Sundays are for rest, and in my case, it was very much needed. Despite the protests not travelling to our area, I felt the tiny ripples that the protesters left in Causeway Bay reach me. Buildings in Hong Kong (at least on the main island) are very close together, so I can look out of the window of my flat and see into someone else’s. So, at night I was awoken at about 4am by someone yelling, again what I can only assume were the pro-democracy slogans, in Cantonese from one flat and someone responding to them from another. I listened as the waves of rebellion wash over the small corner of this huge city, and felt admiration for their unity. However, this was then undercut by a single loud scream of pain which I ascertained was below my building.
‘Walking back home along the rim of the galaxy’
A bed of thorny white roses lay strewn across the garden;
the flowers spilled over the walls and the vines coiled in and around empty
bricks, thick and piercing. The evening sun threw itself across the leaves,
turning them transparent. Their veins suddenly rose to the surface, like a
diver swimming to the top of the ocean’s surface, the frothing waves matching
the tone of the flowers.
Two young boys stood, arms crossed, shoulders hunched,
loitering outside what was usually a post-40 dominated neighbourhood. Their
slumping bodies moved secretly, exchanging glances and hushed but cool tones as
they slipped joints between their fingers and sipped in the smoke, clouds
enveloping their faces.
One blasted reggae out of a boombox larger than him, and slid next to me, an intruder. The roses quivered under the weight of the music, and closed up for protection. I tip-toed over them but was grabbed by the waist of the second boy and saw the sun vanish to the other side of the world. He looked into my eyes and told me he saw the milkyway. I told him he must have seen the chocolate. He laughed, and didn’t stop.
One of the roses coiled itself around my foot, brown turning pink, and threw me all the way back home. As I was being thrown, all I heard was his laughter echo around me.
He twisted fate between his fingers
Jacob Atkins sat amongst the wading sea of children at Gateway Primary. Assembly was a dull dreary ritual that the school conducted to deliver important messages to the children, and make them sing songs about being a good person and other such rubbish. Today, however, was slightly different. The messages had been gathered throughout the year and saved for this particular assembly on the last day of school (hopefully ever, he thought). Jacob never much cared for primary-school level education. But could he truly be blamed? The teachers were dull and uninspiring. The curriculum was basic knowledge, all leading up to one exam which he passed easily yesterday.
Time travel, a bookmark, the angel gabriel.
‘Angel Gabriel, how did I die?’
‘Your mother was Hera, your father, Zeus.’
‘So they made me die?’
‘It’s so dark here.’
‘Use the light from my wings, follow me to the Underworld.’
humans are so smart,
look – we have built above us,
forgetting to look down.
Hello everyone! Before we get into the poem I’d like to say thank you very much to everyone who has read my poems recently. I’ve seen a spike in my numbers and I am very grateful knowing that people like what I write :). Feel free to say hi in the comments and we can chat! Now, on with the poem…
I feel like an adult when a new washing machine excites me
I feel like an adult when I butter my own toast
I feel like an adult when I somehow manage to get rid of a cold on my own
I feel like an adult when the question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up’ scares me instead of excites me
Last week feels like a century ago. I wonder why? I’m not 100 years old and I’m certainly nowhere near it. OK well technically I’m a fifth of the way there, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fifth of the way to death, it means I’m a fifth of the way to something. But the something isn’t death. Something is a lot of things – not just one.
I've often found myself contorting,
squeezing into other peoples' boxes.
Maybe it's because I'm small.
I can fit into places easily.
But my stomach hangs over my legs,
petruding over the line.
Stuffing never helps.
Hiding can often reveal more than
So I stopped contorting.
I only ever write about magic in poetry,
on the page is where it can find a home.
Because the magical, mysterious happenings of the
They are filled with endless realities, not infinite, possibilities are cut
like the end of a black cat's tail.
But my tale, did begin with some magic --
a miracle child, born when no one quite expected it,
living on a tank of hopes and beliefs which my father
went round the hospital, collecting in a jar.
The teddy bear next to me sang me a lullably of two withes:
Jaadu and Junoon*
together, they soared through the night sky,
sprinkling madness into the dreams of adults and children everywhere.
And last night, I had a dream that I was Harry Potter.
I was dueling Draco Malfoy; we had to beat the record of 172
hits made at a target by Lucius Malfoy.
Draco ended up falling off the stage.
I made 870 hits.
But then the teddy bear woke me up,
Jaadu is a Hindi word meaning magic.
Junoon is an Urdu wor meaning madness.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way (possibly also like a witch? It depends on the witch, I guess!) Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive.
Hey everyone! Apologies for not posting last week, BUT I have a good reason, because on Saturday I was at the UK National Poetry Slam! I am happy to announce that I came in 3rd place! I had spent so much time practicing that I didn’t have enough energy to write a post. BUT I’m back!! AND here with a NEW POEM 😱😱😱😎😎💥💥💥 I wrote this about how recently I’ve finally been able to take control of my negative feelings rather than get stuck in them. Enjoy!
Your hand slips between your lips
and lifts all her fingers inside.
She’s not lost anymore,
walks straight past the canines (sharp!)
takes a right at the left molar
2 paces South of the Tongue and