Written on a foggy morning whilst walking the grounds at Wollaton Hall, Nottingham.


The old winter falls away

Like a scarf

And coat

Being abandoned upon arriving home





The days are now milder

With surprising spurts of sun

And hints of colour

Pinks, yellows, green

Coyly peeking out

Like a teenage girl stealing a look

At her crush

From behind a curtain of hair

It strives

To lift the weight

Of the deadening copse of branches

And deceased decomposing leaves.

Mornings seem lighter

Evenings too

Longer days

For lingering possibilities

Spring is a brew.


Melancholy Sea Wading

Swarmed  by blankets

Drowning in pillows

I swam in a sea of sleep

Tossing and turning

Reaching for something

Flailing and failing

For someone.


A solid anchor

Asleep beside me.



He’s been missing for so long

Here in one instance

Gone in the next

It was just the comfort

Something to hold onto

Did it matter if he was the wrong one?

Distance spanned between us

And I realised all was lost

I dropped it into the abyss

Forever gone.


Insomnia takes its place

Because the truth is

I don’t like sleeping alone.


The aquarium of thoughts

That like fish flitter and delve

Unwelcome are most

Which like piranhas

Expel their unwanted truths

In subconscious bouts



And yet utterly true.


Dead Yellow Roses

I always get it wrong

Make the wrong decisions

Stay a bit too long

Now my past is made up of

No more than

Dead yellow roses

The ones you used to bring me

Which over time decayed

And died.

Dead Yellow Roses

As dead as the two of us

A memory of a smile

The imprint of your body

Lying next to me

A necessary band aid

Needing to be ripped off

My heart is numb, cold to the core

It feels black

Infected with your anguish

As I said it down the phone.

You were a million miles away

I couldn’t wait

And with that unexpected call

I panicked

And told you

All that I wanted to save

For when you were back home

And not alone.

You can say what you want

To your friends

Take the time you need to heal

Hate me

Curse me

Say what you want

I’ll take this bouquet

Of the past

And let it burn.

Fallen Stars

We are all fallen stars

One by one dangling on an iridescent thread

Somewhere far away

Where time slows down

And our lives slowly drift away

We are all fallen stars

Waiting to fall

Waiting for the gravitational pull

To tear us apart

Some of us will be up there forever

Slowly burning

A ball of fire

Tensed up and fixed into a foetal position

Until one day we spring apart

We shoot off

A myriad of colourful explosions

Into the nothingness

And embrace the moon

Like the old friend it truly is

Exceeding all limitations.




Picture Source: Pilar Zeta on Tumblr



Transient states

Erratic, dismal, hyper and then

Like a pen trailing off

All is calm, all is still.

Growing up

Your heart tearing

Emotions overspilling

Like clumsy wine sloshing over the side.

Finding self

Is like finding a needle in a haystackscatterbrain-kate-powell

There may be plenty of fish in the sea

But how do you point out the one

That is you, in a school made up of a million


Each swimming

Breathing, being, talking

Chattering all at once.

What am I?

What is self?

One hive mind

Expected to accommodate for

The cookie cutter clean look

Pictured in the magazines.

I am a flurry of ideas, self-doubts, what ifs

But also of adrenaline, charisma and daydreaming.

My self is not a slot easily categorised

I feel how I feel

And are what I am.



Artwork: Kate Powell https://uk.pinterest.com/moonwolf1/artist-kate-powell/




I overshare

I over care

I have too many emotions

To go around

Tears at the drop of a hat

You think it’s just that.

But I know

That from the years of aching numbness

When the only feeling

Present to me

Was the dull thud of my own heart beat

That my body is only just now

Learning how to feel again.

I throw my emotions around

Like sharp bullets

That hit the bulls eye


But that’s not the case

Many think I’m smiling and laughing

At their cold, blunt jokes

Always the punch line

Or just a human punching bag

With all the jokes cracked

When I too

On the inside

Am slowly tearing at the seams

It’s a tolerance

As low as that I have for alcohol,

But the numbness is coming back

So soon it won’t be such an inconvenience

For anyone anymore.



Domino Effect

Standing tall and proud

Those shadowy figures

That surround

There outlines blur

Their faces hidden

And yet they stand

High up in the background.

They told you they would be there

When the sun was shining

When the birds were gliding

When the flowers were blooming.

Then you stumbled

And like a hundred dominoes

They all fell down

Now there’s only one of you standing

But one’s all you need

Why rely on a house of cards

Unstable, unreliable

When you can favour who you are?


-E xxx

Wollaton Hall

Wollaton Hall, Nottingham

The mist from the river

Settles above

Like a hovering, silver web

Protecting the inhabitants of the lake

A force field engulfing the grounds.


The leaves

Like crushed velvet

Are scattered like confetti

With buds of new life

Hidden beneath.


The air is cold and crisp

But in a refreshing

Slap-you-awake sense of being.


I sit on a wrought iron bench

My eyes slightly glazed

Taking in the morning beauty

Of the old Tudor house.


Crowned with crows

Hiding a dark, desperate secret

Buried in the past

Never to be rediscovered.


-E xxx

Photo Credit: tiikka at https://www.flickr.com/photos/36599408@N02/3376557384 (although I altered the colour saturation to make it black and white)