A poem about autumn as the perfect metaphor for mental health.
My latest piece for Dear Damsels – which is not, for once, a poem! – shares the story of the ice cream van that made me cry on a regular basis during lockdown, and the hope it eventually brought.
This poem is for anyone who misses being close to someone, too. That time will come, but for now, let's think of drinking tea with them.
Each memory I make is usually plated up with some sort of delicious dish.
I've written a poem that's been included in Locked Write Down: a home-grown anthology of 22 poems written during the COVID-19 pandemic.
I wrote this poem quite early on in lockdown for a poetry submission on the theme of nature.
It didn't get picked, so I thought I'd share it on here. Waste not, want not!
It’s ironic, really, that during a time when we should be focused on the insides of our homes, I’m rediscovering my city.
I originally wrote this poem, Curtains Up, in support of Nuffield Southampton Theatres (NST) and their fundraising efforts, since they hold a place close to my heart. But really, this poem is for all theatres and performers.
You are so missed, and we will be there once again when the curtain goes up, ready to cheer you on.
Spring is all about movement: springing forward, and springing up; new life, new beginnings, moving on, growth, freshness. Even its synonyms are mobile: elasticity, bounce, hop, bound.
It’s ironic, then, that this year's spring is defined by stillness.
Any other weekend, I’d be out and about. But not this weekend. Not this week. Not this month. And not for the foreseeable.