Happy Friday guys! I’ve realised that it’s been a while since I’ve posted a poem and considering that poetry was my least favourite form of fiction, I surprisingly have a notebook full of them just waiting to be shared! Weird how things change eh?

The majority of them still need a tweak here and there until I can be completely satisfied with them and here is one that I submitted as part of one of my uni assignments. I’ve always had a huge interest of the parallel and unknown worlds which I have read about or seen in movies and now I have set my heart on creating one for myself. My poem Rise is just a small creation drawn from this influence and to quote from my creative writing tutor, he stated Rise is more of an exciting place in the extent to which it gets the reader involved in making sense of the more fragmented and unexplained imagery.’

With that in mind, hope you enjoy! x


Wind creaks and cracks the ground
It starts with an eruption from the earth.
A tower that would reach the trailing tune of the
then continue to cough and
splutter its excess waste into the
An outbreak of several more, then another several,
they stand hand in hand
line by line,
some stand grand
some cower sheepishly.
Like the pipes of an organ
blowing off steam
against the orange flames that lick the atmosphere with

a fiery glow
and the wind continues to blow.



Has anyone else just looked up at the sky when it was raining, and thought that all them drops are just little people having a little jamming session and are dancing their way down from the heavens?

No? Just me then.

The change of weather is starting to become a massive inspiration towards my writing. As we dive further into the chill of winter here is something that we all can relate to:


Released from the imprisonment of the cloud
gravity pulls and plunges it to Earth. Plink!
It hits the windowpane with a chilling sound,
like the way its long last cousin would hit the sink.

Yet its brothers and sisters still fall
pummelling down in all their transparency
wildly flung through the atmosphere they
call out for help until they have reached terminal velocity.

The Earth with endurance has thirst to quench
yet time stops a little for crystals to shower
upon us blessings and spells to repent,
patience is virtue for that dehydrated flower.

My head tilted up towards the heavens, I see
them spin and glide to their own special beat,
some settling there upon my cheek,
others pool and melt into one another by my feet.

I squint through each plop!
A stage of graceful dancers,
then the curtain drops.