Poetry | Kind Regards

An ode to Mary in a trio of poems


To …

Re …

From Mary 

Twinkles long left dull grey eyes

Closed minds, mirrors –

I see them.

I twiddle my thumbs – centuries.

They don’t see me.

A tsunami of anger – envy.

Distance: the space between the sand and the sea.

Crashing down, they leave

Me alone again. Waves pull back 

A rush of wind, through burnt orange skies.

As leaves fall, hearts empty.

Behind a mirror, so much I can’t see

A glass ceiling between you and me 

I watch, you laugh, still, I can’t see the world. 

Only see it as you show me, glimpses of your life 

Games of schoolgirls, giggles and fear –

Mary behind a mirror.

Watching the world burn

Stakes lit because of me. 


To …

Re Mary

From …

She’s alone, our Mary held captive in a tower long after death

Her heart stuck between heaven and hell

Taunts of school girls holding candles to enlighten the misery in her face

Echo of the long lost queen, reduced to a figment of our collective imagination. 

A catalyst of giggles and a humble fear

Mirror mirror on the wall,

Who’s the one to which we all call

The lonely queen.

A sea of blood follows wherever she goes, an appellation that transcends her reign.

That damned mirror an anchor to this world, unable to ascend to the heavenly world above.

A row of stakes lighting up the fiery hair, a crown holds grasp to her roots. 

They say you die when the last person says your name,

Let’s let our Mary die in peace.  


To Mary 

Re …

From …

Mirrors always freaked me out

Eyes lost beneath my own 

Does my reflection reflect back at you?

Do you see yourself too?

Perhaps after centuries, you’ve just closed your eyes

The horrors of your life 

Blood and tragedies

Is it fun being Queen?

A bejewelled crown pushing you down 

into a grave dug early.

I guess you knew no different. 

Now, stuck behind a mirror

Answering the taunts of little girls 

Sketches of an exaggerated fear.

But how do you feel Mary? After all these years?

I guess no ones ever asked you that

You were queen and did as you had to do, 

I mean the murder was hardly necessary, but I guess we can move past that.

Now you exist as a gimmick, a party trick of sorts,

A cruel twist of fate – a perpetual vanity turned inwards. 

So Bloody Mary, Queen of Scots, I ask you how you’ve been. 

I do hope you’ve been well, but if that’s not the case

I sit behind a mirror, call out to me if you need a friend.

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