.

6. Is your Christmas tree real or fake?

Due to the recent addition of a fearless kitten in my household whose hobbies include both destruction and general ninja-esque shenanigans, we decided to give the tree a miss this year. Although I’m sure she would make quite the sweet tree-top…

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7. What is your all-time favourite holiday food/treat?

Everything cranberry-related.

8. What is the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received?

‘The Catcher in the Rye’ was given to me by my sister and has since become a favourite novel of mine!

9. Are you a pro-present wrapper, or do you fail miserably?

My wrapping skills are indeed so poor that I do not need to write my name in the ‘from’ sections of my labels as the ruthless taping and messy bulges give me away.

10. What do you wish for Christmas this year?

That my first university choice lets me in so I wont need to resort to getting my higher education in a stable amidst hay and sheep whilst wise men denote me of my intelligence… heh.

11. Favourite Christmas smell?

The smell of fire along with the sound of crinkling logs is quite bliss. Although it can become so cold here in winter that anything heat-related would be my answer to most questions regarding the senses.

12. What place/landmark in your town do you love during Christmas?

I mostly enjoy the overblown lights and blow-up Santas produced by my visibly competitive neighbours.
I hope everyone has a splendid Christmas! Thank you again CityJackDaw for my nomination!

3


I have been diagnosed today.
A case of ‘Euphoria’, the doctor said,
It is not normal to feel this way.
I said ‘good morning’ with such cheer,
A symptom; met by a scowl
And a muttered ‘Oh dear’. 

‘Do your lips often curl upward?’
A ‘yes’ shone from the crescent moon of
My medallion mouth.
From the other end
Of the room the doctor stood.
Troubled. ‘I’m afraid to say,
I
t’s not looking good.’

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I blossomed in
Your crown,
Held swiftly by
Your limbs,
Safe unto your bole.
Until the cold came
Like a curtain call
Veins turned dry.
You let me go in the fall.

This poem attempts to interpret a literal meaning of the term ‘family tree’, contrasting the strength of a family (or ‘blood’) bond by the fragility of nature and, in my case, the fragility of humankind.

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There once was a girl
With golden hair,
Curls like diamonds
And locks so fair

She caught a man’s eye
Like the rays of a Sun
‘With hair as fine as yours,
I think you are the one’.

They were happily wed
Under her golden veil
Until a darkened hour
When money grew stale

‘We have no choice’
Her husband did declare
‘But to cut off and sell
Your golden hair’

Their table became full
But her locks did wane
And now she was a girl
With looks quite plain.

‘Where is my wife?’
Said a love gone cold
‘Like my heart she has vanished,
Sold, along with her hair of gold.’

This poem was inspired by a somewhat sombre idea I had for a Children’s book.

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My love was a letter
With no return address,
Sent through the blinds
Of a mellow cloudiness

Fresh wings, kept
afloat by a tangle of
strings

-lies-

Soaring
until the top
where-
after all-
it is the only place
for a lover to
fall.

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This poem is a work in progress, but after a kind and earnest reminder, today is National Poetry day so I felt obliged to honour this with a few rhymes and silly musings.



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