Poetry’s love dust, toast, metaphors and leaving home

It’s 3 am. I can’t sleep. How many writers do you hear say that one? I’m hunting the house for chocolate but cannot find any and the miserable one dollar coin in my wallet will not buy me a skerrick of chocolate even if I walked the streets looking for a 7 Eleven. So, lovers… Read more Poetry’s love dust, toast, metaphors and leaving home

Journey to the unknown – Day 1

Samira Wyld
An excerpt from Street Life…Read full poem below

‘Her ribs ache against the hunger pangs of eating yet another dry rice cracker. Its cardboard content does not warm her belly or fuel her spirit.
Her energy is low as nausea rises up threatening to spew bile from sleep deprivation and hunger.
Her head splits in two from swollen sinus of too many tears. Eyes resemble pinheads surrounded by swollen bruised lids.
The sight of a battered woman from the hands of a man’s violent fist.
Except this is no ordinary violence.
This is the battering of a woman worn down by life, by a lover filled with hate and rage that seeps into her bones.
Her light is fading.
The tunnel is dark.
She knows there is light. She’s on her knees. Pain screams up her thighs as she is reminded of the hard ground beneath her.
She prays for the light.
She prays for the light she cannot yet see.
~ Samira Wyld                             #awyldlovenote

This move, this change that is about to turn my world on its head, has been on my mind for awhile now. It’s been kind of inevitable, everything that has to happen has taken place in my mind a (more…)