Category Archives: Lydia Crow

Dear O2 Academy (Sadly, A Letter of Complaint)

By: Lydia Crow   Dear O2 Academy, Firstly, I would like to congratulate you on the well-organised and fabulous evening which was the Ben Folds Five gig last night. The organisation at the door was smooth, the venue amazing and … Continue reading

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Nothing

By: Lydia Crow   Nothing to say, nothing to give. Nothing to die, nothing to live. The tar of the greasepaint, the feather of time Scars my skin in this pit of lime. A moment in time, a pause in the … Continue reading

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The Wrong Thing

By: Lydia Crow   ‘It was the wrong thing to write’, she mused to herself, staring down at the scribbled words on the otherwise pristine notebook. She had spoiled it, ruined it by her hasty desire to write ‘something’. And … Continue reading

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The Glass Tree

By: Lydia Crow   Originally written for: 2011 Trees for Life Charity Exhibition.   I saw it once, a fleeting glimpse, With my dreaming eyes; Its slender branches beckoning, Reaching for the skies. I stood there in the flickering dusk, … Continue reading

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Song of the Trees

By: Lydia Crow   Originally written for: 2011 Trees for Life Charity Exhibition.   Whish, whish, Embla, Embla, Echo in the night. Màthair, màthair, whaa, whaa, Shades of dark and light. Thalla whither, thalla whither, Whisper loud and long. Tawasentha, … Continue reading

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Edwin Through A Child’s Eyes

By: Lydia Crow   Originally written for: 2011 Trees for Life Charity Exhibition.   I can’t remember what he looked like, now. I’ve forgotten the detail of his features. In my mind, his face is as worn and rough as … Continue reading

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Anu of the Forest

By: Lydia Crow   Originally written for: 2011 Trees for Life Charity Exhibition.   With skin so soft beneath the bark And resin coated hair, The freshest sap runs through her veins; She is always there. Never sleeping, ever true, … Continue reading

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Leave it there

By: Lydia Crow   Leave it there, my love, Lest you disturb far more Than dust and bones And corpses of flies Who withered in the attic there During long, hot summers When the room’s dead air Was still and … Continue reading

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My Scar

By: Lydia Crow   I don’t tell people now. It’s not that I want to hear the sick jokes, but I hate the embarrassed sideways look when someone remembers you. They don’t know you, they only know the scar you … Continue reading

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Foiled

By: Lydia Crow   Dig, dig, scrape, dig, dig. Bark, bark, bark, BARK. Bark. Bark. Bark. “Bugger.” (In Spanish.)   Paraguay: Stray dog’s barking foils prison break

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