The rolling waves remind me that everything can be reborn. That is the beauty of the beach - every tide brings with it something new. A shell washed up becomes a treasure for someone else.
Read More
There is sound everywhere you turn, a constant buzz that never ceases to quieten, even in the middle of the night. It swells and flows throughout the day, meandering through the throngs of people all in a rush to be some place else.
Read More
There is something the poem can tell us about the body and something the body can tell us about the poem.
Read More
This is part five of the Ataxia series. To read part four, click here
Read More
I wrote ‘Owed Summer’ to remember what a Summer free of restrictions feels like, and how our generation is missing these shared experiences. It is also about how we grow, after living for so long without these experiences; touching friends, seeing live music, the pull of a communal pool of people.
Read More
I wrote a similar poem years ago, called Another Generation. It was about a friend who was upset at herself for overspending on make up while in debt; that poem is embarrassingly outdated now, so I have re written it and changed it. This one adds in my recent efforts for minimising my life, both digitally and physically.
Read More
Rick paused, his hand on the doorknob, breathing in a slow, deep and deliberate breath. He knew, just knew, the way you sometimes do, deep in your guts, that the next few minutes were going to have an immense bearing on the rest of his life.
Read More
I remember first reading Jay Bernard’s ‘Surge’ – and then reading it again, and again, and again. Not just because it was my assigned reading for that week of my module, but because the words struck such a powerful chord within me.
Read More
Zelda seems to be most remembered for being ‘Fitzgerald’s crazy, untamable wife’, rather than the impressive writer and painter she was in her own right.
Read More
Opening up the first pages of The Bloody Chamber in my A-Level Literature class, I was not expecting to discover a lifelong love of Angela Carter, a writer who has had so much influence for me.
Read More
To read the first part of this series, ‘A Question Of Now’, click here.
Read More
They leant their bikes against the mouth of the cave, sheltering from the weather. The change from the breathing forest to the stagnant air in the cave was not particularly pungent but noticeable. From the mouth, the cave led off in a fairly straight direction and, in the dim light, the two women could just about see a smaller tunnel meandering off to the right.
Read More
It's been a year since the UK went into lockdown. We asked our contributors to submit their poetry they have written during this ‘unprecedented’ year.
Read More
It is enough
that Sarah wanted to walk.
To take her time through the night.
To go safely home.
Read More
‘OK so we have to numb the area first before we start snipping. Are you OK with that?’
“Am I OK with that? Yes! Yes! Numb away! Please! Lot’s of numbing! Do not hold back on the numbing!”
Read More
I’m a middle aged women, married to a wonderful man. We have gifted, talented, open-hearted daughters. I am loved by those who love me - and that is what matters.
Read More
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivious host
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live, like vapours tossed
Read More
Brenda O’Lox sighed: she was conscious she’d sighed live on air but was getting a little fed-up.
Read More