About

We’re creating a valuable poetry collection — Branches Abound — open to anyone in Suffolk, England, aged 16 and over.

There are three themes:

The Environment
Positive Mental Health Recovery and Wellbeing
Covid Reflections

Submitting your poem to the collection, we hope, will bring value to you and encourage others to express themselves and be open about these topics. For submission guidelines and further information, visit the 'Submit Poetry' page.

This initiative is sponsored through Suffolk County Council and Art Branches CIC and is part of a wider creative project working with volunteers in recovery.

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Art Branches is a not-for-profit community organisation specialising in inclusive creative projects for improving wellbeing in communities across the East of England. It aims to help people express themselves through words and other creative media.

To find out more about Art Branches and see more of our projects, visit our main website at ArtBranches.org and the dedicated sites for our creative wellbeing workshop project, Space to Breathe, and our multifaceted creative heritage project, Chronicles of Greyfriars. For the latest announcements and project stories, follow us on Facebook and Instagram.

Art Branches and Suffolk County Council logos

Currently Popular Poems:

Survival

With a chromatic personality Bolder than a bull He strode his way into my life. Tweaked by unexpected darkness Descending into his rhythmic demands He made me feel unannounced. With a sinking feeling And crescendos of shadows I survived to leave by flight. Jill

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A Way of Life

It’s become a way of life this summer, the canvas bag slung over my shoulder hoping not to need it hoping the sky will stay blue long enough to get a walk by the sea. It’s become a way of life this summer, wearing my green jeans, wearing a matching sweatshirt to keep the wind out, wearing green wherever possible to match my green cagoule in case I need it. It’s becoming a way of life, it’s true, this life of uncertainty which nags at the back of your mind and keeps you constantly looking up the weather on your phone. It’s a way of life, this anxiety which sends me scurrying for help when it mushrooms out of control in the middle of the night. Julia

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Breath

All round the world people are holding their breath Is it just an anomaly or are we in at the death? Our planet is hurting that we all can see Is this blip natural or caused by you and me? We have to trust scientists to tell us the truth You are our hope and you are our sleuth Do not ignore the cynics they’ll keep you on track Retest their theories, and find out what they lack Is it a sun spot that may cause the crash Or too much abuse, and things that we trash So tell us home truths, even things that we fear Especially those things we do not want to hear So all of the plastic we do not need to use All of our assets we need not abuse Will help just a little, we hope and we pray Seek a safe path, make some headway Let the whole world return to a safer course Let saving people be a founding force Be sure to travel just the trail that is true Lies come back to bite, like an old lover’s tattoo Let’s hope with every hope we’re not in at the death And slowly, slowly ..... release the world’s...

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Acronyms

PTSD PPE BA 2.75.2 Ratios, numbers, percentages “look after yourself…” they said. We were all Marcel Marceau feeling the invisible walls closing in. I was lucky, I could get out for 30 minutes Music in the car on the way home from the crem., to those invisible walls carrying the grief of the world on my shoulders and forever in my heart. Ratios, numbers, percentages “look after yourself… Suzanne

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Feathers

It’s as if all the birds In every weather Had dropped every feather The weight sometimes Of all those why's A ton of lead Or a ton of words unsaid Down on a feathered bed The weight belies The width of squawks When the birds are dead And they sing remembering When a ton of song Weighed the same as Fly away Autumns Flu away fall Feather or not Bird at all. Stephen Kirin

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North Transept

A stone milk tray Eyes of the past Watchful of progress. Golden ochre-pink Periwinkle scar A ship’s ballast from afar. Separate yet together United they stand Teapot and hen. Sharp, knobbly eyes Faces forgotten by wind Trampled and thinned. by Stephanie

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Alder Carr, Crichton

Cold clear water Lurking trout Dogs mercury afloat. Where Crichton Castle Stands the bank. Old Alder cones still black; The trees are still asleep. Willows weep I wash my feet. Moss encrusted veterans fallen to the hillside Amongst blackbirds singing in old ash trees. Wild raspberries Jasper green canes reaching high waiting for summer feathers. Lime kilns and quarried Lonely caves. Sandstone and limestone planes alayered. I walk a mile Through the haar Amongst the dark alder carr. My sandwiches Becoming colder by the minute. I rise up the edges Tottering the line of ancient beech. With broken banks and pocketed anemones. Two muntjac creeping on the sideways track, Watchful of my progress. Manky boots Impress their foot. Bright yellow lichen on old hawthorn, Jet black ash buds, Grey scaly patches, Lime flower matches. Frothy blackthorn Sloe to emerge, bonnie gill. Magical yet spiny, waiting for its gin. Park primroses clumping their station, Demanding their presence and lithe nat...

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A Glimpse of Shadows

Why is There Sadness in my eyes You ask, Noticing the hidden depths. After all I’ve been through, That glimpse Into darkness, Is all you will see. Anon

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