Last year I wrote a lot of noise. It felt like I was writing from an undigested, frustrated place, a very shouty place. No doubt some of what I was writing valid, however it was often fuelled by emotion that was unrelated to the subject matter. Often what I was really pissed off about was to do with a conversation I wasn’t having or a situation I wasn’t facing from beyond the kingdom of my […]
{I recently became a Godmother to one of my dearest friend’s baby girl, Mya, whose initials spell MUD. Having been through a period of time which has brought to focus the idea of growing up and being responsible I have been thinking a lot about what being a Godmother might mean. I was struck by how strong my feelings for this little being that I have not yet met are, how in her I understand something of […]
{This piece came out of an extraordinary workshop I was part of on women’s leadership called Coming Into Your Own. It came from the brave, deep, honest explorations of the women present and it belongs to them. Kali is free from the illusory covering, for she is beyond the all maya or “false consciousness.” Who is Kali: Subhamoy Das} Kali’s Shadow (For SJM) Kali’s shadow followed me here. Over the green and pleasant lands, over the […]
{Words came easier the second time I wrote, it was gentler, I had come back from a morning run and my thoughts were already writing themselves} Water Meadow (for A) We rise, the magpie and I, in a swirl of damp feathers. Look no further than the river edge, oozed mud between our toes. The tenderness of the tide taking everything under. Nothing is left to chance, nothing is ever still. The briars and berries and dew new […]
{I have been struggling to write for a while. I keep starting pieces and getting stuck, loosing the thread, not finding the right space or time to write. Fidgeting. Yesterday I just decided to sit down and start typing. It had been raining most of the day, I had left my flat and sat in Flint Owl, I felt crotchety, like I needed to shake out my feathers, arch my back, shout. So I started […]
{I have been writing a blog for a lovely local shop, The Good Times Homestore. I generally write on living in Lewes and lifestyle type things. It’s been a real pleasure to have a reason to write, and I realise I need to make more time in my life for creative expression. With all the turmoil of what has been going on lately I have found it difficult to write. But when I actually made […]
{I joined a writing class a few months ago called Write & Shine which proved a wonderful creative start to the morning and a great source of writing exercises. These are 2 small pieces which came out of the workshop. The 1st inspired by a particular shade of dusky pink. The second, about the artist Paul Gildea, was inspired by a brilliant poem by Frank O’ Hara. They were both written in 10 minutes.} Pantone […]
{Watching parakeets as I waited for a train in Dalston made me think of this piece I wrote about 6 years ago musing on ideas of identity and growing up. Aged 2 I would request to be left in a tree, I suppose so I could get on with being a bird without the distraction of grown-ups’ disbelieving gaze. I still feel like that sometimes.} High on Hampstead Hill, green arrows herald the dawn Sharp parakeets, second generation […]
Spring I’ve been weeding in the afternoon sun, my back aches in that typical dull way from bending, pulling against the long dandelion roots which snake deep into the damp soil. The broken plants smell green, peppery, a sharp song of sap and sweat, staining my arms with the spilt milk of their stems. My eyes itch, my skin is blotched with persistent nettle rash, flying ants crawl over my boots. I am happier than […]
{Written 1st March, West London} So this is interesting. I’m sat reading an article in the Observer about the issue of masculinity and the role models for men. It feels as if, as the traditional ideals of the 20th-century man – strong, stoic, repressed – begin to fade away, nothing has stepped into replace them. In today’s pop culture landscape there’s no single archetypal ideal that we are supposed to emulate. (Max Olesker) One on […]
sometimesophia 