Fiftywords
@fiftywords.bsky.social
1.5K followers 2.4K following 1.4K posts
Mainly posting poetry and thinking about the world. Feel free to comment
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
fiftywords.bsky.social
Wrote this a little while back on the 2nd
fiftywords.bsky.social
Today’s #vss365 is about the great Irish revolutionary James Connolly #speirgorm
Lillie
Your Beautiful Life? The fire wouldn't light that morning: smoke curled into the room,
refused to rise. They carried you like a burden
no one dared to name.
No last words. No glance. Only the shuffle of tired boots and one man watching
a wall turn red. I kept your letters with dust in creases, your hand was steady,
always.
Others claimed you.
Recited you in chambers
where no cleaner earns a living wage. Raised glasses to your name
with wine you never tasted.
You were never theirs to own.
Not flag.
Not state. Not the party men
with soft hands and slogans.
You belong to the dream not yet diminished, to bread shared fairly, to work that holds its dignity,
to shelter without shame. To the quiet defiance of those who still believe life can be better
than this. And to us,
the ones who know your words were fire
and are not yet ash.
fiftywords.bsky.social
This one seems appropriate for today’s #vss365
Teenage Riffs I was fifteen, already full of life, laughing loud, limbs quick, the world still wide and mine,
but then a riff kicked in,
pierced me, like the sound had been waiting for someone alive enough
to catch it.
It sparked me. Buzzcocks on a battered tape,
a Clash lyric like a dare.
I unleashed. Ripped jeans, radio static, hair razored to rebellion,
vinyl sleeves spread out
like maps of who I already was. We moshed in basements, sweat, spit, black nails, Doc Martens stomping out
the heartbeat of the lost. We didn't want tomorrow, just the chorus, louder,
louder, till the walls shook with it,
and we howled it back:
"No Future!"
Our idols were broken angels, Poly Styrene, Howard Devoto, Siouxsie Sue, we worshipped them in stickers and patches, zipped up in leather
and adolescent ache. Every track was a flare,
every night a manifesto.
We believed,
God, we believed,
that songs could save us. And maybe
they did.
fiftywords.bsky.social
Here’s one for today’s #vss365
fiftywords.bsky.social
This is my full poem inspired by the short story
The Wise Pomeranian As a woman in a man's world, she bends before she breaks, folds herself into a quiet corner,
a sigh between sentences,
a pause where his name should not be. He looks at her like a child marvelling at a flame,
unthinking that she, too, can burn. He speaks of love as if it is his to define,
as if she has never known hunger. I watch her step carefully, balancing shame and longing, as though she is the sinner, as though his hands do not carry
the weight of other women before her. He moves freely, his ring a mere suggestion,
while hers is a lock, a brand, a chain. His pleasure is indulgence,
hers a transgression.
She calls it love.
He calls it fate. I call it what it is
a man's world, where women whisper their desires in shadows and men repeat them in the daylight,
claiming them as their own. Even now, they call it romance
this theft of freedom, this careful undoing of a woman
who wanted more than to be a moment.
She will stay, because he asks.
She will suffer, because she loves. And he will call it tragic,
as though the tragedy is not him.
I can only watch. My voice unheard,
while hers is silenced. But if I could speak, I would tell her,
Run.
fiftywords.bsky.social
“In the end there is left a life groveling and curtailed, worthless and trivial.“ The Lady With the Dog, Anton Pavlovich Chekhov #BookWormSat
fiftywords.bsky.social
Thanks, that’s definitely what I was after
fiftywords.bsky.social
Fascinating character but, yes, very unsettling
fiftywords.bsky.social
Thank you Carolyn, you’re very generous
fiftywords.bsky.social
Apologies for breaking the brain but relieved it was in a good way
fiftywords.bsky.social
I love the way the poem blurs advertising language with existential questioning, it’s as if consumerism itself is haunted.
fiftywords.bsky.social
This is richly allusive, it fuses folklore, Cold War paranoia, and political satire with dazzling intensity. The fractured, incantatory style gives the poem the feel of a ritual denunciation, or a Walpurgis chant.
fiftywords.bsky.social
This is powerful, the dislocated form enacts the poem’s theme of silence and fracture.
fiftywords.bsky.social
Fierce, unsettling, and direct, it forces us to confront what we too often consume unthinkingly. It exposes the violence implicit in display culture, surface beauty as entrapment.
fiftywords.bsky.social
This is darkly compelling, it turns the language of dismemberment into a desperate plea for wholeness.
fiftywords.bsky.social
Deceptively simple, but layered with critique, a mannequin becomes a metaphor for every silenced body.
fiftywords.bsky.social
The tension between permanence and decay is beautifully handled, wax as both preservation and prison.
fiftywords.bsky.social
The closing line is devastating, it skewers both Tanzler’s pathology and wider patriarchal fantasies
fiftywords.bsky.social
Hans Bellmer made surreal and unsettling dolls in the 1930s, bodies broken, reassembled, uncanny. But here, the doll has her own voice. #PoemsAbout #Mannequin Thanks to @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
fiftywords.bsky.social
Here’s a bit of fun for #NationalPoetryDay
fiftywords.bsky.social
Here’s one for today’s #vss365
fiftywords.bsky.social
Thank you, that’s very kind of you