Every fortnight I meet with a group of transnational creatives to break down borders, both physically and in our writing. In this series, I share the writing that has stemmed from these sessions. This week I am going to share a poem that was heavily
This is an older poem that is technically more of a performance poem, but I cannot think of any poetry nights that I go to where this would go down well!! I might do a video one day and post it here as well, but
The water races through the rocks, As grasses twist around the storm, Plants bend their backs in window box, Inside my house the fire’s warm. As grasses twist around the storm, Struggle against the potent wind. Inside my house the fire’s warm, Though the lights
I hear the woman two seats behind talking on her phone. Trying to ignore the fact that she is alone. I hear the sighs of the man next to me, Showing his dissatisfaction in the phone call, But she will never hear, her phone acting
You were wrong. You were right. It isn’t fine. I wasn’t really washing my hair. I wish I was washing my hair right now. I’m not interested. I love you. I really dislike you. I am not actually in a rush; I just don’t want