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vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Vikki C.
@vikkicwrites.bsky.social
2.7K followers 1.2K following 1.2K posts
IN THE BLUEPRINT OF HER IRIS (IceFloe Press) | WHERE SANDS RUN FINEST| THE ART OF GLASS HOUSES| Bridport Prize 2025 Shortlist | Pushcart, BOTN, Orison BSL nominee | Contributing editor: The Winged Moon | IceFloe Press guest ed. ✨️

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Vikki C. @vikkicwrites.bsky.social · Sep 8
🔥 Now available for pre-order from @icefloepress.bsky.social 🔥

IN THE BLUEPRINT OF HER IRIS - A hybrid collaboration – my poems with stunning visual art by @rfredekenter.bsky.social. Exploring origins, heritage, ecologies & love amid our current crises.

icefloepress.net/in-the-bluep...
In The Blueprint of Her Iris – A Collaboration. Vikki C. (Poems) Robert Frede Kenter (Images)
Now Available for pre-order: In The Blueprint of Her Iris is a collaboration between Vikki C. (Poems) and Robert Frede Kenter (Images). It is 69 pages, full colour, 6″ x 9″ dimensions. …
icefloepress.net
Reposted by Vikki C.
rfredekenter.bsky.social
Snow Storm Boxing Day #Jukebox #jackjohnson #bskymusic #playlist #music #milesdavis 🎸🎺
@vikkicwrites.bsky.social @upfromsumdirt.bsky.social @icefloepress.bsky.social @danadelibovi.bsky.social @bimxie.bsky.social @ballastjournal.bsky.social
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3U_j...
Right Off
YouTube video by Miles Davis - Topic
www.youtube.com
December 26, 2025 at 6:50 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Merry Christmas and happy holidays to poets, artists and art lovers around the globe. May it be a season of health and creativity. Returning to the spirit of home— wherever you find home.. 🕯✨️

Right 📷 taken near Corinth last night.

#Athens #travel #Xmas #WritingCommunity @photohour.bsky.social
December 25, 2025 at 12:48 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
litbowl.bsky.social
Apologies for the strand of hair in the photo, which you have undoubtedly already tried to brush off your screen :)

From Jane Kenyon's Collected Poems: bit.ly/kenyonpoems

#poem #booksky #writing
December 24, 2025 at 3:35 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
rfredekenter.bsky.social
Frozen (2025) (c) Robert Frede Kenter
#images #vispo #art #ice #winter #artonbluesky
a seasonal image of frozen leaves and ice in a window. by Robert Frede Kenter (2025)
December 24, 2025 at 3:20 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
icefloepress.bsky.social
A brilliant new eco-cosmic poem from our Ice Floe guest editor and author Vikki. C. in @astrolabe.ooo (a new cool journal).

"butterflies loiter in a cold spell, confused between fall and the next life" @vikkicwrites.bsky.social
vikkicwrites.bsky.social Vikki C. @vikkicwrites.bsky.social · 5d
Honoured to have a new poem out with the cosmic and beautiful @astrolabe.ooo!

Huge thank you to editors Joel, Jae and Astrid for including my poem 'Elegy for a Grown World' in the Winter 2025 materialisation 'The Clepsydra' alongside so many luminous works 🌌

www.astrolabe.ooo/c-elegy-for-...
Elegy for a Grown World Materialized by Vikki C. 21/12/2025. Of course there were others. Juvenile planets we fantasised, laid on our bare backs, dust streaming from our eyes—long before the train ride to meet each other again. To witness that trick of light along the river. The game we played of loving straightforwardly, past the silos, where smog equaled nostalgia and red skies triggered a girlhood alarm. Past fishless reservoirs and heronless fog, years later—the keening of icecaps against our knees. A fugue that blues the ear, straining to hear the whale’s song—fainter now from starvation. Still, we follow the river, seeking what we had to leave—the dark lake with two lilies at its navel, the summer of grapefruit the size of volleyballs, we halved—worms crawling out like drunken guests. Now, the knife just opens up two thick silences—white at the rind of its creased mouth. Who is holding out our halves to us these days? Is this why the river runs away? How I love you in reverse—before taxes and tallness, before towers, and bricks like loose teeth, raining on a parade. There’s a district now where the sky powders against the nape. A postmemory—the dear friend held in exile. The voice dredged of nectar, as butterflies loiter in a cold spell, confused between fall and the next life. Are these instructions for an emergency? Where to gather and crouch so the hawk-drone won’t mistake our pleasure for the animal kind—windwhipped on soft, bent limbs? It’s a game—you unname me, and we coax each other into the flow, which is sometimes a trick of old light that arrives because you are here, heaping sugar into your anxious brew, reading the news about another great flood. The waterline rising along the river that hasn’t yet vanished in your eyes. It is there, just harder now. A field of snow or lace in a fragile Pacific bowl, tilted towards my lap—and you, saying how it was always true and crystalline. Never just a game of languid bodies, sinking into too-soft depths.
December 24, 2025 at 3:13 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
rfredekenter.bsky.social
love this myth-story.... Athena and the limestone mountain. Blessings @vikkicwrites.bsky.social Ty for sharing your journey with everyone. 💐
vikkicwrites.bsky.social Vikki C. @vikkicwrites.bsky.social · 3d
Climbed Mount Lycabettus, the summit being the highest point in Athens. Mythologically, Lycabettus is said to have been created by Athena when she dropped a limestone mountain she'd been carrying for the construction of the Acropolis.

Stunning panorama & an amazing strawberry milkshake.

#Athens
December 24, 2025 at 3:08 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Today's ruined beauties: The Temple of Apollo at Ancient Corinth, The Acrocorinth, and Palamidi Castle. The last two involved challenging climbs on perilous stony terrain—but totally worth the views 🖤 📷

#Corinth #Greece #ruins #castles #WritingCommunity #poetrycommunity @photohour.bsky.social
December 24, 2025 at 2:44 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Thank you for another wondrous year of TTT creativity @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social and @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social Here are 3 of my "best" TTT contributions from 2025.

Much light to all poets and readers for the holidays. 🕯

To many more seasons of magic ✨️

#writingcommunity #poetry #imagist
INTUITION Sometimes you lie down, pretend you haven’t forgotten how to bind your wrists to the bloodshot grasses. Crawl only in the mind— gypsum limbs, belly thick with nectar. I’m told, when still, I have Father’s kind eyes, & Mother’s harpoon tongue. O but that blue crossing between heart & lips—streaks of—sure, we’re loved, wholly. These lashes—bent oriental fans shielding from touch, or plight rarely. What I recall mostly happened elsewhere; mouth stuffed with figs sudden flood, a fire keening under the fingernails. Lesson one— when the beast arrives I’m not worth it when I lie it snows—or I’ve no place to go. Vikki C. Ars Poetica: Whitby Abbey, late autumn I begin with what I cannot lose. Despite stained-glass, & injury. Despite repetition. We sail into the next ruin, anxious of losing meaning —keep the haloed figure within eye-range. Time elongates—cities constrict, & rain mimics every device in one fell swoop. The guests already know the exits. Archways of sumac, red with refusal —another crack at devotion. Most gaze skyward. I genuflect over century-wet marble, see a swallow angling the world. Others close their eyes—& aim. Vikki C. I held on once, because you showed me the yellow scaffold leftover-lore braiding lumen-high bees before turning stone broke against the pantheon's teeth still I—waste I—refuse the nature of ruin, contaminated by a shine worth jading. Vikki C.
December 23, 2025 at 1:42 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Thank you for another wondrous year of TTT creativity @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social and @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social Here are 3 of my "best" TTT contributions from 2025.

Much light to all poets and readers for the holidays. 🕯

To many more seasons of magic ✨️

#writingcommunity #poetry #imagist
INTUITION Sometimes you lie down, pretend you haven’t forgotten how to bind your wrists to the bloodshot grasses. Crawl only in the mind— gypsum limbs, belly thick with nectar. I’m told, when still, I have Father’s kind eyes, & Mother’s harpoon tongue. O but that blue crossing between heart & lips—streaks of—sure, we’re loved, wholly. These lashes—bent oriental fans shielding from touch, or plight rarely. What I recall mostly happened elsewhere; mouth stuffed with figs sudden flood, a fire keening under the fingernails. Lesson one— when the beast arrives I’m not worth it when I lie it snows—or I’ve no place to go. Vikki C. Ars Poetica: Whitby Abbey, late autumn I begin with what I cannot lose. Despite stained-glass, & injury. Despite repetition. We sail into the next ruin, anxious of losing meaning —keep the haloed figure within eye-range. Time elongates—cities constrict, & rain mimics every device in one fell swoop. The guests already know the exits. Archways of sumac, red with refusal —another crack at devotion. Most gaze skyward. I genuflect over century-wet marble, see a swallow angling the world. Others close their eyes—& aim. Vikki C. I held on once, because you showed me the yellow scaffold leftover-lore braiding lumen-high bees before turning stone broke against the pantheon's teeth still I—waste I—refuse the nature of ruin, contaminated by a shine worth jading. Vikki C.
December 23, 2025 at 1:42 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Climbed Mount Lycabettus, the summit being the highest point in Athens. Mythologically, Lycabettus is said to have been created by Athena when she dropped a limestone mountain she'd been carrying for the construction of the Acropolis.

Stunning panorama & an amazing strawberry milkshake.

#Athens
December 23, 2025 at 12:35 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
blackboughpoetry.bsky.social
A loyalty reward only for writers who have bought this year's Black Bough Christmas- Winter anthology. An exclusive submission window for next year's anthology on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day.

As ever, please read guidance closely!

blackboughpoetry.com/events
December 23, 2025 at 12:02 AM
Reposted by Vikki C.
blackboughpoetry.bsky.social
☃️🔔Our Christmas Newsletter 🎅❄️

www.blackboughpoetry.com/so/0bPj8aU4v?languageTag=en
BLACK BOUGH UPDATE 2025
CHRISTMAS / NEW YEAR 2025/26
www.blackboughpoetry.com
December 23, 2025 at 1:23 AM
Reposted by Vikki C.
litbowl.bsky.social
What better poem for the first day, and first Sunday, of winter?

Happy solstice, everyone. From Robert Hayden's Collected Poems.

#poem #books #writing
December 21, 2025 at 4:34 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Goodbye Santorini 🩶

Was ambitious enough to drive around the island — pastoral allure, Aegean splendour, black sand beaches, ornate Byzantine churches, somber dusks, and many beautiful cats.

Sound on 🔈

Music: The Dormant Miracle by Vikki C. 🎹

#WritingCommunity #Greece #Santorini #Aegean
December 22, 2025 at 7:25 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Goodbye Santorini 🩶

Was ambitious enough to drive around the island — pastoral allure, Aegean splendour, black sand beaches, ornate Byzantine churches, somber dusks, and many beautiful cats.

Sound on 🔈

Music: The Dormant Miracle by Vikki C. 🎹

#WritingCommunity #Greece #Santorini #Aegean
December 22, 2025 at 7:25 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
icefloepress.bsky.social
Today we are honored to welcome Egyptian poet Amirah Al Wassif to Ice Floe New Works Dec. With art by @rfredekenter.bsky.social
#poetsonbluesky #poem #Egypt
"I imagined Eve dreaming...I pictured her with one eye open and one eye closed, like a resting wolf."
icefloepress.net/2025/12/22/t...
Three Poems – Amirah Al Wassif
Ode To Eve I still recall the last time I spoke to an alien, or perhaps merely imagined it to be so. It happened immediately after the first drops of blood—later known as menstruation—appeared. I c…
icefloepress.net
December 22, 2025 at 5:15 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
veronikafuchs.bsky.social
An old one, Blue Morning.

I'm thinking about the morning light. The earth shifts and fractionally, each day, more light will wash over us, even in the depths of winter.
Painting: blurred sky and earth in bright dark blue (and slightly pinkish) tones, the lower the darker.
December 21, 2025 at 6:28 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Honoured to have a new poem out with the cosmic and beautiful @astrolabe.ooo!

Huge thank you to editors Joel, Jae and Astrid for including my poem 'Elegy for a Grown World' in the Winter 2025 materialisation 'The Clepsydra' alongside so many luminous works 🌌

www.astrolabe.ooo/c-elegy-for-...
Elegy for a Grown World Materialized by Vikki C. 21/12/2025. Of course there were others. Juvenile planets we fantasised, laid on our bare backs, dust streaming from our eyes—long before the train ride to meet each other again. To witness that trick of light along the river. The game we played of loving straightforwardly, past the silos, where smog equaled nostalgia and red skies triggered a girlhood alarm. Past fishless reservoirs and heronless fog, years later—the keening of icecaps against our knees. A fugue that blues the ear, straining to hear the whale’s song—fainter now from starvation. Still, we follow the river, seeking what we had to leave—the dark lake with two lilies at its navel, the summer of grapefruit the size of volleyballs, we halved—worms crawling out like drunken guests. Now, the knife just opens up two thick silences—white at the rind of its creased mouth. Who is holding out our halves to us these days? Is this why the river runs away? How I love you in reverse—before taxes and tallness, before towers, and bricks like loose teeth, raining on a parade. There’s a district now where the sky powders against the nape. A postmemory—the dear friend held in exile. The voice dredged of nectar, as butterflies loiter in a cold spell, confused between fall and the next life. Are these instructions for an emergency? Where to gather and crouch so the hawk-drone won’t mistake our pleasure for the animal kind—windwhipped on soft, bent limbs? It’s a game—you unname me, and we coax each other into the flow, which is sometimes a trick of old light that arrives because you are here, heaping sugar into your anxious brew, reading the news about another great flood. The waterline rising along the river that hasn’t yet vanished in your eyes. It is there, just harder now. A field of snow or lace in a fragile Pacific bowl, tilted towards my lap—and you, saying how it was always true and crystalline. Never just a game of languid bodies, sinking into too-soft depths.
December 21, 2025 at 6:53 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Honoured to have a new poem out with the cosmic and beautiful @astrolabe.ooo!

Huge thank you to editors Joel, Jae and Astrid for including my poem 'Elegy for a Grown World' in the Winter 2025 materialisation 'The Clepsydra' alongside so many luminous works 🌌

www.astrolabe.ooo/c-elegy-for-...
Elegy for a Grown World Materialized by Vikki C. 21/12/2025. Of course there were others. Juvenile planets we fantasised, laid on our bare backs, dust streaming from our eyes—long before the train ride to meet each other again. To witness that trick of light along the river. The game we played of loving straightforwardly, past the silos, where smog equaled nostalgia and red skies triggered a girlhood alarm. Past fishless reservoirs and heronless fog, years later—the keening of icecaps against our knees. A fugue that blues the ear, straining to hear the whale’s song—fainter now from starvation. Still, we follow the river, seeking what we had to leave—the dark lake with two lilies at its navel, the summer of grapefruit the size of volleyballs, we halved—worms crawling out like drunken guests. Now, the knife just opens up two thick silences—white at the rind of its creased mouth. Who is holding out our halves to us these days? Is this why the river runs away? How I love you in reverse—before taxes and tallness, before towers, and bricks like loose teeth, raining on a parade. There’s a district now where the sky powders against the nape. A postmemory—the dear friend held in exile. The voice dredged of nectar, as butterflies loiter in a cold spell, confused between fall and the next life. Are these instructions for an emergency? Where to gather and crouch so the hawk-drone won’t mistake our pleasure for the animal kind—windwhipped on soft, bent limbs? It’s a game—you unname me, and we coax each other into the flow, which is sometimes a trick of old light that arrives because you are here, heaping sugar into your anxious brew, reading the news about another great flood. The waterline rising along the river that hasn’t yet vanished in your eyes. It is there, just harder now. A field of snow or lace in a fragile Pacific bowl, tilted towards my lap—and you, saying how it was always true and crystalline. Never just a game of languid bodies, sinking into too-soft depths.
December 21, 2025 at 6:53 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
astrolabe.ooo
The Clepsydra is live! As the year runs out, we hope you'll thieve away some time to spend with this wonderful group of prose, poetry, and artwork.

astrolabe.ooo

featuring...
@vikkicwrites.bsky.social
@binhdaur.bsky.social
@susanllin.bsky.social
Nnadi Samuel
Lisa Dailey
Didem Arslanoglu
A group of blue-green dots on a dark blue background with lines between them to denote the shape of a "constellation" of Clepsydra Astrolabe Winter 2025 -- Nnadi Samuel - "Honeysuckle; From Lugard's white, scented Hands" & "The Field of my Person, A Thing to be Conquered" Vikki C. - "Elegy for a Grown World" Susan L. Lin - "She Had Her Head in the Attic" Lisa Dailey - "Under the Sea" Binh Do - "The Angel of History" Didem Arslanoglu - "Nine"
December 21, 2025 at 6:09 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
litbowl.bsky.social
I love a poem that ends perfectly.

From Amanda Moore's book, Requeening: bookshop.org/a/862/9780063096288

#poetry #books #writing
December 20, 2025 at 3:43 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Beautiful otherworldly frame to today's breathtaking, windswept 10km hike along the Santorini caldera rim. The water cratar lake tideless and still, bearing the appearance of deep, blue silk.

Full sequence on IG 📷

@photohour.bsky.social #photography #caldera #poetrycommunity #artistcommunity
December 20, 2025 at 6:50 PM
Reposted by Vikki C.
susanlleary.bsky.social
Amie Whittemore 💙

“What I know of love fits inside my mouth.”

from HESITATION WALTZ (MWC Press)

@amiewhittemore.bsky.social
ghosting elegy The air smells soft today and of the past, redbuds dispersing their ruby secrets, myself among them. I kept the body taut with thirst, so that it thrived without. Then, this new man, suspect as always, showed up, glinting like he knew which songs I liked. What I know of him fits within my palms: his twin scars but not their cause. His lamb's wool voice and canvas shoes. A lavender net. What I know of love fits inside my mouth. The air smells soft today and of the past. I robe myself in gray and green. Some come to us in the perfection of their frailty, some leave us by it.
December 20, 2025 at 4:21 AM
Reposted by Vikki C.
icefloepress.bsky.social
Today NEW WORKS DEC: 3 poems by award-winning emerging #Nigeria #poet Ayiyi Joel w #vispo by EIC/curator @rfredekenter.bsky.social
The day will open again like a petal and everyone will wash their dishes and press their clothes and bring bread to their longing mouth
icefloepress.net/2025/12/19/t...
Three Poems – Ayiyi Joel /Art – Robert Frede Kenter
Soft Haibun It begins with love, I tell you— Romeo Oriogun Everything begins somewhere, somehow, and ends somewhere, somehow. But for its season goes on and on. Your mouth, heavy with a cold tale, …
icefloepress.net
December 19, 2025 at 5:01 PM
vikkicwrites.bsky.social
Beautiful Santorini 💙

#Greece #ocean #photography @photohour.bsky.social #poetrycommunity #artistcommunity
December 19, 2025 at 3:49 PM