Reality Recovery Revival

05/10/2026

Flotsam

I saw the stained ceiling
with a colourless sky and iridescent clouds
and a sign etched with featherless fear.
I notched dreams in alphabetical order
on wooden stairway knots
and through the solitude of an open doorway,
watched chasing butterflies
on their way to somewhere—
where bees of better days
fly
through scattered errors
with their finders-keepers eyes
and effortless spoils of love.
Dreams robed in white
float as flotsam orbs in my
garden’s glow—
below and above the
horizon, I pen with the mightiest, most tender words of reason. AM 051026 Photo: Nacula Island 🏝️ Fiji 2019🗿 💜

25/09/2026

💜

13/09/2026

Shining in the dark illumination, a light screams with the rumble of a million purrs 💜

08/09/2026

As usual, the world outside disappeared and solace’s cadence emerged from within the shell of her untouchable soulscape, and she whispered - Forever beyond the forever of forever, there’s a foreverness worthy of your love 💜 🇨🇾 ❤️

28/08/2026

Some of you know that I’ve set myself the Robin Hood Half Marathon challenge on 27th September for the Richard Whitehead Foundation 🫶🏼 If you’re able to make any contribution to improving the lives of more disabled people, the link to my justgiving page is below 💜

Help Allison Mulvany raise money to support The Richard Whitehead Foundation

27/08/2026

Nourish
If the wild cannot be wild
in a world of fallen space,
then the childless woman
shall nurse the offspring
of ignoramuses—
until fostering dries up
past all reasonable drought,
and mothers scream their dreams,
until we all nourish with ease 💜 💞

16/08/2026

🤍😇💜

10/08/2026

Truth found in nostrils of curious strangers is lost in essence of fragrant cloud
on a dewy spring day— where, in reality, the rested are as content as now 🌹 💜

07/08/2026

Where the Corn Crake Sings -
Somewhere in Ireland where the sun rises all day,
I picked up my quill to scribble a play.
I wrote of yesterday’s poets in heavy green gowns,
Of children running amok to mothers with frowns.
As I paused for thought to gather chapters and verse,
Something washed through me to relinquish old hurts.
I saw tears of actors acting out loud, Shoeless toddlers sat in the crowd,
People on stages with cloudy dank eyes,
Display of all innocence in great disguise.
As I began to scrawl on fresh leaf of time,
Recalling old stories of wrongs and thy rights
I made peace with dull memories, Gallows laughter and disdain;
Then slowly leaned back and let go of my pain.
As I looked deep within the place I call home,
The stage bell rang and soft curtain raised
To revolving doors closed on mothers in graves,
I then heard a loud whisper from lit theatre wings:
“Somewhere in Ireland, the corn crake sings.” ©2026 Allison Mulvany 💜