The Blazing Poetess @theblazingpoetess - Tumblr Blog

Welcome :)

Welcome to my new blog, @theblazingpoetess.

About me:

Country: UK

Age: 22

Goal: To connect with others and share my writings.

What my writing is about:

Personal experiences

Societal dilemmas

Random thoughts

A little backstory...

Formerly @words-by-sydney

I had a WordPress blog for a while

Writing has always been something I enjoy doing

Fun fact: I write for several UK magazines!

I hope to see some new and old faces around here and look forward to starting sharing my writings with you all. :)

P.S. I am also on Instagram as @ theblazingpoetess

"Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)," Reimagined

And if I only could Maybe I should...

I'd make a deal with God. Who? Not Him.

And I'd get Him to swap our places. Will you trust me with your soul in this momentary exchange?

Be runnin' up that road. What road? The dark avenue of passing buses? Or to our heartbreak hotel?

Be runnin' up that hill. To the King's town.

Be runnin' up that building! That great white building.

Say, if I only could. Maybe I will.

You don't wanna hurt me. But deep down you do, with those daggers for eyes.

But see how deep the bullet lies. Did I shoot first or did you?

Unaware I'm tearin' you asunder? We're more than ever together now.

Oh, there is thunder in our hearts! Where? Fallen down from the murky skies, like you and I?

Is there so much hate for the ones we love? But is this love; a questionable emote?

Oh, tell me, we both matter, don't we? Is it more you than me?

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

Breaking Free from the Black Magic

Black magic priestess, Your dark voodoo spell does not entice me anymore. Without my power, you are a powerless abyss, Grifting for an energy source from the faceless void.

Making the victimised your human sacrifice, Flipping humans over into a zombie army of tapping drones. Mind control is your wicked tool; Those methods do not appear from my hands, no more.

I have the power within you so wish to claim and redeem, Never needing feel-good inspirations and a positivity mindset; I was the radiance within, not extinguishable pretty words. Ha-ha! Hark at that.

You have taken my friends, but you shall not take me. Mark my words.

I am the priestess you were so afraid of, Calling you out on the spot. I didn’t need to flaunt my ‘gifts’ — Why make a show of it if it was all innate?

Let you be unmasked for all to see, Watch your lesson unfold, Your drizzling enchantments, begone.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

I never had time to be afraid of spiders and other creepy crawlies.

The real dangers lived in my home.

I called them mother and father.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

The Girl at Llandovery

I saw her spinning, dancing, twinkling. the girl at Llandovery beaming, giggling, dizzying

eyes blue-deep as an ocean, hazy aura taking her in stride. she is you but another self; the version I don't know.

can I trust who you used to be? is that what you are asking me?

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

For K <3

Michigan girl in Ukrainian hues, Overlays in Burbank summertime Camp shenanigans falling in Star-crossed kindred adoration.

Dropping suitcases, rolling Blunts smoked by California Wildfires curated in New York Catwalks and drop-dead long-distance Internet pen pals, exchanging Traumas in the face of weeklong Roommates with past life ties.

Ultimatums for turn-of-the-season September babes; new chapters and ancient Beginnings gifted with July’s Blessings of whirlwind sisterhood, Spinning on Los Angeles hill-climbing knees, Spelling out remiss opinions in Free-thinking spirit style and ‘60s stoner culture Dread revivalists of Joni Mitchell Siren godsend of divine fruition.

Painting Van Gogh’s Sunflowers on crinkled Canvas losing to the conspirational Madness regaining strength in gym Memberships and cutting clean Hard drives of old histories, drinking in Methods of self-actualisation At Lake Michigan ironing Out that crinkled canvas.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

Crystalline Butterfly

crystalline butterfly shattering, shattering splintering off glass clear opaque rainbow dances in reflections sunlight crackles

beautiful being admitted by all glowing golden starbright illuminight

insectine sparkle unusual, non-ordinary beauty bright skinny limbs wide rings of wings drawn in colour tapestry

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

These Herculean Feats

seven-headed hydra Hercules heroine slashing five down, two more to go strength in numbers how many more Labors to sacrifice? all for nothing; nothing for all

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

What I Left (and Found) in Hebden Bridge

Cornflower blue Beetles on every street corner, awaiting your return to this West Yorkshire hamlet, opening doors for your bittersweet arrival.

Thousands upon thousands of pink-petal flowers standing high on looming hillsides, watching for your steady, plucking hand.

The man in the wheelchair you cared for -- one of my first introductions to this charming town -- jesting with new people on the 590 bus, laughing so loudly his smile went bust.

Valley Organics family and their produce that knows no end, I felt as if meeting an old friend upon reentering their establishment's earthy-warm doors. Such lovely berries and fermented yoghurt you recommended; I left behind in the accommodation fridge -- a terrible atrocity of my absent mind!

I saw the road up to your old encampment and those woods, stirring something dormant in me. Eaves beckoning my folkish homecoming, out in the trenches on the path to Plath's grave in October mud -- will I revisit this twist-and-turn journey someday?

All while back in Hebden Bridge, The Golden Lion down the road sat on its perch, keeping watch of my summertime reacquaintance.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

The Llandudno Jaunt

Songs of San Francisco, 3x the magic charm; Scott Mackenzie serenades.

Sparkling in sunglass dimensions Walking along blue bay piers Packed with holiday travellers, Onlooking locals envy in disguise.

Birkenstock’ing higher, Catching Llandudno view points, Then hurdling down steep, Trying to catch rocky footing.

St John’s Wort Blooming in buttercup yellow, Dense brambles turning Fleshy soft berry melting in mouths.

Curving around the Parade, Gazing out at sapphire sea, Acquaintances in passing Appearing miniature-sized in sight.

Gusts of the morning propel Backsides into motion, Still hurdling forward.

Traipsing beige roams and lay-by seabirds, Remembering the morning greeting at the window — I take my four-mile-stride, Stretch it out to one mile bird’s eye.

Aching, blistering, bobbing on, I reach toward the final destination: Washington, my domed, antiquated beacon.

Posturing quite proudly in my stance, I check but twice for passing drive-by’s, The County welcoming me with its age of wear and tear. And so, I end my five-mile bend.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

Great Orme

Here on Great Orme The birds all swarm Feathers of wind caress Under grand limestone duress. Looking out at blue upon Blue upon blue, I see The turbines of Gwynt y Môr In the leagues beyond.

Tall grass climbing my ankles Brushing on dry parched skin, I sit atop this cliff Gazing out at cable cars And swimming sailboats; Dots in the sea.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

Kintsugi Haiku

witness breaking like

a clay pot better work on

that kintsugi piece

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

The Weekly Report: 7-14 July, 2024

Graves dug for Duvall and Doherty; No more shining heroines Charming the Hollywood screen – Cancer season has left the house.

Attempts on the American front, Staged for false accusations and Head-spinning public outrage, Aiming for bloody divide and conquer, While Muskrat seizes a publicity opp.

Turn-of-the-century lovers Celebrate milestone birthdays, Haranguing in an empty Western nest.

New leadership emerges across the pond, Clothed in the emperor’s tarnished robes. Promises of change, but what’s the cost? Royals dressed to kill in media attraction – Lest we forget the need for action!

Europe’s in heat as Mother Nature Roars her mighty head; Scorching power clash and Striking haberdash.

Gaza continues signalling an SOS. Leaders turn a blind eye – It won’t matter unless they’re alive.

The Sun rises in the East as Russia and Ukraine dance in power plays; One step forward, two steps back – The body bags move underground.

World War III is found in AI Surveillance programmes and Mismanagement of funds: Government copycats lurch.

‘Displacement’ is an apt global Middle name befitting congruent crises, Making up for lack of situational awareness, A widespread virus of social trends.

Milk Thistle Bees

(from an Instagram poetry prompt)

Drunk in milk thistle slumber, Tired bumblebees find comfort in Purple spikes and feathery-soft tumbles.

A safety net for mid-afternoon siestas, Snoozing on soon-to-be medicinal tinctures, Warmed by the sun’s illumine rays.

Pollinating for a pretty price; Restful phases of the day Come to meet these sleepy worker Bees at lulling half-past three.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

The Kingfisher Man

Stopping across a bridge at Ffynnon Taf, A man in declining state arrived, Allowing his companion to walk ahead, He asked of kingfishers and their special blue glint, Taking notice of my smart Canon device.

He appeared a wizard in modern age, Blending in with the surroundings of this Welsh nature; Long, ivory beard in dark casual clothing, Carrying much wisdom in his bright glance, Seemingly coming into existence from ages past.

Passing by, he departed a minute later. Where he stood, a kingfisher materialised, Flying just behind the bridge, gone within a moment’s pass.

If you could view your home as a living organism...

Where would it breathe? Where would it hurt? Where would it need the most care? Where would it ache and be sore? Where would it celebrate the highest achievements of your life? Where would it need a quiet moment? Where would it need some tender loving?

A home is a body; a soul; a mind.

Be sure to water yourself first.

find me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theblazingpoetess/

Black Honey

long tar lines sticky black carcinogens squiggling and straightening out on the plate of pork loins and cabbage, adorned in faded ceramic flora and those gloppy thin edible strings splaying out to be devoured in two bites of time burnt beyond recognition no more amber colour

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