Category: Journal

Girl in front of waves

Freedom Renga

dancing around the fire singing loudly at the moon run swiftly through the rain laughing at my carefree life loving all the joy it brings refreshingly unlike reality away from the noise I find you in the quiet place waiting my snake curling tree trunk from forest, hear hiss, slither, smooch white sail against sky …

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Flowers Out of Dark: Becoming Blodeuwedd

bud splits petals unfurl limbs untangle from oak, meadowsweet, broom. i am girl woman, woman girl, wirl goman, from flowers fretty plowers was flowers, no more flowers, i touch skin with fingerends, blood throbs in criss-cross lines, hot. “eat,” they say, holding out tree fruit, free truit, juice pings zings dings my fat wet tongue …

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Writer’s Notebook: Butterfly

Butterfly I watch a butterfly die in the corner where the window frame meets the sill. Dark green specks of mould against peeling red paint. I hug my knees closer to my chest. Its wings shiver and puff and flicker against the glass pane. As the breeze of blue and shock of yellow rise and …

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Girl looking at sun

Writer’s Notebook: If The Rain Never Fell Again

This is one from the archives; something I wrote at Andie Lewenstein’s creative writing class so many years ago. I thought about punctuating it properly before posting here, but decided to leave it the way I wrote it – fast and furious. It feels relevant today in this heat, although I hear rain may be on …

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heart concrete poetry

Writing Exercise: What Warms Your Heart?

I used this writing exercise in my recent body-inspired creative writing workshops in the bookshop. Set your timer for 10 minutes and write freely to the prompt – what warms your heart? Don’t think about what you write too much, don’t worry about spelling and grammar and follow your train of thought wherever it leads you. Then, …

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Writer’s Notebook: Cape Cod Evening

I wrote this poem at a workshop in response to Cape Cod Evening, 1939 by Edward Hopper. Cape Cod evening Night blue soaked the trees like ink. The sun left traces on the whispering grass kneelength. He didn’t come home that night or any night. Night blue soaked her body like the trees. Face lost. The …

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