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About Literature / Hobbyist Sammie28/Female/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 9 Years
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Does the sound of metal crushing against metal
stay in your dreams?
Flecks of amber and salmon pink
engraved upon the flesh of your palms?
Do you remember feeling the seconds drag by
in hours as we rolled into one with the September night?
A moment, a glance too fast was it all it took
for you to spin me upon the axis of life.
The scream, the glass shattering screams
Ring inside my ears and the shards of the wind screen
pushed deep into my skin.
Does it keep you awake with sweat
drenching your body, saturating you with the sheets?
Do you regret that quick trip to the shops
to pick up your dirty cigarettes?
Did you mean to invade my dreams
with the sweat, the glass, the metal upon metal
the grinding sound as the car halts mid-air?
Did you mean to wake me up, night after night
screaming, desperate for breath?
Did you ever search for the date, the twenty-fifth of the ninth
to see if we survived?
Or have you, like on the day you rolled our world upside down
walked away, with your dirty cig
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 7 0
Shattered Glass
My stomach is upside down, resting
uneasy on the roof of the salmon pink Corsa,
the pounding of adrenaline in my fingertips -
it takes a while for me to take it in
It's me, strapped in and immobilised
One, two, and a half...
My ears sting from the sound of glass, and I can't feel my legs.
After an eternity, I feel the life
flood into me, escaping through the tears I'm holding back.
My voice feels trapped, I'm trapped, and then he moves.
I hear him speak, I feel his arm rest around my shoulders
Releasing me from this nightmare, the shattered glass in my hands
Blood drips from his wrist and I have a white hot iron
Dragging itself down my spine.
I need to get out
I swing the car door open, my shaking finger tips clasping
and I feel the shards of glass nip at my skin
Burying beneath my flesh
This is happening too fast
The flash of silver that had penetrated my eye sight only moments ago
Left abandoned on the other side of the dual-carriageway
How am I still
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Grief will make you do strange things, like change your bed sheets at midnight
Just so the smell of yesterday's grief doesn't linger on your skin
It will post a letter saying sorry, but you forget to write the address
And then realise, and deny the fact that this is actually happening.
Grief will make you laugh, and then cry, all in hysteria.
I also won't mention how writing poetry in just your dressing gown seems like the most vulnerable act in the world. But it is, and I'm doing it for you.
To say goodbye with dry tears is like throwing up on an empty stomach. The skin on the inside is raw, and whilst biologically impossible, it feels as though my heart has just been shattered with every breath.
My thoughts are numb, but when I mention your name in my mind, I'm taken back to Christmases with extraordinary lights and a fruit shop with magic apples to make me big.
Yes, grief will make you do strange things. Things that were done and words that were said seem irrelevant and the details
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 1 0
Holiday :) by the-photographicpoet Holiday :) :iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 1 0
Find Me
Find me, here in your arms -
I'll follow you blindly.
I want to be where you are,
and in times of needs I just want you to stay
When I can't find the right words to say,
I'll listen to your voice all around.
Leading me to the only place we need to be.
Find me when the tears start to fall,
Promise me you'll place your arms, and lead me
to where we need to go.
We'll find peace and belief in this moment
And breathe easy for just a little while.
Find me in your arms,
where I'll always stay.
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Myself by the-photographicpoet Myself :iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 1 5
Fire soaring in my finger tips, over my blushing lips as you brush your kisses on my cheek.
Salt water in my eyes, tickling down in silver tracks of desperation.
You catch my breath in your throat, and I can see your heart beating in my chest. We're one and the same.
Embraced in your warmth, melting to your tender touch, your words of comfort and ignorant understanding: if only I could believe you when you say things are going to be okay.
But you're the only one who understands the way my heart breaks, cries.
The way it fractures, and rebuilds itself.
Your strength, your absolution become my foundations, my shoulders when the truth breaks my will.
You're the body that shelters my soul and the ties of love when I can't give anymore.
With our clothes on, you have the power to touch all of my senses - take over and control.
Become my footsteps, and guide me through.
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 2 1
I'm out of sync and desire with my body.
Tonight, I intend to pour a bottle of red down my throat and hope to God it eases the guilty conscience at the back of my mind. Today, the Jewish gentleman told me.
I am not a woman in the full sense.
I am the vessel carrying sick cells, sick cells that mutate and decay what is left of my love and my womb.
A carcass, stretched down the sides and with a broken spine: life finally settled on my shoulders. The tears settle on my lap. Beneath me is a broken bottle, etched deep in my skin. There are new stains on the carpet.
If only my heart could weep the same way.
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 1 2
The Driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain
Introduction: Gender or Class – the driver of Philanthropy in Victorian Britain?
Charity work provided women of Victorian Britain with a platform between the home, social politics and the public sector which was traditionally perceived to be predominantly secularised and patriarchal. It is the general consensus that women in mid-Victorian Britain were the hidden members of society, and played a crucial role as the domesticated ‘Angel of the House’.1 However, this is rather limited understanding. On the contrary, women performed an essential role through the growing philanthropic movement, a role that provided elite and middle-class women with a platform to enter the public sector through the mentoring of the working class. Instead of conflicting with them, their gender ideals enabled them to contribute towards the civilising mission without them being accused of deserting their duties and perceived obligations within the home. Highlighted throughout the conduct
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Someone I Once Knew
Your cheeks are like shallow graves in snow: pale, empty and gaunt. The silver lines of wrinkles, dried tears and worn out smiles rest heavily beneath your eyes, and your mouth is pulled into a permanent tight line.
Only now you're resting inside a chestnut shaded embrace. The smell of oak, lavendar and stale life evade my senses. Cracked skin tissue - death. It's all too consuming, yet you all I can feel is a hollowness. I'm like the cancer that broke your soul from your body, stretched your barriers until the arms of angels could only grant you peace.
Now you're someone I once knew, in a place I will never reach. Not even my tears can raise the ocean levels high enough, though my eyes sting from the friction. I only wish you knew the contents of my world before you left me so rudely; maybe then you would have kissed my forehead, and told me to not be afraid.
You were never there for me, yet I stand here crying for someone I once knew.
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 5 3
Train Wreck
I feel like a train wreck. or rather, the crumpled mess
of broken dreams, shattered teeth, palms clenched.
I feel the hands of death wrapped around my throat, the pulse
of my blood weakens as I stand, outside my terrified mind,
observing as I freeze.
The horror in my eyes.
Of course, before any consequence is a set of motions, like
steel wheels against a cold track. Disaster will strike
once the wheels become unbalanced. No one will ever stop to think
until the crash of metal against air
rings through their ears.
Why is no one moving?
Emotions ring through the atmosphere like a cold breeze,
breaking through the songs of birds and children. All I have now
is a vice grip playing with my heart, and ice. Memories -
feeling as though I have been here before.
Why won't you do something?
I'm the train wreck, caught off guard by a rock against my wheels
The grip of a man tightens around my throat. I can feel the anxiety
Five years. Four years. Three years. The self torture begins again.
If onl
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Atlantic World Essay
To what extent were people's daily lives in Britain shaped by the Atlantic World?
The study of the Atlantic World between the 1500s and 1800s has become a metaglobal sub-category of History which has sparked much interest from Historians, with focus upon the relationships between people and culture, communication, new politics and international relations as well as the influence of migration, the growth of empires and the ideologies, how each of the different cultures were introduced and received, and how the printing industry encouraged the circulation of ideas, for example how the New World was advertised in newspapers, as well as personal letters, border documents and official government records of slavery, deaths, marriages and employment levels throughout the populations. The growth of the Atlantic World reached its peek during the boom in trade industry, and its impact on economical development during the eighteenth century, with primary sources which have allowed Historia
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Mature content
On A Slate Tile Floor :iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Canon Ball
Winter was never my favourite season.
My heart's on pause, the blood in my veins
has stopped flowing the way it used to
Now it's like a dead-weight in my chest,
a stinging sensation at the back of my throat.
My secrets are black ink across a blue sky
waiting for the rain to show
And eventually it does
Black balloons across every nerve ending
I suffocate on helium
My senses become tangled and I spiral
Further between black balloons
Like a canon ball waiting to hit rock bottom
Eventually, I will
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 5 5
:iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
Christmas 2011 by the-photographicpoet Christmas 2011 :iconthe-photographicpoet:the-photographicpoet 0 0
All work is the work of İSammie Farrell and is under the protection of İ laws and regulations. You are not authorised to use my work unless I have given my written consent. Thank you.


deviantART's 11th BirthdAy: Let's Celebrate!

August 7th, 2011 marks deviantART's 11th birthdAy, but in true devious style, we're taking a whole week to celebrate! Our original plans for Deviants Appreciation Day were so huge that there was no possible way to express our love for the community in a mere 24 hours. Instead, we've created Deviants Appreciation Week, and what better time to host a week's worth of community-oriented events than in the days leading up to our birthdAy?

Each day this week, we have something special organized for you to participate in! Check out the schedule of events below to come party with us!

In Skribble, our latest community contest, we challenge
:iconheidi:Heidi 159 1,782
the office I hold by Memnalar the office I hold :iconmemnalar:Memnalar 9 33
Grommets for Hanging
The buildings so tightly packed that the roofs became a city unto themselves, new roofs erected from detritus hauled up from the streets below, built by human versions of same. Old rooftop was floor space now, shingled and tar-papered carpet subfloor under layers of cardboard bedding and lean-tos and currogated shacks thrown up against exhaust vents. The sun was blocked by endless tarpaulin of vinyl sheeting stitched with baling wire and shoestring and power cables from obsolete machines, held aloft by whatever the roof dwellers could prop up.
Cymbal was picking mushrooms under the blue light cast from noon sun filtered through the vinyl overhead. It had once hung on a commercial blimp advertising perfume, clear blue water in a crystal vial fashioned to look like intertwined lovers. Now the blue lovers were mildewed. Cymbal wiped dung from her gloves and hoisted her bag of harvest. It was lighter than she'd like.
She felt a furry brush at her ankle, and an impatient mreaow. Pud
:iconmemnalar:Memnalar 17 31
Paris::15d since last chat::0 New Messages
For months, I'd see her at the clinics for our injections, and online in the therapeutic forums. She kept the same odd hours as me. The others managed to find work on a routine schedule. Think-driving sanitation units, working the inbound tech support lines. Workaday, like regular humans. Safe.
Not us. We were always-on. It had been that way in the Gideon pilot pod, when we were all wired together, our minds fused into a single mosaic. I was intuition, stay a step-ahead of the enemy, guessing the next ten moves.
She was the logic center. She did the math. She was a cascade of formulae, speaking in burn calculations, fire rates, weapon heat signature ratios. She gave me the info I needed to make my lucky guesses.
The others got downtime during the long burns, then activated for combat. Not us. We were always-on.
Somewhere along the line, we got too old. All Gideon children get too old. Too big for the pods, too slow to adapt to the upgra
:iconmemnalar:Memnalar 21 21
Pale sunlight
peeks through the cotton tongue
of a ghost,
words dripping
as random as raindrops
on dusty pavement.
A needle dances
on grooved vinyl
in voices long since faded
from memory,
recalled only in the hollow chamber
of a mind
devoid of dreams.
Swaying on sunset hills,
caught in the wind,
amber flesh
through phantom fabric,
no more real
than the collapsing shape
of a fantasy,
the figure
trapped within the marble.
erased by the rising tide,
we move
through shrinking space
without motion,
falling through emptiness,
stones on water,
without consideration
of sinking.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 16 7
Make A Wish, Take A Bite by pullingcandy Make A Wish, Take A Bite :iconpullingcandy:pullingcandy 16 2
Sculpture of a man,
chiseled free from the slab.
A fine thing,
strong jawline and attentive eyes,
of the world before him.
Hands of such fine detail,
wrinkles and lines,
lives in the details
of his flaws.
Some men
hammer far too long,
and some
not nearly long enough.
Too much stone
trimmed from the form,
a man becomes weak,
shows the fractures
precipitating collapse.
Too little
and the man is trapped,
born into a prison
with no hope of escape,
frozen arms,
the hammer teases,
just out of reach.
And yet,
a man of stone,
no matter how exquisitely cut,
majestically shaped,
is not a man,
but a figurine,
a polished rock,
another fine,
useless thing.
:icondreamsinstatic:dreamsinstatic 18 12
Giving a purer sense to the
Dialect of the tribe, to get
The ecstasy and the heightening
Of the drug, the indolence, to
Lay hands upon all other hands
That I could, the sensation of
Ev'ry experience that I could,
The challenge of not only reading
But solving me, a draft of speech
of a lurid existence
Grown ashen and sober, this star
With pallor I mistrust - hasten,
Let us not linger,
Let us fly, for we must.
Oh! That my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awake'ning till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow
Lest the night be senescent
With the moon of its crescent,
Disrobed and fallow in its sorrow.
:iconjade-pandora:Jade-Pandora 8 4
Embrace The Madness
Don't escape your madness.
Don't try to bury it deep in the dark.
Don't hide it.
Don't ignore your rebellious heart.
Don't try to fit in.
Don't drown that madness in random shallow oceans.
Don't kill that spark.
Don't run from the storm in your mind.
Embrace it.
Embrace your madness.
Embrace yourself because you're one in a million and
no one can play your part, but you.
:iconfrostedqueen:FrostedQueen 67 6
Amy III by Aenea-Jones Amy III :iconaenea-jones:Aenea-Jones 1,249 36
How To Say Goodbye
Dear Unborn Child, Whom I Let Go;
When I was thirteen and four months old, and you were thirteen years younger, I decided to let you go. You squirmed in opposition beneath my ribcage, up against my pelvis, and I licked my lips and tried to smile while I leaned my forehead on the cool glass of the car, hellbound.
I remember sea weed insertion, dilation, cramps and bleeding. Orange smoothies from Dairy Queen that I threw up, and I hoped you were mingling in the remains of my summer day treat, so I could put this behind me. Pretend I was 'moving on'. I laid in the bathtub of a hotel room for six hours, trying to melt you away in scalding water from a rusty tap, yet you clung on, holding tightly to the walls of my pelvic region. Wiggling upwards, towards my throat. Past my teeth. You're trying to get out, but my family has decided you won't breathe when you're released from your bloody shackles; you may as well settle down now, sweet son, settle down.
The rest of this, to me, is a blur. Th
:iconpullingcandy:pullingcandy 906 1,206
Mon Petit Chaton by pullingcandy Mon Petit Chaton :iconpullingcandy:pullingcandy 206 80 Swimming With The Fishes by pullingcandy Swimming With The Fishes :iconpullingcandy:pullingcandy 58 29 Countess Bathory by h0tairballoons Countess Bathory :iconh0tairballoons:h0tairballoons 804 80 Unspoken by SukhRiar Unspoken :iconsukhriar:SukhRiar 977 190
The children misheard you.
They broke open the jar
looking for petals
and found only flours.
The dust is everywhere,
settling everywhere,
on the refrigerator and the stove,
on the startled mother cat
yowling her pawprints
through the snowy floor,
on her sharp-eared kittens
prancing in the clouds.
The three-year old is screaming.
He has cut his finger on the glass,
there are red streaks in the snow,
and his white-faced brother
stares up at you with a look
commonly reserved for
the confused and the betrayed.
:icongabrielgadfly:GabrielGadfly 276 47


:iconcrphotography: :iconda-treehouse: :iconpoets-n-prose: :icondeviantoftheyear:



the-photographicpoet's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
Hi I'm Sammie :wave:

I have a passion for social history and the study of art through time. I'm a geek when it comes to Victorian culture, and when I'm not researching for my degree I write poems and little snipbits of writing.

  • Listening to: Rita Ora - I will never let you down
Whenever I attempt to throw myself back into the wonderful community here on DeviantArt, life has a way of pulling me back to my nitty gritty reality. 
In all fairness, my life is going in a wonderful direction but I miss the creativity of this place, and so I will not promise to be back here for good, but I promise that I will make more of an effort with you wonderful creative hearts :heart:

Since graduating from the University of Derby, life has been pretty busy, and I won't bore you with all the details but here's what I have been up to (and hopefully this may explain my absence)

  • I was in a terrifying car crash in September 2014 which took a while to heal from, both emotionally and physically. Thankfully, I no longer have night terrors so I feel it has been put to bed now. 
    The crash prompted Rob for the next bullet point though, so it's not all bad!

  • I got engaged! Rob whisked me away to Tenerife on the 31st January 2015 and proposed. We get married on the 15th April 2017, and I cannot wait! :love: Throwing myself into wedding planning is my creative lease in life and I am hoping to build up on my career as a wedding and event planner in the future :fingerscrossed:

  • We bought our first home together last July, and it's awesome! I am obsessed with decoration and interior design magazines though, and redecorating at the same time as a new job and planning our wedding is tiring! :exhausted:
And that's about it... three very big changes in my life as well as the usual new jobs and a new kitty we have named Ginny (she is adorable!), life got ahead of me and now I am catching up and rediscovering me. 

I no longer write poetry as much as I want to and I no longer read as much as I need to, and so this is my promise to let life slow down a few notches and rediscover dA, and my love for all things creative. 

For now, my wonderful lovelies, I am going to scrawl through the recent deviation submissions and blogs you have all been posting recently. Much love :blowkiss:


Add a Comment:
LadyLincoln Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Wherever you are, I pray you have the happiest of birthdays.

Love you :heart:
dreamsinstatic Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2016
Thanks for the :+fav: :)
Jasperinity Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2015
Happy birthday! :D
Jade-Pandora Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2014
Sammieeeeeeeeee! .: glomp :. 

Sini Birthday  My wishes for you on your special day is that you have (and had, with the time change) the BESTEST HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVER!! :omghai:
:pokehug: With XOXOs (I miss you!)
birthdays Featured By Owner Dec 13, 2014
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

It's December 13th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW
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