HeyJaredThe Journal of Charlotte Balladine
Come and Belong with Me in the Land of Balladine...the Land of Poetry, Journal Entries and Rhyme.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 21, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
The Arrow of Hatshepsut (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIn Deir el Bahri she claimed the Earth Her own! The rumbling desert sky was shaped By the bending body of the Goddess Nut In the evening. The regal wingspan Of Horus swam in the sun's gleaning morning Lights. The Pharaoh's figure noted a dearth Of masculine ardour, soft skin woven, wrapped Gently round the wind that kissed papyrus. A rut Is where any other psyche would have ran, Had they not represented the vision of Kingly
A Prayer For No More Death This Week -- (opens the original)
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(In memory of these four great icons we lost in July and August, 2026. Thank you for all of the unrelenting love, compassion and brilliance you gave to the Earth). A brief prayer to the heavens made By my spirit breathing today — No more death of icons, this cascade Of mortality is quite enough! — I say — Take no more from the Earth: Nirmal Purja, Yayoi Kusama, Dolly Parton and Tim Curry All now ascended, I fear no birth Of goodness can come soon. Hurry Soon, dear Angels, our middle-worldIs uphe
Nobody Told Me Surviving Would Feel Like...This. (opens the original)
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The terrible thing about surviving is the guilt that lives in your bones. The many who were smarter, kinder, stronger than you — interred beneath the grass. And you have the privilege of roaming amongst the bushels, the daffodils, the clouds that speak anew.Let us take a hypothetical circumstance, that we may reflect on the importance of honouring the heroic journey of overcoming suffering. Take a young woman, unable to rest due to economic or domestically unsafe circumstances.She toils in reckl
An unsolicited anecdote: why I recite poetry. (opens the original)
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A Sonnet: No Longer (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe flower and the thorn hold nectar sweet, Yet my fingers and my thumb are covered In blood. These roots of stained memories bleat Into the night, and those petals smothered In dirtied hands. This field is a lost past Unworthy of life’s Breath… it must be fled By the soul who seeks Beauty’s garden, vast And impenetrable. All that is said By me (a youth in that common plot) Remains: “that I may be as I am, true And kind, nev
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