Submissions by Northern_Soul
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
There is a trick to get out of your skin 🖤
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
166 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
131 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
167 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
125 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
118 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
12th Apr 2024 9:30am
12th Apr 2024 9:30am
Hymn to the Crone
When Cally died aged 33
of cancer, leaving behind
a Husband, 2 young lads
and an ocean of emptiness
I asked big questions
what it really means
as we float around space
on a cosmic bowling ball
if it means anything at all
inbetween paying bills
and taxes. How a world
can spin, seemingly
out of control.
I see those lads sometimes,
their little faces gleaming
through Facebook pictures,
Hubbie’s arm around
someone new
how well they look
after...
of cancer, leaving behind
a Husband, 2 young lads
and an ocean of emptiness
I asked big questions
what it really means
as we float around space
on a cosmic bowling ball
if it means anything at all
inbetween paying bills
and taxes. How a world
can spin, seemingly
out of control.
I see those lads sometimes,
their little faces gleaming
through Facebook pictures,
Hubbie’s arm around
someone new
how well they look
after...
#women
#LifeCycle
#aging
#pagan
#cancer
126 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Apr 2024 5:34am
11th Apr 2024 5:34am
Hymn to the Mother
This one is for women.
Childless women.
The ones who have been
asked with that curious eye
“So why don’t you have kids?”
as you turn to say “actually
it’s got fuck all to do with you,
Sandra”
and it hasn’t.
Not a thing.
Because I think of my womb
as priceless—
so priceless, my child
could not afford to stay
and so
I cut out the shape of my Evey
as though she is a paper-doll
and motherhood is the scissors
I curl
her hair as if it is bright ...
Childless women.
The ones who have been
asked with that curious eye
“So why don’t you have kids?”
as you turn to say “actually
it’s got fuck all to do with you,
Sandra”
and it hasn’t.
Not a thing.
Because I think of my womb
as priceless—
so priceless, my child
could not afford to stay
and so
I cut out the shape of my Evey
as though she is a paper-doll
and motherhood is the scissors
I curl
her hair as if it is bright ...
#birth
#women
#motherhood #pagan
#motherhood #pagan
127 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Apr 2024 9:24am
10th Apr 2024 9:24am
Hymn to the Maiden
There are fields in the mind
endless fields stained in gold
where I’d lay in the harvest,
stalks erect beneath the sun
listening to the gentle chatter
of seeds shivering in their husks.
Anglia grew wheat, and hops
and rapeseed. Settlements
built on boggy fens and
Roman rule
and so I’d lay gazing at the sky
dreaming of coins and rings
and treasures laying dormant
inches below the soil, thinking ...
endless fields stained in gold
where I’d lay in the harvest,
stalks erect beneath the sun
listening to the gentle chatter
of seeds shivering in their husks.
Anglia grew wheat, and hops
and rapeseed. Settlements
built on boggy fens and
Roman rule
and so I’d lay gazing at the sky
dreaming of coins and rings
and treasures laying dormant
inches below the soil, thinking ...
#teens
#childhood
#pagan #Britain
#pagan #Britain
139 reads
12 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
9th Apr 2024 8:40am
9th Apr 2024 8:40am
Hymn to Dark Fruit
I.
what must it be like
for your ripe meat
to fall between
thumb and
finger
to pluck you straight
from the tree where
juice runs sweet
II.
your apple
is overturned,
love—
Eve only ever
loved men
III.
I think of you
in Persephone’s garden
laden in pomegranates
imagining you
at your most beautiful
every morning, red jewels
escape from your thighs
IV.
...
what must it be like
for your ripe meat
to fall between
thumb and
finger
to pluck you straight
from the tree where
juice runs sweet
II.
your apple
is overturned,
love—
Eve only ever
loved men
III.
I think of you
in Persephone’s garden
laden in pomegranates
imagining you
at your most beautiful
every morning, red jewels
escape from your thighs
IV.
...
#women
#LGBT
#pagan #metaphor
#pagan #metaphor
148 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Apr 2024 9:17am
8th Apr 2024 9:17am
Hymn to Spirits
and I’ll press my hand
against the glass of Sunday’s
bleak mirror
gaze at the small gap
between palm and reflection,
pondering the liminal
for much the same reason
as planting bare feet
at a dark crossroads
to silently meet
the man in black
as he speaks, always
through sacred wells, and ruins
that drop their anchors down
to where the Otherworld resides.
There are times when I become sick
of the new age and its fluff
because
the folk spirits I know, ...
against the glass of Sunday’s
bleak mirror
gaze at the small gap
between palm and reflection,
pondering the liminal
for much the same reason
as planting bare feet
at a dark crossroads
to silently meet
the man in black
as he speaks, always
through sacred wells, and ruins
that drop their anchors down
to where the Otherworld resides.
There are times when I become sick
of the new age and its fluff
because
the folk spirits I know, ...
#pagan
#Britain
120 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Apr 2024 7:18am
7th Apr 2024 7:18am
Hymn to Water
They were windsurfing on the lake today.
Storm Kathleen was rolling in after all
and so I watched them on a jetty
skim the waves with all the grace
of Bambi on ice.
The sports club owns that one—
charges exorbitant fees to dive
as well as insisting on wet-suits
and tow-floats and lifeguards
and other shit sucking the life
from wild experiences.
I don’t swim there.
I refuse to be sanitised
and maybe as forty looms
I carry with me the spirit
of my anarchic era
...
Storm Kathleen was rolling in after all
and so I watched them on a jetty
skim the waves with all the grace
of Bambi on ice.
The sports club owns that one—
charges exorbitant fees to dive
as well as insisting on wet-suits
and tow-floats and lifeguards
and other shit sucking the life
from wild experiences.
I don’t swim there.
I refuse to be sanitised
and maybe as forty looms
I carry with me the spirit
of my anarchic era
...
#water
#nature
#pagan #Britain
#pagan #Britain
148 reads
8 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
6th Apr 2024 8:56am
6th Apr 2024 8:56am
Hymn to Fire
There was a theme to the Leos.
A bold, unfailing theme of fuckery
because hindsight is a hell of a drug.
Truth is, I didn’t hear you leave.
Pad-foot God.
You and your blazing eyes
caught up in a massacre
and that’s how it felt—
as if I was a doe
decaying slowly.
As if the killer in you
painted my skin with ash.
A bold, unfailing theme of fuckery
because hindsight is a hell of a drug.
Truth is, I didn’t hear you leave.
Pad-foot God.
You and your blazing eyes
caught up in a massacre
and that’s how it felt—
as if I was a doe
decaying slowly.
As if the killer in you
painted my skin with ash.
#pagan
136 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Northern_Soul
