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In the Skip of the Moon


In the skip of the moon
I felt my life lighten,
Held between worlds,
Drifting slowly to the shore.

Fathomed to the flow,
Secure in the depths
Of the hidden undertow
Revealing it’s current.

Dragged along,
The awakening of freshwater
To the spit of Orford,
I swam ashore.

April
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Change

As  I stand with my feet in the ocean, and look at the setting sun, I think of how many me's, have stood in how many seas, but always stared at the same one. A snapshot of scenes in the movie of me, at various times of my being. A new version of me every single time; the same star I'm always seeing. It fills me with curious wonder, for the places that I may go; And the life that has yet to happen, and the things I have yet to know. Jess
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Ballinasloe Station

Flood plains replenished and diminished, a deceiving here-and-there fluidity and the flat statement of stubborn water. Occasionally trackside trees are stranded, littered in swirling pools that soundlessly disappear. On the horizon, tall walls and radio mast mark the far-off asylum neatly screened with its avenue of trees. The people are hidden beyond the town, their tears reaching as far as the railway lines. The train navigates the flood’s edge like logic escaping emotion, trim engineering escaping danger, holding firmly onto the rails. (Ballinasloe was a major mental home in County Galway) Pat Jourdan
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Portuguese Seahorse (long-snouted) Living on the Edge

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Spring Into Action

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River Stour, Sudbury

Mirror of ripples, floating tangles and bubbly foam. Swans racing The togetherness Of aqua. Sallow splashes Poplars tremble And minds drift. Jungle of reeds On vertical plane Moorhen hideout. Anon.
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Birch Tree

White bark shedding tissued layers And stripes across the brown earth deep leaf littered floor. Diamond shaped fissures Twigs with small dark warts Pointing to the sky. Light green Tooth-edged leaves Swinging to the wind. Jane  
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King of the Woods

Soft green moss and arching brambles With desperate nettles shooting upright to light. Dense, strong and stable, yet soft delicate and gentle A squirrel runway extending arms, reaching limbs Of sun-drenched lime, mottled light barely touching. Fresh, yet decaying hands of friendship, A ladybird highway knitted together. Beneath a silhouette of darkness, A planet in itself.   by Jess and Stephanie A video showing how this poem was written can be found on the Resources page .
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Pandemic

Piecing together all our hopes and dreams, joining the broken fragments of our lives, managing the pain of another loss, full of joy when finally together, society’s fabric hangs by a thread. Julia Duke
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Paradoxical Party

Only inebriated by our own troubles, with no form of sobriety in society and so intoxicated by our own thoughts. We are just circling around one another in the party of that I see as life. When we meet a death of our paradoxical minds, the death of our bodies or both intertwined, life carries on. So, as we reside in our physical form, celebrate. Have your cake and eat it. Please don’t step on anybody else’s footsteps if they are not dancing to your rhythm. Dance your own design, truth is, the party never ends live to love in celebration and hold onto your hats! Lauren.x
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The Rain

Pitter patter falls the rain, on the roof and window pain Softly softly it falls down, Makes a stream that runs around. Penelope
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