All posts tagged: Superstition

Against All The Signs

I stopped believing in harbingers, the same way I try not to flinch when passing on the stairs, or hide the sidestep in my walk for cracks on the pavement.   Superstition crawled inside my head before I was old enough to name it. Caught up between pie crusts my great-grandmother baked, hidden in the coils of her apple peels.   Good Day Mr Magpie, are you well? How’s the family?   We buried glass somewhere, years ago, when it broke like ice and my mother feared the things she’d been taught might just come true.   Seven years bad luck unless it’s buried. Deeper now, deeper, hide the evidence and the thought.    Sometimes it’s simpler not to see the shadows casts as signs. Yet I still count in threes, for these things always come in threes.   Crossed knives,  tempest in a teapot, do not stir and do not pour these quarrelsome ideas.   The worst of it always comes unseen.

NaPoWriMo – Day Thirteen

I don’t think I have ever actually had a fortune cookie… It may sound strange, but when you grow up in the middle of the countryside where nowhere delivers and the nearest takeaway requires the same length of car journey as the nearest supermarket, takeaways become something of a rarity. Anyway, enough about me weird, rural childhood. The prompt for today’s poem was to write a poem inspired by the idea of fortune. A year or so ago a friend bought me a book called ‘The Encyclopaedia of Superstitions’ by Christina Hole. Part of me wants to ‘pah-poohey’ the whole idea of superstitions, but it’s the sort of book that makes you very aware of everything you do day to day that might signify bad luck. In short it can be something of a stressful read. However, for today I decided to crack it open and see if there was an entry for fortune cookies. There wasn’t. Instead I found this: Fox’s Wedding When sudden spatters of raindrops fall while the sun is shining, country …

My Family Ring

There are numerous items in my room which have some special meaning, or a story to go with them. Picking one to talk about is not an easy challenge, and at eighteen, my lifespan hasn’t yet reached a point where my belongings have been around me for any great length of time. So I’ll have to write this post about the ring that has found it’s way to me from the Scottish branch of my family. As far as my family goes, we’re a strange bunch. My mother’s relatives claim that we can trace the family back to the doomsday book and the Battle of Hastings, where out ancestor, William Swinnerton came over as one of William the Conqueror’s knights. It’s a pretty diluted claim, but still one that has somehow survived. My father’s side has less respectable claims about our history. Apparently, my grandfather on this side of the family would reply to questions about heritage with the answer of, “descended for sheep thieves and cattle rustlers.” That is supposed to be the Forrester …