Recently I have started a soundcloud account where I will be reviewing various television shows, books, graphic novels and films as well as discussing topics close to my heart.
Follow this link to my very first podcast where I review Legend of Korra’s Graphic Novel Turf Wars Part 1.
I have some very exciting news. My first poetry piece, entitled Lost and Delirious Lovers, has been published in an anthology a few months ago now! This is also my very first publication and I am so excited to see where this first piece could take me in future.
Here you can find the anthology, there are many other amazing pieces of fiction, poetry and art within the book also, so be sure to check it out!
(This poem was produced during guest lecturer Cathy Galvin from The Word Factory’s talk where at the start she had us write a poem in the style of a Sevenling poem)
I have often loved alone.
Believing in fairy tales, movie romance,
And romantic storytelling.
I am an unrealistic dreamer,
An Aurora dancing with someone
To happily ever after.
Then I met her.
Damaged and broken
Held together by metal spikes.
A scar never to heal,
Nerves never to return.
Elegance had always been around Elena throughout her career, it was expected for a Prima. Yet, it was the simple pleasures of returning home for the 6 hour break for sleep after practice and rehearsals did she find solace. She could be sloppy here. Create a mess, wear sweat pants and baggy shirts, spill milk from her cereal down her shirt and suck it out. Here she could be the slob she always wanted to be. Until 7am of course, that’s when practice began again.
It was always going to be a momentous occasion when a leader for women’s rights, a member for the united nations refugee commissioner and human rights activist met the man who wants to build a wall to keep out immigrants, thinks Muslims should wear ID, thinks pregnancy is an inconvenience for business owners and has a vice who thinks conversion therapy is the only way forward. But no one ever expected her to clock him between the eyes.
They stand loud and proud with cries escaping their lungs, fists raised high into the air, punching it with the betrayal that they feel. They walk in lines, those who are strong stand to the sides, those who are young stand in the middle, protected from the horrors outside. Their stomping feet echoes like the sounds of those who have preceded their footsteps, their image that of those from their past. Words are their weapons, while those who try to stop them hold guns, to cut down their broken tones with bloodied agony. There is no justice for the wicked who turn on the crowd, so in return there is no peace for them.
It is the small child at the very centre that we focus on, their tiny fingers holding onto their mother’s hand. They do not understand what is being done but find joy in being surrounded by many other little ones. Then, a scream echoes down the ranks, hitting the child’s ears to the point of pain. Shouts and yells sound left and right as people scatter in fear, the mother’s hand is lost in the crowd but you can hear her tearful cries, even without her in sight. It is then, with a small split between the rushing bodies does the child see the monster, aimed towards their young body.
We are open for submissions until December 31st.
Send us your poetry, short stories, flash fiction, creative nonfiction & artwork!
Check out our new improved website for the guidelines.
Be sure to submit some Flash Fiction pieces to me, I’m excited to see what you guys come up with!