A false spring

May 14, 2017

Alders are tasselled.
Flag-iris is already out on the canal.

From my window I can see
the College gardens, crocuses stammering
in pools of rain, plum blossom
on the branches.

I want to find her,
the woman I once was,
who came out of that reading-room
in a hard January, after studying
Aeneas in the underworld,

how his old battle-foes spotted him there –

how they called and called and called
only to have it be
a yell of shadows, an O vanishing in
the polished waters
and the topsy-turvy seasons of hell –

her mind so frail her body was its ghost.

I want to tell her she can rest,
she is embodied now.

But narcissi,
opening too early,
are all I find.
I hear the bad sound of these south winds,
the rain coming from some region which has lost sight
of our futures, leaving us
nothing to look forward to except
what one serious frost can accomplish

Eavan Boland

Firsts and Lasts

May 14, 2017

Stone, crystal, or piece of jewellery
Pot of Soil
Healing/calming herbs and/or sigils (optional)

Take the stone (or jewellery) and charge it with your worries, stress, and weariness. Pour all the negativity into it. This is the time to let your emotions loose – cry, wail, curse like a sailor, whatever.

Dig a hole in your pot of soil, and lay your stone in it. Lay it nicely, like you’re putting it to bed. This stone represent you now, so be kind to it. You may also want to lay it with herbs or sigils for healing and calm – rose petals, lavender, rosemary, etc.

“I go down into the earth
to rest and heal and mend,
And when renewed, I will rise up
to walk the earth again.”

Bury the stone. As you bury it, imagine the dirt pulling the strain out of the stone, absorbing it, and purifying it. Imagine the dirt comforting the stone and giving it sanctuary.

Leave the stone in the soil until the New Moon (or any other day of new beginnings that works for you). Do some self-care in the meantime if you can – baths, books, food, etc.

Uncover your stone. Keep it with you as a charm, or leave it out someplace nice in a place you enjoy, whether it be in your home or in nature. Uncovering the stone is important, so don’t lose it if you’ve decided to bury it straight into the ground outside. Retreating for a while is fine, but it is important to rise again renewed and face the world.

Source HERE

Dear Poets,
I realise I’ve been remiss in speaking about exactly how I approach a poem, and the trajectory of my own poetic writing experience since I began trying to finish poems when I was in my mid-twenties. I could quote indefinitely from various other writers about how this is done, from Mary Oliver to Ted Hughes, to Czeslaw Milosz etc., but it’s time I laid my cards on the table and spoke to you about how I proceed. It may – or may not – be helpful.

I began when I was very young, by which the discovery and realisation struck me when I was 9, that hooray – this was something I could try for myself. And so I wrote a rhyming verse of four lines, which my mother insisted I send to a British publisher (Paul Hamlyn of Octopus Books [that publisher no longer exists I think]). As it happened, I struck gold, not because he published my four-liner which had rhymes like ‘mouse’ and ‘house’, but because he wrote back and said how much he enjoyed my poem. He was kind enough to tell me he did not have a niche right then for my work (I had to look up ‘niche’ in a dictionary), but that I should continue to write my poetry. So, two good experiences while young – a validating Mama and a validating Brit publisher, both of them making me feel this was something I should be doing. At least, that’s now I interpreted it, which says something about my disposition as much as it does about them.

Mary O’Donnell
How I write Poetry

I’d been married five years when I learned my husband was cheating on me. After the inevitable confrontation with him and the all the usual recriminations, I told him I couldn’t forgive what he’d done.

I couldn’t!

I was seething inside and wanted payback like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life before. I started cleaning the toilet each morning with his toothbrush. I put laxative in his food…but that wasn’t enough!

I’ve had this fantasy where multiple males would ‘take’ me repeatedly. I’d never mentioned it to anyone. Nor had I done anything to make fantasy, reality. Until now.

It took a lot of organizing but eventually I arranged a fourteen man gangbang which I had my best friend film. The action went on for most of one weekday. They had me four times each, and Gloria (my friend) filmed the ‘highlights’.

When hubby came home from work I told him ‘If you want forgiveness you get down on your knees and lick my pussy…’ I was sore down there, you know, but I hadn’t showered or anything, and not only was I a little swampy, I also had a stink in my panties like four day old anchovies. And it was all going to be for him, the bastard.

Anyway, down he got on his knees. I took my panties off and spread really wide. He buried his face deep in my vertical smile and started licking…An hour (and three orgasms) later, I told him, ‘Okay. That’s enough for now. There’s a homemade DVD beside the player. Watch it and see why you’re forgiven for now…I’m going for a shower.’

While he went off to watch his ‘film’ I fixed myself a stiff drink. A little later I looked round the living room door and he was watching me take two cocks simultaneously, front and back – but not only watching. He’d got his dick in his hand and was rubbing it like it was Aladdin’s lamp. Only instead of a genie he eventually shot a load of thick cum over his suit pants leg while I stood there silently watching…

What the hell! I should be surprised at this man who’d screw anything that moved – including the venetian blinds! One thing I’ve learned from the whole sorry experience – in future I’ll be the heroine of my life, not the victim!

Mary T

Iris Parker
True sex confessions

Sunday sex confession

May 14, 2017

I sit in the bath every night using the shower head to masturbate, after I’m done, I use a vibrator on my clit until I orgasm, and my legs are shaking.

Source here

Ghosts in my soul

May 14, 2017

14th May

Long days, followed by candle lit evenings and laughter. Rain slanting at the windows last night, followed by a misty moist morning full of ghosts. Sometimes just to sit and watch the rain brings a strange sense of calm to me. Thunder and lightning, on the other hand, sets a fire in my soul…


Last summer, walking the coastal path south from Portreath. Took the narrow path down to the sea, all elbow turns and screaming gulls. Deadman’s Cove below. Cold here, despite the intense heat of the day. The beach is all pebbles and black rocks. At low tide the wreck of a ship sunk back in 1978 becomes partially visible.

Here the sea is still and black, brooding under rocky shadows; no surfing or swimming – too cold and dark and dangerous. The Cove is a haunted place. A ghost regularly appears before visitors, only to fade away when directly addressed. Or so they say.

One of the most perilous stretches of coast imaginable. Many ships sunk over the years, the bodies inevitably washing up in Deadman’s Cove. Uneasy atmosphere to the place, giving an intense and inexplicable sense of foreboding to many of the coves visitors…

Ghostly screams of drowning men frequently heard here in the night…


Strange things do happen. In August 1894 some parts of Bath were covered by thousands of small Jelly fish that fell from the sky!