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Cartography
I draw a square, to represent a former tobacco warehouse,
converted by the council into offices, where I worked
for a charity. On my desk, a spider plant strained
towards the distant, narrow window. In pencil I sketch
two parallel lines to scale to show the road I would walk
every day, listening to podcasts I now can't remember,
past the tower blocks being torn down to make way for unaffordable flats,
past all the independent boutiques selling so many
house plants and minimalist vases that used to be trendy
to the flat I lived in for three years. I huddle together rectangles
to show a house in Bedminster, wedged in-between Poundland,
the cash for gold shops and refurbished pubs that served
craft beer for six pounds a pint. I cannot show how
we grew our lives around the skylights, listened to the same
three karaoke songs drifting in from The Tap and Barrel
four doors down and huddled around a scratched
second hand IKEA table when it came time to work from home.
Upgraded
Art as Play
I've spent a lot of this year consciously learning what was previously unconscious. I lost faith in my writing, so I took a lot of workshops and attempted to figure out exactly what I am doing. For about five years, I've been writing poetry and still feel a certain level of imposter syndrome, not really knowing what I am doing. Taking workshops has been an attempt to relearn what I already know on some level, while also attempting to implement the rules of poetry so I can do it 'properly' (whatever that means.)
Towards the Light
Free Fall
Half Awake
Falling Ash
Hiding in Embers
Rustle
It starts with a whisper,
muttered half phrases
and small slanders shaking
leaves, pushing wind chimes
into gentle collisions.
Fragments of Cloud Speech
