Are Your Words Empty, Or Am I Hollow?
(Young Poets Network, May 2020) https://ypn.poetrysociety.org.uk/workshop/the-climate-crisis-and-you-a-new-poetry-challenge/
You needn’t worry
Mother places her mantra in the palm
Of my hand and presses reassurance.
Then she lets go.
Her words slip through my fingers like
Water.
And I can’t be wasting water.
Temperatures surge to 25°C
It is April and we’re burning.
Run inside and switch the lights
Out, plugs off, silence.
They say I’d feel better for going
Outside.
But it’s April and we’re burning.
Schools Celebrate Earth Hour
Classes cease draining electrics.
Teachers bottle up hope to hand out
On recycled paper. We write over
Printed ink what we’d like to change;
The hour passes.
If we don’t want to keep our ideas we
May place them in only green bins.
Don’t waste
It was a busy morning and left
Unwashed was reusable Tupperware.
The price is paid unpacking a
Sandwich wrapped in cling-film.
Wildly emerging is a hundred
Scornful looks.
To eat or not to eat.
Stay in Education
It’s a Friday and my voice aches.
Travelling by bus, backpack and
A brutal call for action.
We march down branded roads
Among rumbling that almost
Feels as loud as change.
But below surface thoughts emerge,
Of exhausted landscapes…
What if Earth wants my
Silence instead?
Covent Garden
Last Stanza Poetry Journal (Last Stanza Poetry Press, July 2023)
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-Stanza-Poetry-Journal-Issue-ebook/dp/B0CBP72HZZ)
He takes my hand to lead us down
a sun-stained street as the humming
city settles itself into hanging pots.
Streetlamps stand watching,
curiously old and incredibly polite.
He carries in one palm
the weight of me like a Thursday
pint effortlessly tucked away to enjoy
on a yard bench, comfy as
cobblestones under dew blankets.
In my pockets, I hold memories
of being held in all the rose places,
believing I could learn life,
simple and pure. He makes coffee
every morning and keeps the night
warm, his arms like tavern coves.
I place myself under this shelter,
a girl no longer anxious in London.
Abroad in Thought
Colours of the Moon (Mosaique Press, September 2023)
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Colours-Moon-Artemesia-Competition-Anthology/dp/1906852669
Casa Milà, Barcelona
Where the walls curve is movement, my palm rests
On the limestone and electrons dance among themselves.
Had I been more intelligent... or smaller... or just thin
Air
My fingers would’ve dropped in like carbons,
Rising and falling beneath the balconies.
The architect mouthed nothing is invented
These walls arrive from watching waves
And
This house has not yet become. It retreats
And retreats further, back to an origin lying
Somewhere in the ribcage of a
Blue whale.
When I am inside and being digested I see
You
Staying whole, and he explains to me that this is normal.
Here you are a discovery to be left untouched,
Like the walls you have movement, lying in the stillness.
So I notice your arms, the joints angled like branches
Breaking out from the blossom trunk.
Thick green tears sprout from your hands but only fall
As orange flowers, slowed by the thin air.
Thin air holding carbon.
And if I were carbon, I’d fall again.
Disappearing through your wooden rib cage and
Retreating, retreating towards an origin and
Becoming
Secret Language
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New Voices Poetry Wildfire Words (Frosted Fire, September 2023)
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https://wildfire-words.com/nvanthology/
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It was everything I ever wanted, to not talk like the others.
Our vowels birthed themselves in brushings of hand, lip corners or the frequency
Of your foot tapping a skirting board. In winter we translated the anxiety
Like an old friend, washing up eggshell comforts whilst distilling our
Air of confusion. Perhaps, everything I have ever known could be reduced
To exhales in your sleep, I have traced each breath in silent gasps, an attempt
To temper your dreams. Other worlds have whispered I am
Foolish, at times, but how could I have foreseen
Your dilated pupils and childish coos as anything less than a fate string,
Still it is certain I die with you and so all these meanings
Of exchange and lingering must exist somewhere, all we
Won't speak about was it not disentangled? the night
We trespassed their perpendicular mouths
Extinguished
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New Voices Poetry Wildfire Words (Frosted Fire, September 2023)
​
https://wildfire-words.com/nvanthology/
​
​Knowledge was always far too
Adult to stomach, and harms the girl in
Small and cyclical ways–
For what she knows has grown into
Oblong shapes, and past, it stretches
Into the shadow of a house so
Naked and honest and horrific,
The reaper has his estimates:
Her mind will be extinguished soon
Enough, by the light of the world
She chased only to be left with
A stench of wax and a room full
Of consequences: some lives
Are too real for their owner,
Flesh arriving so warm that
She had to stop eating.
I follow the woman’s way,
Swallowing fibs and parallel universes
And diminishing with their vacuums.
I have shrunk with my aversion
To truth, as small as a white lie,
I find it all rather scientific, don’t you?
How I was killed off before the children.
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