I worship the sun, but I yearn for the moon – on full beam yet tranquilising our daytime hullaballoos. Gliding with grace, an ethereal sister, she illuminates the quiet – casting daily spells upon our wrestless hive. “Why do you resist?” She wonders, arching around – silently tracing her ancient trail, to the world turned … More Moon Light
It is your duty to fill those high heels with femininity and zeal – the rouge of your sex, the desire to be vulnerable and ultimately vexed. You are obliged to compete in the rat race to refine, define and keep a pace – streamline and flex for success, wind yourself up and then revel … More Should
The warm grip of the Spanish heat loosens with each whistle of the wind, releasing me from its luxurious caress momentarily – bringing me back to my surroundings as though a valium induced haze had lifted. I push back onto my arms, let my hair tickle my back and kick out my legs. The fishermen … More Fishing, for what?
Blocky and structured, bold strokes: is a painted profile pic your only hope? Solid and sturdy – that’s one hell’uva trim – hairless, he pivots around his chin. Oh, such muscles, so strong! A ferociously fixed stare, biceps that pop – no doubt that you’re hot. Attempted wit – mock reviews and poor banter. … More Tinder Files: Beardy Man
She glanced around the empty gallery. The squawking gulls and bustle of St. Ives harbour seemed distant. It was like walking into Aladdin’s cave, but squared and white-washed. The treasures didn’t glimmer, so much as sing with silent possibility. The desire to be pulled in through the frames and tumble into an alternate universe pulsated: … More The Truth is in the Tango
We’re the ‘boomerang kids’. The sticky little tykes that our parent’s generation can’t quite shake. We yearn for independence, but cringe at the cost. To pay extortionate rent and sacrifice life’s little luxuries, or navigate our way through evolving relationships with our aging homies? To ‘boomerang’ sounds quite fun, really. Those able to make that … More Boomerang Kids: ‘adulting’ in London’s housing crisis
Dear Ireland, It’s been eight months since I tearfully closed that graffitied black door on New Cabra Road, behind which a little piece of my heart was left amongst the piles of books, newspaper clippings and dust, lots of dust. Having plastered over the gaping hole in our ceiling following a disastrous game of … More A Love Letter to Ireland
There’s nothing worse than a blank page, the impulse to create and the fizzle, crack and pop as your energies diffuse into frustration. It used to be so easy, but as we grow up we tend to complicate the process of writing with our expectations of perfection, the desire to control the narrative and the … More 5 Writing Tips Learned From Kids