Unfashionably late to the feminist debate. For some reason, I grew up believing feminist activism to be a dated irrelevance, an attention-seeking anachronism in our balanced and equal UK society. Many of the most prominent feminists I remember reading or listening to when I was younger, all came across as bitter and aggressive, petty separatists…
Month: December 2015
The Articulate Clamour
Are we all still living in Babel? About four years ago, I had a conversation with my Mum that sparked an internal discussion I have been ruminating on ever since. I wanted to write about it immediately, but somehow got lost in the puzzle, mistakenly believing that I should find a neat solution, a…
Happiness
Happiness is that fading mortal light, Before the closing eyelid edge of earth Wipes sunset’s liquid fire-glow blank with night; A golden hour of hazy, rose-pink blurs. It rises through the tangled ivy sounds of cloudy, crowded conversation’s maze, as shifting, shapeless half-words, sense unfound; Emerging marbled meanings slyly sway. It drifts on fleeting, lucid-dreaming…
Reward Pathway
The shiver line stutters along a lunacy smile, Euphoria metabolised, climbs dizzy altitudes, with the soma summertime survivors of my kind, chemical thought eugenics. A hovering hummingbird ostanato beats ecstatic waveforms; disenchanted with organics. I am swinging pendulum. I am pushing lever. My oscilloscope pulse rides the reward pathway trace, Chasing amplified, cessation transmission….
Pulse
Bright, primary life-giver, vivid and violent. Metabolic diastole, transporting liquid instants. Lifeline of a Leviticus creature, scarlet serpentine silence Threads my magnetic field lines, concentric, constant. Circular regulator, energetic captivator. Medicinal metal of the new-world vampire. Distilled deliverer, oxygenated educator, Speeds through transparency with the gritted teeth of empire. Colourful, calendar exodus, shed as lunar…
This Little Fuse
Occasionally I trip over the shrapnel of a love concealed. My haunted frontline. Incandescent devices lace the minefield. I never dreamt that when I felt it, my heart would be my warhead. But these three words are charged and ready to explode. Tentative, long-grown, now well-prepared; free and easy truth in my head, At peril…
Remote
Sure-footed, self-sufficient island, In the clouded, unchangeable spots of your big-cat coat. Content with empty, free-fingered, breezy hand. Seeing all through your shadow ellipses eyes: remote. Confused sum of curative parts, Dedicated Rukai descendants dismember your biology to medicate. But, to my noisy, modern world, your detached heart Will fascinate, divide, enchant, and isolate. Arboreal,…
The Disaster is an Artist
The disaster is an artist, drawing me in ragged lines of chalk, Rolling me up into a hollow and painting me a smile. There has been a fall: the winter sky has seen my mind. It has turned my head inside out, and covered the world in fresh, white snow. My palette adulterate has…
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