grown up

Kristiana Reed/My Screaming Twenties

My Screaming Twenties

I’ll be honest

when I said the words

grown up

aged thirteen

I didn’t see

a tub of ice cream,


and sitting in the dark

listening to the sky


I didn’t think

I’d become

a rom-com movie,

the kind you see

on late night TV –

hopeless romantic,

console me

with a cup of tea.

I didn’t know

love and living

could hurt this much,

I’d prefer bees


pretty flowers

and my hay fever

eyes to remind me

to breathe,

not this

tight chest,

I’m on my knees,

help me.

When I said

the words

grown up

I didn’t realise

I meant to say

I’ve got wells for eyes

except I’ve cut all the rope

to the buckets.

I’ve got rootless flowers

for hands, so when the rain comes,

torrential or trickle,

I fail to keep it. 

I’ve got a stained glass

mirror heart, 

except every pane…

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Oldepunk/RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry


as the 13th chime rings,

antecedents of hollow born shoulder

splayed out in macabre embryo

blazar-eyed lizard skin specter

bust from the lining of holy books

paladin of the yolk must bring father

watch farther from the otherside

where doth our existence expand to?

nowherespace, nowhereman

nothingsface, nothingshand

nowherechild born in nothingsland

space, space, space

there is no time/place/locale/world/position/dimension

not entangled by nothings trace

trust us girl, there’s nothing to fear….

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The Neighbour

Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles

The Lithium Chronicles

I wish I had told you how
beautiful I thought your garden was,
and though I was quick to thank you
for the garlic and the sweet rosemary
your boys brought to me, I never told you
how lovely you were when I watched you
levelling the soil and pulling
the weeds next door.
There was something quite fetching
about the way your floppy summer hat
pushed the sun from your eyes
and how you set the earth
as firmly as the muscles in your back.
You are as fresh as the scent
of your rosemary that still sits,
dried now, on the sill
of my kitchen window,
and your kindness is planted
as firmly in my memories
as the scent of your gardens,
and as deep as the roots
you have planted next to my door.


© Nicole Lyons 2018

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Please don’t debase yourself for us (thank you to my followers, who have only shown me the utmost support)

Georgia Park/Private Bad Thoughts

An anonymous collective of poetry

Thank you to everyone who has watched a video

of my readings and didn’t point out

that it would be a whole lot more interesting

if I just showed a little more skin

Even though I was terrified

that the people here

would react to my poetry the way

I’ve been treated in real life

I opened my legs all over

these private bad thoughts

and offered them up

in a whirlwind of sex and drugs

and none of you called me a whore

or told me to shut up

this is a world

where people want me to have

only what I want

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From the western sky this day – a prayer

Jonathan O’Farrell/Misterkaki


You are not cast down,

even so, elevate

your fine receiving features,

crown heavenward.

For with me

and of me

the blessing from above

is how

I may touch you,

this day.

The drop I am,

stretched out,

resolved and solvent

across the corporeal parts

and receiving landscape

in this,

instant, of life.


in solitary reflection,

though not even that,

is needed.

Just be,

all joined waters,


Crown, splash,

firmaments connection.

Third Eye streams,


Throat, the tender greeting,

voiced, but only to you.

Heart, a gust off the foreshore,

that rhythmically deviates my track.

So intercept.

Solar Plexus, sun, spirit.


match and fall, unhurriedly towards.

Sacral, these watery blessings

we bring ourselves, together.

Root, going all the way down

the totality of greeting,

Brother, Sister bring

heavenly blessings earthed

in each,

finally grounded in you,

sustenance, my home.

Held in my drop

and those that follow,

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To Lie in Wait -Aurora Phoenix

Aurora Phoenix on Whisper and the Roar

Whisper and the Roar

does anyone know how

to wait anymore?

in this world of constant contact

buzzing chiming hyper


what happens if you sit

in silence?

alone with the thud of your blood

thundering in your veins

and the whisper

of your inner descant


a cacophonous harangue?

nay, you say

I run not from the fear

my flaming inner ear

as I suckle at the singing

pinging ringing

electronic sugar teat.

this generation who believes

navel gazing

is a search for pierc-ed bling

an alt-indie band

or a porn-spawned

sexual fetish

they might just give a try,


buzz on the back of a flea

at the barest nod

to hush-ed introspection

heed not those

tongues of babel loosed.

what inner demons?

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Christine Ray/Brave and Reckless

Brave & Reckless

my image splinters
in the mirror
as distance grows
between surface smooth
and inner truth
where sharp rocks
agitate in the acid bath
of my gut
my legs
now a pale canvas
for phantom
scratches and bruises
left by the coarse tree branch
they dangle from
as I sit sentinel
over the abyss
jaw locked tight
saying nothing
of what is everything
and everything
that is nothing
madness whispers
fervent novenas
in my ear
traces fire
upon my skin
reminding me of
the exhilarating beauty
of flight
those perfect crystal clear
before the fall

© 2018 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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