Belatedly, for National Poetry Day


This made me smile. There is no doubt a grain of truth in this poem

Originally posted on Tallis Steelyard:

The bottles sprawl unheeded

The discarded valiant dead

Their sacrifice accepted

Sobriety has fled

The truth it surfaced briefly

But shrugged and went to bed.

Will you walk again beside me?
Will you tread the path I tread?

The wine it made me wordy

The truth when poured was red

I didn’t mean to speak them

But I meant the words I said.

lady drinking

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Why I Started Bibliomad By Olivia Emily

Many thanks to Olivia Emily of Bibliomad for the below guest post. Do please visit Olivia’s blog which can be found here (





Little, fair-haired Olivia flicked through the pages of Narnia, wishing ever-so deeply that she could escape through the back of her wardrobe, just like Lucy did.

But, she couldn’t do that.

Narnia is a fantasy novel, after all, and though it exists in a truthful era, the essence of fantastical concepts is entriely fictitious, much to little Olivia’s dismay. However, instead of climbing through a wardrobe, little Olivia immersed herself in books, wriggling through the flimsy pages, laying herself snuggly between the sentences, and winding the words around her adolescent bones.

This metaphor I use in the most truthful manner possible. Fiction isn’t in my blood, nor is it in my bones, but wrapped tightly around them thanks to little Olivia many moons ago. I wasn’t born to be a writer; I fell in love with fiction so deeply, that it seems as though writing is a natural becomming of that. And I couldn’t be more thankful.

Reading is an escape mechanism for many, and – in the earlier moments of my childhood – that value included me. However, despite my love developing from lonliness, literature makes me feel anything but. Firstly, the characters I witness feel like old friends. Secondly, the characters I write about feel like little parts of myself, sprinkled over the page. Thirdly, the doors both my reading and writing have opened are the doors to every little thing I have ever wanted, and ever could want.

And that brings me to the true purpose of this guest post – my blog.

I started BiblioMad just over 3 months ago, and since then, I have (somehow) accumulated 187 followers, who all seem to care about what I have to say. That is a great feeling.

Primarily, I post book reviews, which is a beautiful way to combine my love of reading with my love of writing, and – frankly – it is my favourite thing to do.

Although BiblioMad could also be percieved as an escape mechanism, I argue only with this: I write not to hide, not to escape from my life, and not to gain praise, but to throw myself into the spotlight and express what I have to say. Whether that’s personal opinions, works of fiction, or breif messages from my whirlwind of a mind, I write not to dissapear, but to exist in my simplist form; the writer.


The Poet On The Hill

The poet on the hill

Sits still

And ponders why

Man must die.

The weather is fine

nature or the divine

causes the sun to shine.

Every living thing

Will have it’s spring.

The newly opened  flower

time will devour.

The blossom’s heady scent,

is quickly spent.

Men   soon disperse

We are lent this earth.

All must enter the dark wood

The bad along with the good.

The poet continues to ponder

While yonder

The light begins to fade.

Man’s destiny is the grave.




Girl About Town

A glamorous bra
To show who you are.
Sharp pointy heels
to seal your deals.
A short red dress
your legs impress.
Your shapely bust
ingenders lust.
While your long blonde hair
Does men ensnare.
“Girl do you possess the art
To reveal your heart?”

Peak of Loneliness

Originally posted on arwenaragornstar:


After years 
of dedication
a hell of a lot
of stress
a smidgen of luck
a bucketful of pure selfishness
and mighty hard work –
money, success
and power
are now yours to hold
you’ve got what you’ve always wanted
pushed everyone away for
you’ve finally found the fucking match
and set the world on fire
it’s blazing
as high as mountains
blue-oranges, reds, yellow-gold
not seen since days of old
Alas, you’re watching that intense glow
completely and utterly alone

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