This is my friend Marie. Along with two of her buddies, she visited Ireland last week from Missouri. Being the horror fiends we are, we naturally wandered around a few of the cemeteries here in Belfast, sharing ghost stories and creepy folk tales.
Marie is a folklore enthusiast and horror writer. She contributes to Fascination with Fear, Destroy the Brain and Film Addict. Her fiction has been published in Sanatarium Magazine and various anthologies. Check out some of her work here.
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
*This is probably my favourite poem – well, certainly one of my favourites. As soon as I saw the big pink roses in the snow at the bottom of my garden, I instantly thought of it and had the idea to take a few more photos to act as a visual accompaniment to it. I just happened to have some tangerines (actually I think they’re Clementines, but who cares) on the kitchen table, and a quick rummage around in my photo archive for the last shot of the cosy fireside and hey presto! A lovely photo-poem. A ‘phoem’, if you will.
It started snowing (well, to saying ‘snow’ implies gentleness – this stuff was more like a blizzard of perpetual sleet) on Thursday night, and only just stopped today.