Latest Posts by moonlitmirror - Page 4

I read to escape but then I always get trapped in a world that closely resembles mine 

In writing I find a solace in growing my love to give, until the words become me and everything I did 

Introduction

I’m Ruth (she/her) and I write a lot, mainly poems, but I am also a historian, proofreader, and tarot card reader. I don't want to spill my whole life story but I'm also dyspraxic and hypermobile. I’m currently studying dress and textile histories, and my research is focused on deliberately concealed garments in UK buildings. I’m going to list a few of my WIPs and projects so that you know what to expect from my blog!

WIPs and Projects: 

Substack - I now have a newsletter for my historical research if you are interested! It is about deliberately concealed garments and concealment rituals around clothing and shoes, the stories of the people who owned these objects and their emotional dimensions.

Poetry collection - Holly House. I need to go back over some of my posts and add tags for the poems that are part of this collection. Holly House refers to the name of the house that I first started writing poems in and that has been a massive source of inspiration. 

Mirror World WIP - a historical fantasy/magical realism book I have been planning for a long time

Tales and Stories of the Fairy Kind - I can't help but dabble in rewriting fairy tales, but with much more of a historical perspective. Right now, I am writing a seventeenth century take on Cinderella that focuses on domestic relationships and how romance and fantasy is used as a means of escape and freedom for many people surviving through abuse

Here are all my links:

My Substack

My Etsy

My Instagram

My Pinterest

Thank you for stopping by!

Ruth

I still cannot bear

Loving what we used to love

Together, alone

we are that which is foreign; daisies which drift & dwell upon the air of elegance, delicately untouched by the vast twine of such sorrow, only ever shared but never held & never seen.

I’ve just finished reading The Girl Who Chased the Moon and magic realism is my new favourite thing - historical fantasy has always been my lane, but I’m definitely branching out. I have already ordered some more of Sarah Addison Allen’s books and I’m thinking of making a list of some more magical realism books. Recommendations are welcome!

Mackenzie Herbert, Chasing Trains // Artwork by @/archbudzar on ig // Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration // Lana M.H. Wilder

the memory of a memory, Katie Maria

“I hate solitude, but I am afraid of intimacy. The substance of my life is a private conversation with myself which to turn into a dialogue would be equivalent to self-destruction.”

— Iris Murdoch, Under the Net  

I'm getting in my own way again...

Call out to me so my footsteps halter

Burnish my skin of these lasting marks

Made by tears of my own making

With every footstep that I falter

In fog formed by clouds I mistook in my own ecstacy

Why do I keep myself hidden in layers of self-control

Afraid of the dark whilst summer lines my curtains

Choking back these haunting fears, and numb

Is the only feeling that's certain

What joy can be felt today? Frozen yet

In feigned sensibility, I ask myself...

What joy can be felt today? Frozen yet

In feigned sensibility, I ask myself...

D.L. Smith

let me stay,

dancing like fae among flowers

lost to the breeze

and summer sun-showers

I write for the words overfilling my mind

Keep reading

I seek a truth only a breadth away from mine

We live the realities that we create

Richard Hugo, Essay on Poetic Theory: The Triggering Town

Tuesday, 28th September 2021

My reality is shaped in colours; a painting blurred in depths of hues, brushed by a wandering silence.

Sue Zhao

Thursday, 23rd September 2021

We are captured by a subconscious searching for recognition and a meaning that is found beating through everything - like the arteries and veins twisting along the ground where walks our feet. 

Tuesday, 21st September 2021

I am a sucker for self-sabotage. My words, all of my own creation, fool me every time. Layers and layers of veiled truths that blind me--but I guess I am not looking at the signs.

George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard, from The Collected Poems 1924-1955; “And if the soul”

Wound from the Mouth of a Wound, ‘Essay Fragment: Preexisting Conditions’ by Torrin A. Greathouse

[ID: Mother Mary, scars on my wrists                 my spine a cracked rosary             eyelids a thin & bloody veil.]   

boys in red lay  along the platform pillowed on backpacks legs in the sun or sprawled on benches drooping hands fanning pale knees tanning ruddy

like a blush across the face of four pm heat

Aleksey Tolstoy, from “It chanced”; A Book of Russian Verse (ed. by Cecil Bowra)

Sometimes I think about how constellations are an entirely man-made construct and don’t actually exist inherently in nature. The universe just gave us stars, and we saw art and myths and stories in them. The capacity that humans have for seeing purpose in the incidental makes me realize just how lonely we are on this planet, desperately searching for meaning elsewhere in the universe.