June 2, 2018

everything you do is a ritual
you hold death on the back of your eyelids,
feel hands where there aren’t

you can be a wild animal
if you want to be
after all this time,
i am scared because i should be

Sophia Tempest Parsons


June 2, 2018

barefoot on the sand

An endless variety of women in this world, all different, but all women. Life always finds a way to play them, doesn’t it, like a favourite CD, but one where the tracks are all new and have never been heard before. Yet they are made of blood and emotion and light. You will never play them; you will only ever touch them and then only for a moment or two. You can knock them down, drag them in the dirt, but they will always rise again. An extra scar, an illusion demolished, perhaps, but their heart still full of dreams; and to those of you who do not understand this, know that their life is a simple game of mirrors reflecting only the truth of what they are – beautiful, creative infinity!

Gray Wolf


You’ve got to have something to say, but you don’t always know what it is. It’s often just some words in your head that you think could be a line of a poem, so you write them down and see where it goes. One of the major misconceptions about poetry is that the poet has some kind of agenda and intentions, not just that some words come into their head and then they start playing with them and seeing where they go. Because sometimes I will try to write a poem and it just comes out dead because there isn’t really anything that’s deeply felt or worth saying. One thing that makes poems work is strong emotion, and I remember hearing James Berry, I think it was, saying that one characteristic of a good poet is that they feel things intensely, and he said: “Of course poets are not the only people who feel things intensely, but it is one of the qualities,” and I think that’s true.

Wendy Cope
On writing: authors reveal the secrets of their craft
The Guardian, 26th March 2011