Be kind but not so much as to be undermined Be bold but not so much as to appear cold Be strong but not so much you can’t be wrong Be wise but not so much you can’t see through another’s eyes Be able to bend with the wind yet stand strong like a tree Be open-hearted and feel global connectivity Be joyous for you search no more For you are the one you were looking for

Feet turn into Jade flippers On alabaster sands Beseeching oceans beckon Ego falls away Diving in I become one With the companion of my soul Fish with rainbow hues Embrace me as their own Swimming crystal waters I am wild I am liberated I am free Human shackles unchained I can breathe Unafraid I am as predators loom My home is my sanctuary My home is my refuge Living with the sound of the surf Living with beat of the waves Living authentically No harm comes to those who lives

Looking up from the doorstep decapitated marmalade heads grin deliriously in their dismemberment. Emaciated faces peer through windows festooned with cobwebs accompanied by their makers. Leathered wings beat rhythmically against creaking gutters. Russet leaves litter the barren driveway awaiting uninvited guests. Uninvited they may be but come they will with fangs and claws and broomsticks and capes. Ravenously they will devour everything in sight leaving once overflowing v

Bullet-stained girl standing in desolate streets Fleeing from a home you may nevermore see Shrapnel shards in your soft warm bed Where once your mother soothed your feverish head Bullet-stained girl where will you run? Where can you hide from Putin and his guns? Lead filled house your once safe place Now terror-filled with Military faces Bullet-stained girl do you still have dreams? Or are you just focused on survival by any means? In your deepest heart do you still dance and

Spotlight. Basking in its warm glow a feeling of pride and anticipation thrums throughout my body. Seconds pass by. Tick, tick, tick. The sound is deafening. The light too harsh. Blinding and burning. My knees shake and my throat swells. I hear the crowd but cannot tell if the screams are of adoration or admonishment. I have done it again. Put myself out there where I shouldn’t be. Where I don’t belong. Where I can’t cope. I want to be seen. I am desperate for acknowledgement

Lost in the days of old Are beings of natures royal birth Whose hearts, souls and minds Are in tune with the Earth Tuatha De Dannan number few Only a handful still believe In Dana, Thor and Pan Not in Adam and in Eve Even though the five-point believers Are faded or hidden away The precious few who remember Celebrate the special witchy days First there is Samhain The start of the witches year Where the gods descend to the underworld And the dead appear Then the promised c

It is three in the morning and once more I am in the foetal position in the bathtub begging whichever divine being is crazy enough to be awake at that hour to take the pain away. What is wrong with me? The answer very much depends on who you ask. If you ask me, I have chronic pain and along with many diagnosed conditions I have an undiagnosed one. If you ask my loving, supportive family who see my struggle everyday there is definitely something physically wrong with me. If yo

Ho, Ho, Ho, did you hear? Santa has two new reindeer Twins named Flaxen and Dixon Father Prancer, Mother Vixen Jingle Bells ring in joy For the little girl and boy Too young yet to pull the sleigh But they can’t wait for that day For now, North Pole is home But one day the two will roam To places far and wide Pulling the sleigh with presents inside Santa will call out their names With Rudolph they’ll play reindeer games They’ll get to fly across the sky And land on rooftops u

Flat rock juts Over cerulean ocean Cross legged, eyes closed Peace settles deep in my bones Bright spiral colours Open enticingly Spiritual vortex, divine doorway Universal connection awaits Mind chatter ceases Ancient secrets arise Heart unburdened, limitations expand Joy of Samadhi too close to bear Liquid, luminous eyes Searching my soul Hand reaching, soul touching Goddess encompasses me whole Eyes slowly open Return to the sea Essential transcendence, light radiates

I pick up my order at the Curry House My mouth watering in anticipation The aroma of turmeric and Cardamom Invade my senses and make me tingle with delight I almost drool as the first forkful approaches Hot, spicy, creamy on my dancing tongue I can hold back no longer shovelling mounds of pleasure down my burning throat into my expectant gullet Later I sit replete and smiling My Belly warm, joyous, full Suddenly gripped by indescribable pain the curry screams maniacally fro

Female castration is not a cultural tradition. It is an atrocity. History has long hidden the cruellest cut; excision of the clitoris under the veil of ethnic convention. This torturous mutilation of female genitalia has been preformed on over two hundred million women living in the world today in over thirty countries. Although touted in many of these countries as religious or cultural tradition the origin of this practice is not known, and no religious text specifically men

The words ramshackle and mansion didn’t usually go together but in this case both were true. It was an old Victorian which loomed over the sea and threatened each winter to fall into the bottomless chasm which lay at its feet. Salt-crusted bricks had faded to a rusted red and gables creaked in the wind threatening to decapitate gulls who came too close. When the wind blew waves lashed at the weary foundations eager to remove the eye-sore from its pristine shores. Cassie under

The world is somewhat fucked. We are a completely hypocritical bunch who espouse righteous indignation at others while revelling in our own immoral quagmire. Everywhere feminist flags are waved in support of our sisters but the minute they start achieving something one of the flag bearers themselves will take a pot shot at the unmentionable breast to make sure her bosom buddy remains below her on the non-existent totem pole of life. If a woman dares to feel confident in her i

I am a baby in a glass bubble I don’t want to be any trouble I am doing the best that I can I really don’t want to be a glass man In this world I want to be strong Is there a place where I will belong? I am afraid one day I will break Am I the universe’s one mistake? Harsh sounds, cruel words, violence I see Everything is too much for me My body can’t take it nor can my mind If this is the future, please leave me behind I do not wish to go outside In my bubble I will forev

My eyes are dim My joints are sore I can’t hear you anymore I use a frame What’s your name? Bunions constantly inflamed I need to Pee Endlessly Modern words all Greek to me Pills, I take galore What is this red one for? Doctors are getting to be a bore. Always slip Broke my hip Have a tendency to let one rip Chew a steak Wouldn’t that be great My favourite Jell-O is grape Climb the stairs I wouldn’t dare Thank god for reclining chairs Cold feet Now too much heat Hormon

Millie pulled out the ripe red radish and waved in the direction of her grandmother tending the new pea shoots. Grams was going strong at one hundred and fifty. Not unusual in this day and age where the only food you could get was macrobiotic and home-grown. Millie reflected sadly on the organically challenged decades which had preceded hers. How awful to have been forced fed genetically modified foods out of boxes flavoured with chemicals. Millie shuddered. She shook her hea

Sunlight filtered through verdant leaves creating a dappled effect on Avery’s black pin-striped pants. Sitting on a park bench she did the same as she had done every lunchtime for the last six months; people watched. There were the teenage lovers canoodling on the lawn, the lady who walked her poodle in stiletto’s, children playing on the swings, their mothers keeping a watchful eye while gossiping with friends and the old gardener with his floppy hat diligently tending the b

Murder your darlings The experts say No overly descriptive frilly prose Nothing ostentatious or grandiose Not too heavy on the expose That is not the proper way Don’t dangle your participles around Put that irregular preposition down Comma’s are not to be ignored Stop overusing metaphors Clichés should really not be found Adjectives should not abound ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’ A metaphor, one might say Isn’t that one of those? It’s only Shakespeare What does

It is often said, by those around me, that whenever eat I make a mess. Regardless of whether my meal consists of pasta or simply an apple I manage to get it all over me. I have a different take on my eating habits; I am not messy I just experience my food rather than eat it. I wonder why anyone would only want to understand food on a functional level when food is such a tactile and visceral experience. When you eat a salad how can you fail to feel like spring has bloomed in y

In each generation in the house of Atreus blood flows with lies, deception and murder [1] . The Argive Elders in Agamemnon acknowledge pollution infects all living there but hold out hope for a better tomorrow. Three times in the parodos they intone “We cry, cry for death, but good win out for glory in the end. [2] ” This is the pivotal dilemma woven throughout The Oresteia. Due to the implementation of the first Athenian court at the end of Eumenides which ceases the cycle o