I've been writing poetry since I was twelve. My inspirations are Kipling, Belloc, Keats, Duffy, Dickinson, Big Poppa E and all those poets that got me into this shit in the first place on this wretched site (you know who you are.)
I largely do freeform poetry because I am lazy - from time to time my brain will occasionally remember how to do sonnets, villanelles and sestinas. My poetry springs from my head fully formed, largely. I also have two huge and scruffy scrapbooks of spontaneous poems that I will start to post when I have filled the "second volume". I have written an estimated five hundred poems.
I am working (slowly) on two anthologies that should make their way to kindle some time in the coming year. The first focusing on texture and animism, the second on wildflowers and weeds of the westcountry.
I also write stories, sketch, paint, make costumes and sew; you will see these creations very rarely when I judge them fit to share with the internet. They are largely hobbies and done just for fun.
I welcome critique on all my pieces - unless specified otherwise.
Hello - I’m Phis.
I'm a poet of sorts, but I also love to get crafty now and again. I'm a uni student studying religion and creative writing, currently recovering from a severe anxiety disorder and chronic depression.
Mainly my poetry is about my mental health, my disabilities, my relationships, my pantheism, animism and witchery as well as other fun things like that. I aim to be an honest and enjoyable person to be around.
I try to comment on 5-50 poems a day, sometimes I just lurk because I have a lot of health issues which mean I can't do much more than stare at a screen some days.
Phisisturae is a nonsense word I made up because it looked very pretty. I've decided its an noun that describes the act of something very mundane catching your eye in a very extraordinary way, the profound appreciation of sundry objects and phenomena (Fih-cyst-tour-eye).
Down to the coreSo here I am,
praying to a lifeless figure to escape from its own religion.
Talking to the air as if it’s able to answer.
Pounding my fist onto my table, hoping it will calm me down.
And here I go,
back to the place where I belong.
To a world shielded in confusion and anger.
Founded on pillars of twisted truth and never ending distrust.
So there I went,
My head bowed down and my eyes half closed,
I took the stairs and soon I reached the top,
where I looked down on my empire of bewilderment.
I saw fear and anger, walk hand in hand.
I saw self-loathing and pride, unite right on the stand.
I saw my thoughts running in despair.
I felt the increasing darkness, tense in the air.
And while I slowly backed away,
from this confronting happening,
I think that, once again,
maybe all this is just in need of an ending.
Attempting to get back into the swing of university work by critiquing more work - bearing in mind I am only a student, I would love to critique more poetry and would relish the chance for people to send me things to critique!
Please don't hesitate to send me things to critique!