Lamenting the loss of even the less-than-shiny aspects of a family Christmas, and yearning for time with loved ones - even if it does mean arguments, discomfort and awkward moments.
A poem about autumn as the perfect metaphor for mental health.
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.
Any other weekend, I’d be out and about. But not this weekend. Not this week. Not this month. And not for the foreseeable.
The latest prompt from Dear Damsels was 'Open' - which immediately conjured up images of vulnerability and self-protection. The idea of an anenome sprung to mind instantly; and so I sat down, and began to write. This poem is the result.
Talking is a hugely important part of normalising discussions surrounding mental health, breaking down barriers and making change possible.
But there is so much more to be done.
Love isn't all fanfares and flowers, or fantasies and fancy dates.
I am posting this the morning after the 2019 General Election. For many, now is not a very celebratory time; however, here's a poem I wrote about exactly that. Celebration.
One of my favourite things to discover is the origin of a word or phrase we use every day.
Autumn has well and truly arrived. The rain has been almost relentless over the last week, the skies are perpetually grey, and all of a sudden the pavements are darker and damper and coated in leaves.