#marthamchardy

[thomastalliscreativewriting-blog]

About his person, by Martha McHardy

A cracked mirror

A rusty old key

Shoes that are scuffed at the toes

A watch always stuck on the same minute of the same hour

A forgotten box of belongings

Books of a foreign language with tea stained pages

A photograph packaged in tape

A corpse of a cigarette bud

A pair of socks with holes in both feet

An archive of a man

[thomastalliscreativewriting-blog]

I come from, by Martha McHardy

I come from lively debates around the dining room table

from arguments, tears and bruised relationships

I come from Rembrandt, Botticelli and Caravaggio 

I come from passion

blocking out reason 

I come from dissertations, 5000 words 

sweated out over a typewriter

I come from outspoken women

I come from Guardian columns, empowered speeches and days sitting at home with my eyes glued to Question time

I come from ambition

I come from greasy chip packets and the vinegary after taste that even toothpaste cant seem to wash away

I come from the endless thumping of the rain on the windows

from thick wooly jumpers and overcast skies

from draft beer, little wolves and dancing until I can no longer feel my feet

I come from boiling the kettle after a hard day’s work at school

I come from freshly made pancakes in the morning

from mouthwatering BBQ’s on summer nights

I come from love

[thomastalliscreativewriting-blog]

A drowned wench, by Martha McHardy

She screamed. Silently. For she was mute. Her final, agonising words were heard only by her, as if her greatest fears imprisoned her in some kind of box. Her fears swam with her, but as she tread water the weight of them began to evaporate and could no longer hold her. Her salty tears poured down her fragile face, but you could not tell as her tears culminated into the waves. Her world was small, however it felt as vast as the solar system itself. As the water colonised her lungs, her lips turned as blue as the cold ocean. Her tender limbs gave up the fight. The roaring waves claimed their victory. Her killer was not gentle and he was not merciful. As the force of the waves prevailed over the weakness of her fears, the water stamped her limp body into the abyss of the ocean and ensured she joined the long list of girls who had suffered the very same fate.

[thomastalliscreativewriting-blog]

Hands, by Martha McHardy

Two hands were made for multitasking

You’re always clutching onto something

Both tangible and not

Your smooth hands have a tight grip on reality 

Your hands can handle anything

Your right had is leading forward

and your left is close to your heart

you may not always be hands on

but you are never hands off

your carefully manicured hands are the hands that will always be there to guide me through life

Your soft touch and your firm clutch

are how I know that your hands were made to hold mine

[thomastalliscreativewriting-blog]

A Christmas bauble, by Martha McHardy

A Christmas tradition

The most sentimental of sentiments

The Liberty decorated Christmas tree

The scratchy feeling of glitter is a particularly special feeling when paired with different colours of glitter glistening in the light

The Christmas pudding hangs from the tree

To mark the first year of a tradition to be long kept

Red like Rudolph’s nose

Frankincense, Myrrh and Gold

The string that ties the bauble to Christmas 

is the string that ties the family together