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seen from United States
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About his person, by Martha McHardy
A cracked mirror
A rusty old key
Shoes that are scuffed at the toes
A watch always stuck on the same minute of the same hour
A forgotten box of belongings
Books of a foreign language with tea stained pages
A photograph packaged in tape
A corpse of a cigarette bud
A pair of socks with holes in both feet
An archive of a man
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I come from, by Martha McHardy
I come from lively debates around the dining room table
from arguments, tears and bruised relationships
I come from Rembrandt, Botticelli and CaravaggioÂ
I come from passion
blocking out reasonÂ
I come from dissertations, 5000 wordsÂ
sweated out over a typewriter
I come from outspoken women
I come from Guardian columns, empowered speeches and days sitting at home with my eyes glued to Question time
I come from ambition
I come from greasy chip packets and the vinegary after taste that even toothpaste cant seem to wash away
I come from the endless thumping of the rain on the windows
from thick wooly jumpers and overcast skies
from draft beer, little wolves and dancing until I can no longer feel my feet
I come from boiling the kettle after a hard day’s work at school
I come from freshly made pancakes in the morning
from mouthwatering BBQ’s on summer nights
I come from love
A drowned wench, by Martha McHardy
She screamed. Silently. For she was mute. Her final, agonising words were heard only by her, as if her greatest fears imprisoned her in some kind of box. Her fears swam with her, but as she tread water the weight of them began to evaporate and could no longer hold her. Her salty tears poured down her fragile face, but you could not tell as her tears culminated into the waves. Her world was small, however it felt as vast as the solar system itself. As the water colonised her lungs, her lips turned as blue as the cold ocean. Her tender limbs gave up the fight. The roaring waves claimed their victory. Her killer was not gentle and he was not merciful. As the force of the waves prevailed over the weakness of her fears, the water stamped her limp body into the abyss of the ocean and ensured she joined the long list of girls who had suffered the very same fate.
Hands, by Martha McHardy
Two hands were made for multitasking
You’re always clutching onto something
Both tangible and not
Your smooth hands have a tight grip on realityÂ
Your hands can handle anything
Your right had is leading forward
and your left is close to your heart
you may not always be hands on
but you are never hands off
your carefully manicured hands are the hands that will always be there to guide me through life
Your soft touch and your firm clutch
are how I know that your hands were made to hold mine
A Christmas bauble, by Martha McHardy
A Christmas tradition
The most sentimental of sentiments
The Liberty decorated Christmas tree
The scratchy feeling of glitter is a particularly special feeling when paired with different colours of glitter glistening in the light
The Christmas pudding hangs from the tree
To mark the first year of a tradition to be long kept
Red like Rudolph’s nose
Frankincense, Myrrh and Gold
The string that ties the bauble to ChristmasÂ
is the string that ties the family togetherÂ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
