Poets for Peace – a wonderful collaboration


I’ve been lucky enough to be invited to take part in a poetic collaboration which I believe deserves a huge amount of support. Over at Forgotten Meadows, something truly beautiful is happening. A collaboration of poets are coming together to promote the cause ‘Poets for Peace’.

Each poet is sharing their thoughts and feelings on the escalation of violence and hatred that appears to be everywhere in the world, apparently more than ever before. No hatred of genders, races, political persuasions, religions or beliefs is expressed, just the hatred of violence itself.

This has been launched by Michael of The Poetry Channel and is hosted on Forgotten Meadows.

Even if I hadn’t been invited to take part, I would have promoted this cause anyway once I learned about it. I began my own poetic forays into expressing my fears of (government mandated) violence as a young teenager, so this is a subject close to my heart.

Praxis Magazine Online will be publishing the collaboration, thanks to the kind assistance of Laura M. Kominski.

Please do take some time to visit Forgotten Meadows and learn more about Poets for Peace  – and please do take part if you feel moved to do so. 



Arrested development – Writing Prompt #163 “Collage 25”


because the mind

because the mind

because the mind

will not rest

even as I glue my eyelids shut.

because the horror

because the mind-less

become all that fills

my mind’s eye

because the shame

because I care

because I cannot


stop the thoughts.

stop the violence.

stop, please.



Here’s my entry to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie latest writing prompt, where we are invited to write in response to a quote, which this week is from  William C. Hannah – “Sometimes, all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.” There is also a collage which may or may not help with the inspiration.

For those of you in Europe, you will be well aware that the European football competition known as the Euros began on Friday. Unfortunately, sadly, frustratingly, horrifically, some English football ‘fans’ (and I really mean hooligans) have been involved in mindless and disturbing violence in Marseilles, in the days running up to and after England’s match against Russia, which took place last night.

This poem was inspired by the events I have seen on TV and online. It’s sickening, I just don’t understand the mentality of anyone who engages in this kind of behaviour, irrespective of their nationality or background. I went to sleep last night with images that I had seen playing in my head like a horror movie.

Why not head on over to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s blog and take a look – and take part?!

Discarded – Trifecta Week 91

Below is my offering for Trifecta’s week 91 challenge word, which is ‘brand’. As you will see from the Trifecta blog post, the challenge is to write between 33 and 333 words of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or prose, based on the 3rd definition from the Merriam Webster’s Online Dictionary. This week the 3rd definition of ‘brand’ is:

a (1): a mark made by burning with a hot iron to attest manufacture or quality or to designate ownership;

a(2): a printed mark made for similar purposes: a trademark

b(1): a mark put on a criminal with a hot iron

b(2): a mark of disgrace: stigma <the brand of poverty>

Here’s my offering below – I hope you like it! By way of backstory, this is a tiny extract from my work in progress novel (first edit done, second edit underway), which I first began as part of NaNoWriMo in 2011. It’s very rough and sharing this feels like I’m walking naked in front of you all, but for the word prompt it fits very well, as the issue of branding people runs right through my whole novel.

Please check here for the other entries!


– Discarded –

The Penitents halted their circling and stamped their feet together abruptly. The noise echoed across the landscape – a crow rose from its perch in protest, a jagged ‘V’ in the sky. Dragging Gregor to his feet, the men pulled him to a nearby tree, binding him to its trunk face first.

A hooded figure marched forward and with one movement ripped Gregor’s cloak and shirt away revealing his target – the brand that lay beneath. In piteous defence, bare skin puckered with goose flesh against the dawn chill, but nothing could protect Gregor from the slash of knives as they flew, glinting in the winter sunlight, carving deep clefts from which gory jewels dripped, splattering the rocks at his feet. Flint struck stone, a muffled woomph followed as a torch was lit. There was a moment’s hesitation, cut short by a swift nod and flames were set against the bloody flesh, consuming and devouring with sickening greed. Gregor’s body sagged – the flame was extinguished.

The hooded man surveyed his prey for a moment then spat on the ground. ‘Not a squeal from him – how disappointing. Unleash him. He’s not worth the rope. Dispense with the formalities, he will soon understand his fate when he wakes. He is Discarded, for the record. Let us return to The Portal and continue our task.’

The Penitents untied Gregor’s senseless form, and cast him to one side. For good order they too spat on the ground before gliding away.


Copyright - Freya

Copyright – Freya