Submissions by Northern_Soul (-Missy-)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
There is a trick to get out of your skin 🖤
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
25th Apr 2024 2:25pm
25th Apr 2024 2:25pm
Hymn to the Otherworld
#Britain
#pagan
196 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Apr 2024 11:56am
24th Apr 2024 11:56am
Hymn to King Penda
bent in two, your crooked crown
speaks of distance between
land and sky
of Mercia burning alive
drummed by the feet of Saxons
who proclaimed a different name
beat you with that one true God
unfamiliar to a heathen tongue
and so, I think of you fondly
as I sit beneath a tree in England
your bones quaking in familiar mud
tangled with tree roots, those boggy oaks
that rot slowly—
life becoming death
death becoming eternity
and I note the gold cross
they branded you with
becomes sand running ...
speaks of distance between
land and sky
of Mercia burning alive
drummed by the feet of Saxons
who proclaimed a different name
beat you with that one true God
unfamiliar to a heathen tongue
and so, I think of you fondly
as I sit beneath a tree in England
your bones quaking in familiar mud
tangled with tree roots, those boggy oaks
that rot slowly—
life becoming death
death becoming eternity
and I note the gold cross
they branded you with
becomes sand running ...
#Britain
#pagan
#religion
150 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2024 10:35am
23rd Apr 2024 10:35am
Hymn to Trees
Black boots leave a bus
as I watch it trundle off
into English dust
I pass through a kissing gate
walk past the orchard full
of Beltane blossom
up a dirt track towards
a meadow full of buttercups
and red clover.
There she stands
Bella, my oak tree
on her own in the midst
of a lone field
she who stands with ribbons
tied into her spindles
markers of every prayer
every thought
every wish ever uttered.
I sit here sometimes
crouching to reach a crawl-space...
as I watch it trundle off
into English dust
I pass through a kissing gate
walk past the orchard full
of Beltane blossom
up a dirt track towards
a meadow full of buttercups
and red clover.
There she stands
Bella, my oak tree
on her own in the midst
of a lone field
she who stands with ribbons
tied into her spindles
markers of every prayer
every thought
every wish ever uttered.
I sit here sometimes
crouching to reach a crawl-space...
#Britain
#forest
#pagan
#prayer
#trees
167 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Apr 2024 3:26pm
21st Apr 2024 3:26pm
Hymn to Circles
she folds herself
into fragile origami on the chair
hair draped across her cheek
she talks
of everything and nothing
her tiny paw clutching a stone
that gives her words
permission
to leave her throat
to become truths
to birth from her voice
sometimes I find it difficult
to come here at all and others
I watch her deconstruct gently
revealing pieces of herself
over and over
until
she is lighter somehow
until she...
into fragile origami on the chair
hair draped across her cheek
she talks
of everything and nothing
her tiny paw clutching a stone
that gives her words
permission
to leave her throat
to become truths
to birth from her voice
sometimes I find it difficult
to come here at all and others
I watch her deconstruct gently
revealing pieces of herself
over and over
until
she is lighter somehow
until she...
#feminism
#pagan
#women
198 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Apr 2024 10:05am
20th Apr 2024 10:05am
Hymn to Plunderers
When I think of all who have come
to rape this land of its bounties
vikings
romans
tories
I wonder if the land itself
is where we learn
our Britishness:
we do not crumble
in the taking of treasures,
we thrive in times
of deep agony
healing over
and over again
just as she
was pillaged
robbed
sacrificed
in the name of
gold & greed.
There’s a lot to be said
about the spirit of place
how to be British
is to be made of steel
...
to rape this land of its bounties
vikings
romans
tories
I wonder if the land itself
is where we learn
our Britishness:
we do not crumble
in the taking of treasures,
we thrive in times
of deep agony
healing over
and over again
just as she
was pillaged
robbed
sacrificed
in the name of
gold & greed.
There’s a lot to be said
about the spirit of place
how to be British
is to be made of steel
...
#Britain
#courage
#determination
#pagan
#strength
192 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Apr 2024 8:58pm
19th Apr 2024 8:58pm
Hymn to Druids
That Midsummer evening
I crossed Salisbury Plain on foot
thousands of people
bag checks
sniffer dogs
they blurred into the background
as I saw them there—
the great sarsens, sentry in the Earth
yoked to one another, some toppled
I pressed desperate palms against them
and soaked in all I’d imagined
in every documentary
every school book
felt those blue stones reverberate
as women in red sang melodies
harmonising with the sunset
and the darkness...
I crossed Salisbury Plain on foot
thousands of people
bag checks
sniffer dogs
they blurred into the background
as I saw them there—
the great sarsens, sentry in the Earth
yoked to one another, some toppled
I pressed desperate palms against them
and soaked in all I’d imagined
in every documentary
every school book
felt those blue stones reverberate
as women in red sang melodies
harmonising with the sunset
and the darkness...
#Britain
#pagan
144 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Apr 2024 9:45am
18th Apr 2024 9:45am
Hymn to Witches
Who did Margaret Read see
in her last throes of agony
what must it have been like
to suffer the flames of this world
to fear the fires of the next
the anguish of it,
the terror of such.
As women, it can often feel
as if our choices lie between
shitty and shittier
as if that intuition burning
our hearts and our guts and our blood
is the very thing turning our skin
to ash.
Some nights, my mind finds them
charred in a market square
consumed by ignorant fires
my bones are...
in her last throes of agony
what must it have been like
to suffer the flames of this world
to fear the fires of the next
the anguish of it,
the terror of such.
As women, it can often feel
as if our choices lie between
shitty and shittier
as if that intuition burning
our hearts and our guts and our blood
is the very thing turning our skin
to ash.
Some nights, my mind finds them
charred in a market square
consumed by ignorant fires
my bones are...
#Britain
#murder
#pagan
#witches
#women
169 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Apr 2024 9:05am
17th Apr 2024 9:05am
Hymn to The White Spring
In the beginning I saw nothing
eyes furiously adjusting
between day and night
a woman held my hand down
those gnarled stone steps
as I teetered on the edge
of nerves and darkness
then, as if a dimmer switch
gently illuminated sight:
hundreds of candles
moss covered horns
a huge central pool carved
out of simplistic stone
overflowing with spring water.
I sat a little.
Watched naked humans climb
in and out of that...
eyes furiously adjusting
between day and night
a woman held my hand down
those gnarled stone steps
as I teetered on the edge
of nerves and darkness
then, as if a dimmer switch
gently illuminated sight:
hundreds of candles
moss covered horns
a huge central pool carved
out of simplistic stone
overflowing with spring water.
I sat a little.
Watched naked humans climb
in and out of that...
#God
#pagan
#magic #Britain
#magic #Britain
231 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
16th Apr 2024 8:47am
16th Apr 2024 8:47am
Hymn to The Red Spring
As a child I often wondered
what Narnia must look like
sat disappointed that every
wardrobe door did not unlock
a world of lions and fauns
but I kept dreaming as every
child does of something
beyond this place.
Thought about it as I paid
for a ticket and wandered into
that mystical garden
amongst fountains
& lush grass
pink cherry blossom
carpeting a canopy
a curious tree with ridged bark
surrounded by shoeless devotees
pressing their heathen skins ...
what Narnia must look like
sat disappointed that every
wardrobe door did not unlock
a world of lions and fauns
but I kept dreaming as every
child does of something
beyond this place.
Thought about it as I paid
for a ticket and wandered into
that mystical garden
amongst fountains
& lush grass
pink cherry blossom
carpeting a canopy
a curious tree with ridged bark
surrounded by shoeless devotees
pressing their heathen skins ...
#pagan
#Britain
#prayer
166 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th Apr 2024 12:50pm
15th Apr 2024 12:50pm
Hymn to Words
In dim lit corners
of whisky-soaked nights
she stood in a stained nightdress
stuffing prayers into wounds
she ran
nimble fingers though matted hair
opened up a throat
allowed grief to splutter out from lungs
that choked on midnight’s breath
she stared—
placed her hand on a weary chest
counted irregular beats
found God in the exhale
amongst limitless space
she came without warning
on a barren winter’s eve
...
of whisky-soaked nights
she stood in a stained nightdress
stuffing prayers into wounds
she ran
nimble fingers though matted hair
opened up a throat
allowed grief to splutter out from lungs
that choked on midnight’s breath
she stared—
placed her hand on a weary chest
counted irregular beats
found God in the exhale
amongst limitless space
she came without warning
on a barren winter’s eve
...
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#pagan
206 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
14th Apr 2024 00:32am
14th Apr 2024 00:32am
Hymn to Destruction
i.
in the end
women opened their throats
loud enough to hear
confessions & testimonies
those words waited for therapies
every Monday with smart suits
and dying yucca plants to write
the words: “never release”
ii.
hibernation with the folks
after insanity blew your fuse,
back to where the forests
were no longer alive
it wore big shirts, found Jesus,
took up climbing and smoking
in a beat up car.
Death with too much to say.
iii.
I never hunted a...
in the end
women opened their throats
loud enough to hear
confessions & testimonies
those words waited for therapies
every Monday with smart suits
and dying yucca plants to write
the words: “never release”
ii.
hibernation with the folks
after insanity blew your fuse,
back to where the forests
were no longer alive
it wore big shirts, found Jesus,
took up climbing and smoking
in a beat up car.
Death with too much to say.
iii.
I never hunted a...
#women
#men
#pagan
163 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
13th Apr 2024 1:02am
13th Apr 2024 1:02am
Hymn to Creation
i.
in the beginning
there was a ram
made of wounds
and starlight
electrical currents
for blood masked
a humble den
of deceit
ii.
the bear tasted
of dark, honeyed pine
forming clenched palms
in the veiled morning mist
carpet burns on knees
that wholly eroticised
the initials carved
into a thigh
iii.
rabbit peered from her hole
flat-eared and frightened,
a universe imploding...
in the beginning
there was a ram
made of wounds
and starlight
electrical currents
for blood masked
a humble den
of deceit
ii.
the bear tasted
of dark, honeyed pine
forming clenched palms
in the veiled morning mist
carpet burns on knees
that wholly eroticised
the initials carved
into a thigh
iii.
rabbit peered from her hole
flat-eared and frightened,
a universe imploding...
#women
#men
#pagan #metaphor
#pagan #metaphor
154 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Northern_Soul (-Missy-)
