‘Ah, bitter chill it was!’: John Keats, the winter Romantic
If these next months feel dreary and dark, as they undoubtedly will, do seek solace in the strange, mysterious world of Romantics.
Mother
"I waltzed in her arms down the high street"
Rules to Live By in Your New Home
"No 1. Label your collar
to avoid feeling ornamental."
Wings and Words: why you should read Grief Is The Thing With Feathers
Recalling the first time I read Grief, on a thankfully empty train, I’m very glad no one was present to witness what must have been a harrowing and confusing parade of expressions as I progressed. It’s a few hours I will never regret.
Four Panels and a Pen
"Find us together:
tiptoeing across the fanning pages
of a calendar."
A Story That Begins With Rain
"Under the bent thumb streetlight,
umbrella domes burst forth, splashing
rich nightfall
onto their neighbours."
On First Looking into Rupi Kaur’s ‘Home Body’
'bricolage applause as spoken word verses raining down like stardust'
Memory/Dream
'snippets of shared secrets, tied to a half forgotten memory'
Instead Of
"I won't have to close my eyes to remember your smile."
The Solidified People
"The people have solidified since the summer.
Seized up in the cold.
No longer fluid
Melting and melding together in the sun
They can be discerned as individuals now.
Separate entities two metres apart."
Still
"Even as you float
on panicked waves find
the caress of a thousand
petals softening you still."
Earthly Pleasures
"The sun hangs low in the sky like a ripe apple
as my bicycle zig-zags over the
thick paint-stripe shadows cast by the trees."
You’ll See Him
"Rain cracks its whip
Against the windows. The wielder: autumn.
From the cottage in the cleft of the foothills
You can see a flickering light, just out of sight
And it stains the blackest night."
Soil: On Digging a Hole
"A worm has beaten me to the hole I’m digging;
when I pull apart the soil, I find
a slender punctuation mark in the mud.
Its pink body threads through the dark clay."
