I've spent the last couple of years raising money and awareness for various mental health charities, and promoting the events that happen (Time To Talk amongst others.) I also cycled for Mind last year and raised £500 whilst completing the RideLondon 46: thank you again to everybody who supported and helped cheer me on during … Continue reading The Shape I’m In
No regrets about the crap pun in verse #5 ❤ Moss Small, flowerless plant seedless, simple leaves: clumped stems surprisingly dense. Dispersed on swift winds, beautifully fragile spores; yet hardy, stubborn. Cracks between old stones, surviving dessication: liquid renewal. Comfortable bed, thermal insulation, or growing medium. Moss’ sterling work untold uses: shady greens, non-vascular stars.
This week's micro-poetry was, it has to be said, summat of a triumph. That first line is what does it, of course: start strong, they say. Amazingly, the rest then pretty much wrote itself. Some weeks, you just get lucky, I suppose. Mantis Confession: I ate him, slightly tart, filling sex, then stomach; no regrets … Continue reading Poetry Archive :: Mantis
We're having fun over the next four weeks by doing quite literal interpretations of our subject matters. In this case, it was incredibly easy to throw together five verses on the literal essence of laurel, both historically and medicinally. This worked far better than I'd initially expected it to, so much so it'll be fun to … Continue reading Poetry Archive :: Laurel
April for poetry isn't just themed, it is the beginning of an intentional process of detachment. My brain, built as it is, has an almost obsessive need sometimes for order and control. However, increasing amounts of current poetry is anything but: free-form verse, little or no controlled structure, simply feelings falling from brain to page. … Continue reading Poetry Archive :: Jungle
Yesterday, I filled in a survey for a large organisation who, if I'm honest, was never set up to deal with the likes of me. The girl with anxiety issues, constant bouts of Impostor Syndrome, fear of failure and inability to understand what other people are talking about, on her worst days, puts the cause … Continue reading Alone Again Or
Love is still horrible, unsurprisingly. The original version of this poem can be found here. Nobody But You Now, departed: mind desolate: understanding, our love is over. All passion desires out of reach: estranged moments, cold, empty feelings. Every day, torture realisation; final line drawn, completed. Point of no return, old path blocked: accept failure … Continue reading Poetry Archive :: Nobody but You [Redux]