November 21, 2016

Harriet

I found him in a place

with an endless ringing

like the noise of an alarm clock

his body hot as blankets

 

a bad place

with gaps in the walls that let in a light

smoke and I couldn’t see his face

 

skin touched my skin

it changed

I found you in a different place

and now have two names

and two monograms to prove it

two mistakes

 

©Lydia Allison 2015

Foxglove Journal

I found him in a place

with an endless ringing

like the noise of an alarm clock

his body hot as blankets

a bad place

with gaps in the walls that let in a light

smoke and I couldn’t see his face

skin touched my skin

it changed

I found you in a different place

and now have two names

and two monograms to prove it

two mistakes

southerndown-pictureLydia Allison is a Sheffield-born poet whose current writing stems from a love of weddings and wonky romances. She is a member of Writing Squad 8 and has appeared a number of times both online and in print, including two of Pankhearst’s Slim Volumes (This Body I Live In and No Love Lost). She enjoys a range of modern and contemporary writers, particularly female American poets. Her other favourite things in life are the Yorkshire countryside and cake for breakfast…

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October 31, 2016

Diana

I proposed in the pub

with the beer he likes.

 

Tore a strip from my notebook.

It was cheap and to hand

 

when he went to buy a drink. I folded a circle;

the rip was barely visible I made it so neat.

 

He took it off. Thought it was a joke.

The paper wouldn’t stand the rain

 

as we sobered up

waiting for the bus.

 

©Lydia Allison 2016

Foxglove Journal

I proposed in the pub

with the beer he likes.

Tore a strip from my notebook.

It was cheap and to hand

when he went to buy a drink. I folded a circle;

the rip was barely visible I made it so neat.

He took it off. Thought it was a joke.

The paper wouldn’t stand the rain

as we sobered up

waiting for the bus.

southerndown-picture

Lydia Allison is a Sheffield-born poet whose current writing stems from a love of weddings and wonky romances. She is a member of Writing Squad 8 and has appeared a number of times both online and in print, including two of Pankhearst’s Slim Volumes (This Body I Live In and No Love Lost). She enjoys a range of modern and contemporary writers, particularly female American poets. Her other favourite things in life are the Yorkshire countryside and cake for breakfast. Follow her…

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June 5, 2015

The Nine Realms: Muspelheim – Sparks and Flames

 

i think of our fires

 

 

 

my silk scarf smudged with grey | old

 

wood that popped and cracked

 

the tiny floating sparks that lifted

 

from the black | motes

 

of copper made a close night sky

 

we were gods | men | dark red things

 

 

 

now the deep infared swells and rolls

 

brighter and darker | breaking

 

the earth to ashes | the fire licks

 

the stars | magnetic | draws them all

 

back | in

 

Muspelheim: Sparks and Flames 4/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing.

May 19, 2015

Nine Realms: Helheim ‘Death & Hollows’

 

mist

 

 .

 

in the place of misery

 

of those who died happy. those who felt

 

the soft lover press on their last breath.

 

 .

 

the crawling surface of gjoll

 

resembles rainfall

 

the way water seems

 

to reach up

 

to break from the moving weight. straining

 

to join the clearing air.

 

 .

 

here. at the end of all

 

is the source of the wind

 

that changes life to fire and skeletons and ash.

 

sighs through the sweeping

 

changing wall of fog.

 

 .

 

the breeze carries to the graves of grey souls

 

and hits on the doors of the living

 

like cold palms. like

 

the desperate man who only wants

 

to come home.

.

Helheim: ‘Death & Hollows’ 2/2 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing.

April 6, 2015

The Nine Realms – Nidavellir: Darkness and Gold

the dwarf

.

he’s the best

to ask. so much

more than people

think. imir knew him.

.

made an axe.

blade sharper than

people made. cut who made it.

sliced space.

they made mistakes.

it shined like night

the lunar glow

none of them had seen.

they fell in love.

.

lightening cracked the lovely weapon’s face.

tarnished white shine. the dwarf obsessed.

.

hating the flashing of candles

heat of flames. he waited months

felt time swell.

.

climbed. saw dusty light.

creaked the last steps

cracks on hands glinting

silver. still and

sun-saturated as the moon.

.

ArtiPeeps

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 musicians, 1 Viking boat : a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Nidavellir (The Realm of the Dwarves)

Featuring:

Kate Garrett,  Mina Polen, Ross Beattie and Lydia Allison

Fenrir

by Kate Garrett

.

give me your hand
he said,
jaws dripping with doubt
eyes sidelong
as they held out the bonds
no heavier than silk strands
 
and I knew my hand
was a small offering
as they wrapped him in chains
made of lost thoughts
made of movement and breath
made of the unseen
 
and all of these slipped
past his eyes, sidelong
and his jaws clenched
and my wrist ripped apart
and I knew this was a small gift
to the beast wrapped in chains.

,

.

Fenrir

.

Little they know

by Mina Polen 

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February 20, 2015

The Nine Realms – Jotunheim: Strength and Might

traditional enemies

.

the land surrounding us
a curved body
bones worn to stone

.

cruel daughters forcing us to find
a cure for magic

.

a cure for life
in my case
for dying

.

every time my skin splits
I think of her
the serpent who reminded me
what pain could be

.

part of me always thought
if I could commit to life or death
I would have one

.

could and would and should
my fury blinds me now
as indifference did then

.

not immune to dying,
just unable to be dead.
impotent in the opposites of being
and the other

.

incapable to live
as in the grip of death, I did

.

.

ArtiPeeps

nine realms8

19 poets, 22 Artists, 3 musicians and a Viking Boat

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Jotunheim

Featuring:

Mina Polen, Lydia Allison and Karin Heyer

Frostbitten mind

by Mina Polen 

.

Through darkness
…………..and eternal sunshine

.

darkness and brightness
…………..like never-ending dreams

.

frostbitten mind
awaits in another dream

.

thoughts
………………………repeated

.

the pebble falls inside your mind

.

thoughts
……………………..repeated

.

thoughts
…………. being broken

tongues
………….being broken

.

day and night
the mind is playing tricks

.

the night is long
the day is long

time stopping
the mind is flying in circles

.

.

Read by Nicky Mortlock

.

traditional enemies

by Lydia Allison

.

the land surrounding us
a curved body

View original post 338 more words

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February 3, 2015

The Nine Realms – Vanaheim: ‘Magic and Wonder’

Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 4/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing.

.

Thrymheim 

In the mornings the rocks glisten

like the sick, the dying

soaked in the night. I rise early

run my hand along the moisture of giant walls –

swelled drops catching yellow light

 .

I raise it to my mouth

taste the nothing taste

pure water

I expect salt,

the minerals of my world

 .

but remind myself

this is not the way things are

here, the hard forms move slowly

over years. Mostly unreachable

almost untouchable.

 .

Noatun

I don’t like the madness,

the movement makes me sick, my sweat,

nothing, salt in the air, my skin stings.

The taste – tears – dries my mouth to sand. He says it becomes me,

this light. I know. I feel it.

.

November 20, 2014

The Nine Realms – Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’

Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’ 2/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing.

.

they never said

dying is travelling

a light-year in a second

completely alone,

in a sense you have never felt before

not in dreams or worship

or bleak nights.

.

I was part of the writhing mass

the storming spreading attack

part of the dance between me and that

man that other warrior that superior clan

I was part of that

company, closer than everything

and when I look back

his face was the face of my wife.

.

did he look away out of shame

for my weakness, shame

for his own life, shame

for how tenderly my body leaned to his blade.

.

here is the look of oil on water

like heaven’s reflection you can touch.

as a child I chased rainbows

made idols from glass refractions,

stooped in the road.

.

I see thickly, this space shimmers with moving light

violet edging faces I know

and I mourn my rainbow

revising memories of blood

the sun, fresh leaves, and sky,

pure darkness, and white light of ash

and I weep clear tears

laced with the pigments of the dead.

.

they never said it’s just like living,

seeing one colour

and searching for your own heartbeat.

and when you go it’s more like

everybody you’ve known is falling

away, leaving you to grieve in morbid hope that they

would not, that they would stay.

.

November 9, 2014

Week 0

Annie woke up with a mouth of sour grey and the heaving of something that was nearly forgotten, nearly, then forgotten. It was a worm burrowing in her abdomen and hardening and her head was something apart. Her feet fell out of cold bed and found yesterday’s tights and she followed with right hand, and control-flopped to the floor by the glass of water Reuben left last time he stayed. She took a sip and it tasted like more air and glass than water. She opened her mouth and sighed out, dragged the weight of her body up, up, and flowed the course to the bathroom.

Before she left she took the three days old glass down to the kitchen, placed behind yesterday’s dishes. Mum gently pried, reminded, kissed, byed. The unremembered feeling didn’t leave so in Lit she argued about the bough of cherries in My Last Duchess and avoided the crowd of common room Poker. Reuben told her that he woke like he’d fallen, jolted, and said he’d heard that when you sleep your body is on another plane, so when you wake with a start, it’s your spirit re-jumping you. They sat on the grass both heavy and quiet, and later she went back to his (mum out) and they watched a film she wouldn’t remember.

He kissed her cheek, eyes, lips, and they laid on his single bed and his lips brushed the short hair on the back of her head. Her arms had goosebumps, so he dragged the quilt from underneath and half covered her. She stayed like a figurine to keep under her side of the S-shape cross-cut their embrace made.

An hour and a half of stillness meant that she needed to go home so rose cold and kissed him and tomorrow tomorrow soonsoonsoon Reuby, the feeling fluttered like rain falling in the silhouette she saw of herself as she walked along the flat stones home.

© Lydia Allison 2013

August 13, 2014

mannequin

 

Smooth plastic weight

hard in my arms –

Your formula of curves

demand my hold, and

mark the soft parts

that coat my bones.

 

I call you her not it,

and select thin knitwear

rendering your parts whole –

a still mirror:

math-measured equal,

 

I make you one.

Model-gorgeous

fabric glides

catching smooth peaks

and sliding over seams.

 

My touch rough

as I fit my own arms up your sleeves

to crack your limbs in place –

easy as jigsaw pieces,

as outfits,

as my own dressing.

 

I lift the v of your legs

to a level over my fruit-bruise

of flesh, waves of hair, and sweat,

and look up to your face:

chin tilted and

nothing else.

 

© Lydia Allison 2014