Lemonade Anemone

I’ve picked a silly one to start off the New Year! I recently revised this poem, in the hopes of performing it at SMUT in Nottingham. SMUT is a really cool poetry open mic that focuses on themes of love, sex and relationships. I wanted to read this poem out at their September 2023 event, but I didn’t manage to make it along in the end. So, you’re getting first dibs! Crumbs about two women and the obsession with biscuits that comes between them. Give it a cheeky read, and let me know what you think!  Crumbs  Some women live for football and some women love their wine, some women seem quite normal when you chat them up online.  But this girl wasn’t into kinky sex, or sport, or fashions. No, slightly more prosaic were her own obsessive passions.   The sight of diamonds didn't leave her blinded, like a rabbit; this girl had one fixation – an enormous biscuit habit! Our first date was a little odd – she called me up from Aldi to tell me she was stocking up on Nice and Garibaldi. I offer

Look, it just isn’t working. After all, I am  a woman and you? You are a huge sphere  of rock, tracing an elliptical orbit through space.  We’re from different worlds. You circumvent the  earth at two-thousand, two hundred and eighty-eight  miles per hour, and I just can’t keep up  with you. You’ve been so distant lately, but  two-hundred and fifty thousand miles is distance  enough for anyone. And I know you are wonderful.  The nights we spent together were glorious. But when  I don’t see you for weeks of cloudy skies  I start to feel jealous of the stars. Let me start again: I love the way you borrow the light of others  and reflect it back to them. You are so generous,  but we both know this isn’t going to pan out. Maybe  I just need some space. You can be so cold,  unforgiving, until I’m left wondering if there’s  life out there at all. Sometimes you overshadow  me until I feel eclipsed. And I’ll admit it: I’m a little  afraid of your dark side. And I wouldn’t say you’re  indecisiv

I've had a pretty serious problem with anxiety for as long as I remember. Sometimes, when the panic flames up, it feels like I'm going to burst into flames. This poem came out of that feeling. Spontaneous Human Combustion   a human body catching fire without an apparent external source of ignition When my first fire flared crimson,   doctors diagnosed delirium: a phantom flame that burned harshly but did not mark me, not externally.  Dismissed as yet another  hysterical teenage girl, hungry  for attention. My chaos made them nervous like I was doing it on purpose.  So, they stuck the ashes back together  with shame and Sellotape, thinking they could squeeze the fire out of me. And I learnt to burn silently.  Stomach somersaulting, head clouded  with the shock of smoke,  I stepped on hot coals so often,  I stopped smelling the burnt flesh.  It happens when I least expect…  the crisp crack of splitting skin. Spitting sparks into lovers’ eyes. Throwing up shadows, as I fight  the

I’ve recently been going through loads of my old notebooks and editing older pieces of writing. This piece was originally written during a workshop with fabulous poet Laurie Bolger, and was inspired by a wonderful poem by American poet Thomas Lux .  My poem is all about vacuum cleaners, immortality, and biscuit crumbs. Let me know what you think!  Vacuum Cleaner, 2123 after Thomas Lux  More kleptocrat than civil servant,  she devoured tangled hair cobwebs,  choked down our discarded essence,  tarnished pennies rattling in her cavernous belly.  If some archaeologist – one hundred years from now –  dug through those Dyson dust bags,  they’d know more about us than any  supermarket loyalty scheme. GDPR be damned.  This is one time capsule  Blue Peter wouldn’t dare bury.  All broken biscuits & squashed spiders swallowed by the  swirling suction that never failed to scare the cat.  If I ever die – which I won’t – you can build my clone  from the skin particles gathered in the filters  &

Back in March 2023, I received a commission to write a poem, based on libraries. The folks at Inspire Culture, Learning, Libraries had launched a twinning project between their library at Beeston in Nottinghamshire, and the library at Gütersloh  in Germany.  As part of the project, there was a day of celebrations at both libraries, and our lovely poetry collective, Paper Crane Poets , were invited to perform. Whenever I have a commission to write, I always try to find a strange or unusual way to tackle the topic. This time, I got a little romantic. When the phrase "two libraries fall in love" came to mind, I knew I'd found a way to start writing the poem. This is what came out. Let me know what you think! Wenn sich zwei Bibliotheken verlieben Conducted over correspondence,  any building can become infatuated with another.  Our libraries are like two tender halves,  their brickwork synchronising with their beating hearts.  This courtship starts with chaste book swaps,  we

In May 2023,  Paper Cranes  (the poetry collective that I run in Nottinghamshire) worked with the National Justice Museum , responding creatively to an art ehibition from the group  C2C Social Action . C2C worked with local visual artists and women in vulnerable situations (including those with experience of the criminal justice system, survivors of domestic violence, or folks with addiction issues) to produce artworks inspired by nature. The project lab exhibition space at NJM showcased the artworks created, as well as a tea apothecary, celebrating local wild flora and its positive impact on human well-being.  As part of the Paper Cranes writing workshop, we all wrote poems about the restorative power of tea. Each poet then wrote their favourite line from their poems on to a neon sticky note, and I arranged the lines into a collaborative poem.  The final piece was published by the museum as part of Green Hustle 2023 programme.  The Tea Apothecary  Tea tastes of tears. My eyes are cir