An Apple

I would gladly take the decision

to eat the apple again –

to bite the flesh and feel the flavour burst over my tongue.

For knowledge. For sin –

because doesn’t that make life more exciting?

I am not speaking for womankind,

or indeed for the whole of humanity,

but ignorance is not bliss.

It is a darkness without an end.


I am a good person.

I may ‘sin’,

if that even matters anymore –

but I try to be kind.

A smile for a stranger that never seems to be accepted.

I try to remember to comb my hair

and speak with grace and ease.

To love. To be present.

I watch a tree sway in the wind

and wish for that simplicity.



The vermillion, blemished skin

harbors the true treasure.

My fingers itch.

Thousands of rubies glisten amid the pith,

I pluck each jewel,

a merchant assessing the profit.


I carry my cargo to the garden,

hazy in the mid-afternoon heat

the sea of daisies

and weeds

welcoming my body.

The seeds sing their bittersweet song.


And I wonder if

Persephone felt as much love

and happiness above

as she received below.

A flower matured in the dark

is still beautiful. Determined.


I want to walk that line.

Embody as much light and hope

as I do the darkness.

Appreciating beauty in the mundane,

acknowledging misery with the happiness,

to truly live

and thrive

with each beat of my ruby heart.



Thanks for reading! If you’re interested in my poetry, it would be amazing if you could follow my Instagram account: violettepoems

Let me know what you think!



Occasionally the grey

Is interrupted by a brilliant blue.

Days where the patio blazes

And I am contented

With teapots and books.


And then there are the red days.

When a flame is in my stomach

And my heart.

I manifest frustrations,

Fists clenched.


The colour you bring me is yellow.

Immersive, embodied sunlight

As you smile and I warm up.

Lounging in the calmness

Of your bright May day.



A semi-detached house, the white fence

Two children and an ever-smiling wife

Your expectations: obedience. respect. hierarchy.

Your life is to be blissfully unaware of the wine bottles

drunk dry through boredom.


And who am I to stop you taking,

stop you from destroying everything –

you hands cause things to wilt –

cause me to wilt

My petals fall from me

As time after time I surrender.


But my heart and my head

have started to dispute

Your actions. Your words. your morals.

What morals?


And so I no longer stay and shrink

but leave and flourish.

With each heart-beat a rhythm:

I can, I can, I can.


I do.


Free from the kitchen sink, an apron,

All your ideals.

The nuclear family.

Did you love me?


But my fears fade away

as the chain loosens from my neck.

No band upon my green fingers.

I can, I can, I can.


22.07.19      Georgia Carr

Poems · Short Fictions

The Magpie King

To those who need him
Appears the Magpie King
With oil-spill hair and slender limbs
And eyes of darkest obsidian.
As he walks, the silver spoons at his belt jingle,
And he is tailed by a procession of magpies
Hopping to exchange news for the prize of thimbles
But his eyes are constantly searching for a new treasure.
All that glitters isn’t gold,
But all that glitters is his.
From each twinkling star, millennia old
To the sparkle of tinfoil under bright lights.
He is a collector of pretty things.
The smell of the comfort of petrichor,
Musty and earthy, is alive on his wings
And each perfect feather holds mankind’s darkest secrets.
The stories you whisper to yourself
Will always be relayed to him,
And stories are bargained for new wealth
In the kingdom of the Magpie King.

Hands of Ice

The frigid feeling of his chest made her heart flutter

His breath ice – inhaling.

Their laughter blizzards.

And so they lay with the trees – all nature

becomes covered. A thick film of their love

But to be alive, perfectly preserved in ice.


Her icicle breasts heave

with passion, with love

Admiration for her Frost.

Her laughter – the tinkling sound that is snow falling

As his frigid hand runs up

down her length,

the moan of the shifting snow.


Storm gathering they fall on each other

A frenzy to thaw their hearts

The enemy of heat, hot, melt.

To become a puddle –


Until the manifestation of another

bitter night.


How they lust for those

Hands of ice.



It is under the fluorescent lighting that you want me,

I, your disciple,

You, an untouchable messiah

Your beckoning hand

– my lifeline, soaring high,

dropping low.


In the curling tendrils of smoke

From your mouth

Reads my name.

You want me –

It’s not love.


On the cold tile floor

Bodies electric – static –

I spark at your touch.

We want what is forbidden. You are my fruit –

and hearts jump and stutter.


Be still.

Be silent.

I flutter.

Poems · Uncategorized

Gordian Sins

Look to him,

Look to him

– the prophet.

Sweeping smiles.

Pained eyes.


Repentance is needed

to atone this false idolatry


Righteous corrupt.


Through blessed stigmata,

The casting of stones

from those who have

countless sins.


Come to me,

Dressed in white – messiah

beads of water on your head.

Baptised. New life.

But do the memories of your sins remain?



Your moan is thunder.

Lightning is your touch.

Angels can fall.


New sins. Old sins. Combine

And so, serpentine,

We thrive.





Midgard’s Cry

Walk the land,

the compact earth beneath your feet.

The shade of the towering trees,

A forest – Life and Death.


And kneel.


Your knees comforted by the mother –

her breath is the breeze.

Can you feel their sorrows in the rain?


They are being forgotten.


Battles past. And blood-shed too.

All for the creation to forget.

Distant memory. The trees weep.

We are sacrilegious, wasteful.


Peace corrupted.


Lie in the moss,

contemplate the stars and the moon.

Your crystal core shines.

Sway with the firs,

flow with the stream

and be grounded with the mountains.


Life returning.




Polish the silver,

lay down your soul –

Eternal judgement be damned.

omni-benevolence an idea of the past.


Cleanse your body,

the blemished skin,

free from dirt and grime.

For him.


Through tentative eyes you watch

through musty walls  –

his entrance through the door.

His immediate assertion of dominance. He perceives himself as holy.

Righteous man.

They are the features he like the most.


The turbulent oceans those sockets hold. The tell-tale salt.

His are dead and black.




His hands are icy and foreign against

your body (his body)

your throat (his throat)

your face (his face).


The grimy hands shout

against the renewed cleanliness of your throat.

You choke on forgotten prayers.

The dirt under his fingers illustrates what he is.





Me and You

It is your eyes that say ‘I love you’,

The way they sparkle when you talk.


It is your movements that say ‘I love you’,

The way you stand close to me; protective.


It is your smile that says ‘I love you’,

The bashful grin that greets me before you do.


But your mouth never forms the words –

it doesn’t seem to be able – so you say those words to

Someone else. And I hurt. But you don’t understand.


The dream is cut back to harsh reality

And I’ve come to realise

That ‘I love yous’ do not exist

Between me,




International Women’s Day

Today is International Women’s Day, a day that should be celebrated worldwide. It is a day when we can appreciate and give thanks to all the strong and supportive women in our lives. However, it is also a day where we can reflect on our country’s (as well as the world’s) need to change.

Feminism is the fight for equality, and it is increasingly prevalent in our present society. In Parliament female MPs are still vastly outnumbered, the tampon tax still exists and women still fall victim to the pay gap. There are also many cases of sexual harassment in the work place. As a society we need to work towards change.

But how can we make women equal?

This is a question my year group (year 12) were trying to answer in a debate today. While there were opposing views to how equal women are now, there were clear ideas on how we can progress.

The education of people in our society is the main target. In order for genders to become equal we need to change the way we educate children, not assigning a gender to a toy or a particular profession. Furthermore, there is a vast amount of everyday sexism that occurs. This need to be directly challenged because it is a barrier to the progression of our society, if we let these remarks slip we are kept in a never-ending loop that our children will inherit. While we need to educate children, we also need to change the current population’s view as these people are who future children will learn from.

Women are not equal to men in our current society. It is a fact that is hoped will soon become the past, something that future generations will struggle to believe when they read history textbooks.

Now is the time for change. Millennials and Generation Z are the most vocal generation yet. We are standing up for change globally and will continue until an equal society is reached.

Happy International Women’s Day – thank the women who inspire you. It is a day of celebration, but also a reminder of all that is yet to come.

Spread love today and everyday, and empower yourself and those around you. ❤



Snow Dancer

Watching snow is magic,

The way the flakes float and jitter down from the sky,

Like a procession of dancers, constantly changing partners.


How the drops seem to make a bee-line for your face

The moment you decide to brave the frost.

The soft tickles and caresses that they place on your face, causing laughter and delight.


Winter’s cloak smothers the flowers and grass

But there is something serene and calming about the swirls and blizzards.

It is silent. It is peaceful in the snow.



Requiem for a Northern Girl

She beats her fists against the wall

And looks towards the beckoning fingers of the Northern Sky,

The slate-grey seems to call

But she doesn’t know who, what or why.


A year later and the feeling is the same.

The work cycle is unrelenting and cold

And she has the same repetitive feeling: pain.

Dreaming of losing herself – being able to fold


Up into herself

Without agenda or destination.

There is no set place, no shelf

Where she can exist without relation.


And it is there against the cold, bleak morn

That she questions the very notion of Heaven

And the unrelenting wave of people’s scorn.


She is found dead at a quarter to seven.



Against the dull, grey skies

Black veins twist and writhe

The roots festering in the Earth

Harbouring moisture, concealing lies.


Lies that are hidden –

Except for the whispers in the breeze

That tell tales of nymphs, flowers and leaves

Those that are hidden from human eyes.


Listen to the breeze that caresses,

Faerie hands gentle and soft,

And dream of fairy-tale lands,

Alluring and free.


The trees are the guardians of the Earth,

Watching over us,

Protecting the realms.

They are life.



In between the sky and the land ,

A wolf’s jaw gapes open ,

The teeth that took Tyr’s hand.


Mortals see rocks, several streams ,

But the Gods know the thoughts

That control Fenrir’s dreams.


One day he will swallow the moon

The sun as well; jeered on by the legions of Hel

Is Ragnarok soon?


Perhaps it has already occurred

And Fenris wolf is no more

Or perhaps it is still to come.

A dark looming war.



Ballad for Odin

Through mist unfathomable

And fiery caves

We worship the All-father

Sing of his grace.


For Odin is wise

And has mighty advice

After completing his

Self sacrifice.


To hang from a tree

Nine days, nine nights

And to rise victorious –

He is magic.


Magic we might never know

Or see

But we know it’s there

For Grimnir has proclaimed it.


Ask Huginn and Muninn to convey your message

Joy for wisdom –

Yes, all things wise

And Odin will be rejoicing in Asgard skies.




I just wanted to make a little short post about some exciting news…I was published!

I entered a competition earlier this year and received news in July that my entry had been chosen to be published. I’m very thankful for the opportunity, and I hope to try and enter more competitions and become more confident in my writing. I’ve attached the link to the amazon page if any one wishes to check it out (there is a kindle version as well). Thank you! 🙂






Beyond the haunting silence,

where the honey-suckle does not grow,

A girl dances –

she puts on a show.


And the skeletons applaud,

the ghosts all cheer

For they know her spirit,

They know they are genuine tears.


Her pale silhouette glides through the trees

caressing the ground with her gentle feet.

And the willows bow to her

As she hurries towards her faerie meet.


On translucent wings they fly,

revelling in malicious acts

Cautiously she agrees to sign

the binding faerie pact.


Her feet have stopped dancing

she is free at last –

and as she falls asleep on the moss,

she wishes she could return to her past.



If you are King I will come to Berlin

Your grace evaded me. How are you such a thing

Of sheer elegance. You erupt in glitter

And we begin to dance the jitter-

bug, baby. Tell me your changes.


And with you I can fly to the stars

Or settle down for a life on mars.

For you, the Duke, the Hero, the King,

Allowing me to manifest so many things.

Stay as you are Starman,

And leave me to conduct the band.



Through killing fields and mass graves grow,

Hoardes of flowers, row on row

So they can remember what they have done

To be blinded by the almighty sun.

And yet they feel no regret or remorse

The people remember and with great force

Overthrow the oppression, the years of lies

And lift their souls up to the skies.

Poems · Uncategorized


She unceremoniously puts the scissors to her hair

And hacks off large chunks

This is the start of the revolution

The age to rebel.

She fights her way through the crowd

Giving herself a new identity.


For the old person was not really her,

There is now an air of anarchy, of anger and contempt.

All the things she used to have hope for

Now crumbled around her –

You had to make your own path in life.


This age was fun

You could be what you wanted

Do what you wished and evade the law.

This age was clothes, hair and music

And hairspray.


A way to express, explore and encapture

She loved the passion and craziness.

The old her no longer existed –

She loved being a cliché.






Unique Blogger Award

Hello! I have been nominated by https://thethoughtscribblersblog.wordpress.com. I am very grateful to have been nominated. I like to strive for unique writing and it is a particular niche of writing that I am very fond of.

Thank you so much for nominating me, I will aim to write more and keep this blog interesting!

The rules are as follows:

  • Share the link of the blogger who has shown love to you by nominating you.
  • Answer the questions.
  • In the spirit of sharing love and solidarity with our blogging family, nominate 8-13 people for the same award.
  • Ask them 3 questions.

This is what I have been asked:

1) What was the best moment of your life?

ANS: For me, the best moment of my life was when I went to the Celebrating David Bowie Concert in Brixton. It was a year after Bowie had died, and when I got the tickets the month before I cried. I was so happy to be in a room and meet like minded people in a celebration of a magnificent artist’s career.

2) What inspire you the most, when you bounce back into the realm of sadness?

ANS: Thinking about my dreams and ambitions. When I am sad, looking into the future, my desire to be an author, really helps me. I also write as it takes me to a place where I don’t have to think about being sad as I am immersed in my characters. I try to move on and fill my life with things that enrich it and make me happy.

3) What compelled you to blog?

ANS: I was compelled to blog because I thought that I should get some of my work out into the world, and to get some criticism. I know that I can only make my work better if I am given feedback, so a blog seemed a perfect option for me and WordPress has such a lovely community of bloggers 🙂

I am going to nominate the following people. Please check out their blogs!









My questions to you are:

1) What is your favourite theme to write about?

2) What inspired you to start writing?

3) What are your hobbies?




I like to people watch

It’s an interesting sport

I’ll sit in a public place

And simply sit and stare

People believe I’m glancing at the air.


It starts with a person

They are different, somehow

And then I’ll begin to follow,

Now on the prowl.


They do not notice me

How could they?  When I am as quiet as a mouse

I follow them cautiously

All the way to their house.


Once I’m there it’s a waiting game

A play of hide and seek

Everywhere it’s the same

Looking up from the street.


I’ll slip in slyly

You won’t even know I’m there

Until all at once

I’m following you up the stairs.


And there’s no where to run

You’re at a dead end

But I’m just starting my fun.


I like to people watch

Maybe you’ll be the next one.


Your Painful Duty

You inject your patriotism into your vein,

After tightening a belt around your arm

And gritting your teeth against the pain.

But all too soon it escapes;

Blood, sweat and tears export it from your body.


You try again. You smoke it, snort it

and take tabs.

But it always manages to evade you,

A shadow of what it once was.


And you are left in the dark,

What was once dear is now

meaningless. Honour, King and Country

are values from a

life-time ago.


Men go to war never to return and

innocent blood is spilt.

And you question why you are a dying breed of

Patriotic people.


And then I saw you…

And then I saw you,

Floating on the wind

Accompanied by a cascade of your brothers.

I reach out and

You are gone, too excited to see

The world unravel for you.


The next year you return,

More sullen and subdued than before

But it is still you. I watch as everything

Decays. You kill everything you touch.

But it does not alarm me;

For I love you and always will.


And the next year is more cold and bleak than before.

The wind is cutting and cruel

And you remain hostile.

But I still love you.

All your hurt can never cut me,

You remain a constant throughout life,

a cycle of emotion.


And every year you come.

And every year you change.

Yet I will wait for you each time

Just to see your graceful ways.



Is it the turn of autumn in the air?

The sun still beats down on the concrete,

on the new buildings

who are pretending to be old.

The wall is gone

but I can trace the lines

of its path.


A gate left for decades

Now majestic, crowded for picture upon picture.

Victoria with the sun striking her chariot.

Her glory is now

But once she was isolated

Between East and West,

defeated by the strip of death.


New buildings

young trees, but stones transport

back to a time

when boys were told to shoot

who are now just men.

It is not the past

Not a lifetime ago.


Humanity seeks to divide

but is joyous

At the rushing over a bridge –

reunification, a victory.

Whole once again

as birds hop from

east to west

And the summer turns

to sleep.


Georgia Carr                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             16.09.2019


Late to Bloom

Exchanges between you and me

Are like childhood games.

Cops and robbers. Name it.

There’s always me to blame.


And no matter the fight

I can’t claw my way back

It’s futile. Impossible.

My smile will always crack


Because there is no feeling in your heart,

It’s cold; a lump of lead

And no matter the tenderness,

You can never take back what you said.


And in the Autumn

I am the dying leaves.

All your threats to go

But I find you hard to grieve.


Because Spring is coming –

When you are dead and gone

And it’s among the baby’s breath

That I truly belong.