Sue Finch

BEING SOCIABLE AGAIN

This morning the air smells fuschia pink underlined with gently fermenting darkening green grass.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a collage of 2 people. I say it is a montage of four photos of three siblings ensuring they get a couple of sensible photos at the wedding of one of my nephews. I also say it delights me to have had the moments in these photos. It was good to be out in the world being sociable to celebrate the joy of young love with all the guests at a special wedding.

I love weddings, particularly the speeches and the way the words people choose make me tingle at the very humanness of being. My brother, Mark, gave a wonderful address at the end of the ceremony and my sister and I marvelled at his capable public speaking and the way he made us laugh as well as think and celebrate the couple.

When talking about their honeymoon, the bride and groom mentioned that the place they were travelling to had a hot tub and they were planning to relax there while watching the perseid meteor shower. This struck me as a wonderful way to watch the spectacle. It also reminded me how different things are this year compared to 2020 when I wrote my perseid poem ‘Invitation’. We were in lockdown then and being sociable was very limited indeed. One night back then I dreamt that I was invited to see the perseids in the armpit of a lover, and there they were in great detail and great number. It was a superb dream for the content and for my wondering about how the world had changed.

This year’s meteor shower peaks on August twelfth and the forecast mentions storms so I went to sit under a fairly cloudless sky for half an hour before bed last night. Four bright shooting stars made themselves known not far from The Plough.

Thinking back to the poem ‘Invitation’ I can remember a particular reading of it at an open mic where I felt incredibly nervous. My perception was that my nervous energy had spoiled my reading totally, and I remember that the next day I messaged the person who had invited me to apologise. They messaged back to say that they thought one day I would actually enjoy sharing my work and this reminded me that I could improve.

I have of course gained experience since then and am part of some lovely poetry communities, but it continued to be a focus for me because I am determined to share my poems well. I began to learn that slowing my reading down helped with my breathing and allowed me to be more centred, and of course the more I did it the more I improved.

Videoing myself, as suggested by a coach I work with, has been hugely beneficial, and I used this to good effect prior to a recent in-person reading. It allowed me to see that although I had work to do I was actually giving myself a hard time which was not purely based on fact. That pesky overthinking!

This past week I was very keen to watch back my performance from my headline set at Crafty Crows. Partly so I could focus in on how to be even better and partly because I had felt the dry mouth of nerves as I read and wondered if this had spoiled the reading for the audience. In fact I woke in the night afterwards convinced they would only remember my nerves. I love the Crafty Crows poetry space and have wanted to read a set there for a long time so it was especially important to me. This is a community I really love being part of. Reader/Listener, my performance was acceptable. I can see how to ground myself better next time at the start so I can drink fewer sips of water during the reading, but my diction was clear and my pace appropriate. I delivered the set from beginning to end with relevant intros and the poems followed on from one another well. A goal has been met… I CAN share my work and I AM able to enjoy doing so. How cool is that?

I quite like the original reading of ‘Invitation’ so here’s the link. It is a moment in time of its very own, but I will also share it here:

Invitation

She says I will be able to see

Perseids tonight in her armpits,

just as I am worrying

that I cannot read binary.

I assure myself I can Google it later

hoping that the instructions

will be simple.

I plan to have a notebook

and pen ready.

I know that joke about

there being 10 kinds of people in the world:

those who understand binary

and those who don’t.

I tell her it would be great

to see the meteors up close,

nuzzled right in.

They don’t make your neck ache

this way, she says,

and you will be able to hear

the crackles of ancient fires

it is all deep in there.

I wonder if we will ever be

sociable again after this.

How many people in the world

are hankering to see

night skies in the armpits of lovers?

ARTIST SAYS I LIKE PEOPLE TO PLAY WITH MY ART

A paper with text on it
Description automatically generated.

Works by Felix Gonzalez-Torres can be replicated in a number of places at the same time. They invariably make use of common material which are easily obtained. The artist said:

I don’t necessarily know how these pieces are best displayed ... Play with it please. Have fun. Give yourself that freedom. Put my creativity into question, minimise the preciousness of the piece.

Fittingly, Gonzalez-Torres offers the viewer the opportunity to participate and rearrange his work: you are invited to walk through his bead curtain or take a sweet from Portrait of Dad. His work breaks the taboo of prohibiting physical contact with an artwork. The sweets are replaceable, as long as their overall weight is maintained (the weight corresponding precisely to the weight of Gonzalez-Torres father). They are a copy of an object, and are endlessly replaceable, in the same was as a photograph.

Gonzalez-Torres initially trained as a photographer and was fascinated by the technology and materiality of the photographic medium. A photograph offers us a trace of the visible world imprinted by light as it is reflected onto a prepared surface. This closely relates to the actual subject of the framed photograph Untitled (Jorge) by Gonzalez-Torres, as it shows light reflected off the surface of water. The glimmering strands of the bead curtain and the glistening pile of white sweets, like this photograph, make light manifest, and illuminate the area around them. These objects are imbued with new meaning and a fragile beauty once installed within a gallery space.
Actual text.

This morning the air is warm and brings the tiniest tint of tea rose. A hint of mint would have fitted well with today’s photo, but it wasn’t to be.

Alt Text says this week’s image is ‘a paper with text on it’. I say it was the blurb I once read before entering an art exhibition that I was later escorted out of.

Once upon a time I took a trip to an art gallery. I wore my smart jeans and my lime green jacket and was up for having my lunch out. I loved the sound of the exhibition when I read the blurb in this photo. The words “play with it please” and the permission to take a sweet from Felix Gonzalez-Torres Untitled (Portrait of Dad) appealed to me and I was excited to see the works. As did the whole quote from the artist:

“I don’t necessarily know how these pieces are best displayed … Play with it please. Have fun. Give yourself that freedom. Put my creativity into question, minimise the preciousness of the piece.”

Entering the gallery and seeing the huge pile of mints against the wall immediately reminded me of my grandad and the way he used to offer me a mint from his pocket when I saw him at the seafront. I didn’t really like those mints at the time. I preferred fruit sweets or chewy spearmint sweets. Standing in front of this display I felt a sudden rush of nostalgia as I realised they were more than wrappered mints, they were tokens of love.

I am not 100% sure what encouraged me to sit in the pile of mints, I think perhaps it was the word “rearrange”, so sit I did. I took a sweet to eat and pocketed two for later. I was completely lost in the moment and it felt wonderful. And then I heard the crackle of static on walkie talkies…

Setting this down as a poem seemed appropriate and it features in ‘Gallery 2, a gallery of the unspoken’, in my poetry collection Welcome to the Museum of a Life. I see now I misremembered how the quantity of sweets was calculated for the art, but I still like the poem for the memories it captures. I also see now why I ask readers to seek permission before having their photo taken in the huge jar that is installed in Gallery 4, a gallery of dreams.

Untitled (Portrait of Dad)

after Félix González-Torres

In the far corner, against a white wall,

a metre wide pile of mints

half a metre high

and the title: “Untitled” (Portrait of Dad).

I am halted by wrappers

stuck sticky-tight to striped mints.

I’d have liked them cool and refreshing,

not buttery

not body-warmed, offered in hot hands

from trouser pockets.

One sweet for each day of a father’s life,

tokens of love with unspoken words.

Artist says: I like people to play with my art,

so, I sit down in the pile of wrappered mints

eat one and pocket two.

Then I start to shape the edge, curving it

to resemble the mouth of a conch shell.

I picture Grandad leaning on the wall

at Neptune’s Jetty;

cap on, eyes to the horizon.

I replay the scene,

walk towards him smiling,

knowing he’ll dip his hand in his pocket

and this time I will take the humbug.

Artist says: I like people to play with my art.

And that invitation to touch

had me eager up all the flights of stairs.

A man is talking into a walkie-talkie

heading straight towards me.

Artist says: I like people to play with my art,

yet this is not allowed.

I am escorted from the gallery;

my lime-green jacket

watched down every stairwell.

Reflections

This morning the air in someone else’s town smells cool and fresh. Last night it smelt hot and sulphurous, and I admire the way the night has washed it clean.

Alt text tells me this week’s photo is, a stuffed animal in a mirror. I say it is the perfect picture of Ronnie looking at himself in a mirror to accompany this week’s blog post about reflection.

This past week I have been in and out of a reflective essay as I work towards completing the ‘ILM Level 7 Diploma for Executive and Senior Level Coaches’. I have learned not to wash the windows, clean the car or hoover to distract myself from setting down words in the right order. I have also learned to read (really read) the criteria. This has been huge for me because I have a tendency to skim read and think I know what I need to do. I then go off and write merrily and create a meandering stream that feels fun to write before I realise that this wasn’t what the criteria wanted me to do. I now make things easier for myself and the marker. It has taken a lot of time to get to this point in my academic writing.

Reflection is something that I enjoy finding time for…

During my teacher training we kept a weekly reflective log which included the following two questions: ‘What did the children do?’ ‘What did they learn?’ There was a lot to reflect on in these questions alone and it helped us to be purposeful about planning our teaching and learning in the widest sense. I loved writing up my thoughts each week and making progress in my own development as a result. In fact I loved keeping the log so much that my friends and I took a very large section of a tree from the local park to our tutor at the end of our time working together in celebration of ‘the log’.

When I was studying for my NPQH (National Professional Qualification for Headship) I loved the posh journal they gave us at the start of the course to record our reflections in. Again I remember being one of those in the cohort who relished writing reflectively. Interestingly I tried to record my thoughts neatly in that journal because I thought it was going to become a reference log. I recycled it a while ago and had a read through before I said goodbye to it. It was reflection in the moment, valuable for what it taught me and what I carried with me, but definitely not a reference book.

So, thinking reflectively has always featured in the careers I have chosen, and now it gets to be a key part of what I do. It shines with relevance and excitement for me as I strive to be the best I can be.

On Saturday morning I woke up with an extra sentence for my essay floating around in my head. Perhaps I had been thinking while I was asleep or perhaps I had rested well and a thought had floated its way to the top of my brain. This amused me and I marvelled at the fact that there was one more thought that I wanted to put in my essay.

Talking with a friend this week it was good to hear that they found my summaries of what brought me to coaching interesting and readable. This was my way of explaining the benefits of coaching and how I found myself choosing a new career. Coaching still strikes me as one of those things that has a mystery to it until it has been experienced, and then it sparkles with potential. I love helping people regain their clarity and I love thinking with people.

The conversation with my friend took place while they were out for a walk and I was inspired afterwards to complete the country walk from my door here. We had talked about making good habits easy by having your walking shoes ready by the door. I like this and realised that I hadn’t had a long walk since my ‘really long walk’ with my sister. I set out and because I was feeling happy from having enjoyed a good conversation I did nothing except focus on the walk. It was sunny and the air was herby which felt good. It felt like the kind of walk you have on a holiday when cares are far away.

My sister says I am good at walking her home on the phone at the end of her working day. I love that she loves this. I am also glad she likes me to walk her home and not to work because her walking journey starts at 4:30. I will let her cat do that bit and enjoy keeping her company when she is readying to relax.

(If you saw the most recent Pet Shop Boys video you will have noticed that Ronnie was jumping for joy in the place that this was recorded thanks to my sister taking us both there on our special walk.)

Spray Painted Shirts, Sun and Seasides

This morning lavender is the first scent. Fine drizzle hangs in the air as a magpie sounds its rattle.

Alt text says this week’s photo is a stuffed animal in the air. I say it is Ronnie jumping for joy on a walk between Birchington-on-Sea and Cliftonville.

It was a perfect walk. Made so by the company of my sister, the coast, the sun, the chips, the ice-cream. I loved it all. And no shin splints! It was one of the longest walks I have done for quite some time and I felt proud that I could do it. I am contemplating making sure that any walks that take me again beyond the 16km mark should feature chips and ice-cream. I joked to my friend Lyn that maybe those treats were what stopped my legs aching the next day. In reality my regular weekly walks have been helping even though they are nowhere near as long as that. Sunscreen, I recommend sunscreen for such walks. I forgot mine and had to make amends to my neck with aloe vera gel afterwards. Luckily it worked.

All in all, a wonderful week in Kent. A trip that included the celebration of a special birthday with a lovely friend, time to catch up with my family and the chance to see the Manic Street Preachers in concert at Dreamland, Margate.

I don’t currently fit in my spray-painted ‘Alienation, Boredom and Despair’ shirt, and all that’s left of my ‘Generation Terrorists’ long sleeved t-shirt is James’s signature on a cut out piece from the bottom so I wore a newer t-shirt purchased for the occasion. I like merchandise. I remember liking my white jeans that James once signed too and I wonder what happened to them. I have a feeling that signature faded dramatically in the wash.

So much has happened since my fanzine writing fandom for this band and I wondered what it would be like to be in the crowd as a fan again. Ace. It was ace. We parked up just as the soundcheck was happening and when we heard James sing, “If you tolerate this” my sister, Kath, and I belted out, “Then your children will be next” and heard a thank you from the other side of the fence. I laughed later when The Anchoress joined The Manics on stage for ‘Little Baby Nothing’ and I remembered that in my youth I had ignored ‘Culture’ when designing that sprayed shirt!

Standing a few rows from the front at the concert I took some moments to remember my barrier leaning days and to revel in the fact that intros to my favourite songs still send a special kind of reverberation of anticipation through my body. And Suede were good. The energy of Brett Anderson was admirable and I remembered more lyrics than I thought I would. ‘Trash’ made the whole theme park seem to sway in time and the air was alive with the words.

My last supervision session for my Coaching Diploma took place at a high table on a spinning stool in an Airbnb. I note that here simply because the wisdom of that space has been so valuable to me and I love the fact that I could join in miles from home. Rereading my letter to my supervisor before this final session I remembered the feelings of nerves that had been present in my body when I read it to the group in the Autumn. Nerves because the space was important to me and my new journey mattered, and I wanted to be the best I could be. And suddenly there I was in a room decorated in different shades of grey completing another step on my coaching path. And yet it’s not sudden at all, it has been measured and planned and this mixed with hard work has led to success.

I’ve met some wonderful new people since September and there is a culture of support and learning that is buoyant and celebratory. People that champion each other and celebrate one another’s successes as well as their own. That’s a great kind of community to be part of.

So much has happened since I wrapped up the last academic year, and it felt fitting to have a poem published by Ink, Sweat and Tears that was written at this time last year.

I’ll read that poem for you now:

HIS NOSE IS SO VISIBLE AGAINST MIDNIGHT BLUE

The moon is a Punch in the sky.

A boy is carrying a bruise.

And nobody is talking to either of them

about ordinary things.

She says she cannot trace the shape

of the puppet you are seeing

in tonight’s moon,

yet to you his nose is so visible

against midnight blue.

You are craning your neck

outside a stranger’s house,

talking to yourself

to filter out the murmur

of voices that cannot be deciphered

through walls and air.

You want to hold every scrap of him

in your head.

You want her to see.

She is urging you to move on now,

says everything will come full circle.

But right now the moon is a punch

and a boy is carrying a bruise.

And you don’t know

if you can wait for the moon

to wane and wax

become whole again.

The Clock Ticks Louder Now

This morning herring gulls are calling in the scent of salt on a sea breeze. It is fresh with floral elements and the sun promises heat.

Alt texts provides an accurate description of this week’s photo: A red clock with white numbers. I say it is the actual clock that played a part in inspiring one of my recent poems.

The poem is called ‘The Clock Ticks Louder Now’ and it was selected by Alan Parry for the inaugural episode of The Coffeehouse Podcast. I do love being on a podcast. Alan reads the poem beautifully and it was wonderful to listen to it featured there as one of the ten poems. I loved the fact that the episode made the perfect accompaniment to a lazy breakfast of tea and toast. I like to find the perfect slots for podcast listening. Three of my regular listens are:

‘Eat the Storms’ poetry podcast, with tea and cake for Saturday teatime;

‘A Thousand Shades of Green’ poetry podcast with mid-morning minty tea on a Friday;

‘In Good Company’ coaching podcast with lunch on a Monday.

The coaching podcast gives me time to think about the way my coaching is developing as I listen in, and it feels good to have a dedicated point of reflection for this. This month’s coaching summit from In Good Company gave me the perfect opportunity to spend a much larger amount of time reflecting on my coaching journey and to begin to plan my next steps. I learned from each of the speakers and loved the fact that there was a new presentation every hour on the hour. This suits my learning style and I used the little breaks between speakers to think about my learning and my ‘what nexts’.

I am fortunate to have had a number of people join me for the pro-bono hours whilst I complete my Diploma. A wonderful way of sharing time for thinking and for me to reflect on what is helpful and what is less helpful when sharing a coaching space with different people. I am feeling excited about continuing to develop this as my new career.

Working with successful people at different points in their careers has shown me that there is something very powerful about taking real time to think at different transition points. Taking time to read the evaluations I have received for my coaching so far gave me the opportunity to look for a common thread. I got what I am now going to call ‘the testimony tingle’ when I read a response from someone I had recently completed six sessions with. What a privilege to read about the positive impact of something I absolutely love doing. JM said: “Homophobia had crushed me, so much that I was projecting others’ views onto myself as a gay man. Sue compassionately helped me to reconsider who I am in a structured way, what I believed and where my values lay. My self-worth returned.”

In my previous career in education I saw the power of regular 1:1 goal setting and reflection time, and I was able to engage in some of this work deeply. I see now that I hankered for more because to me it was the thing that made a real human difference.

Here are ten things that brought me to coaching:

‘Corridor Conversations’

Picture two colleagues talking. One of them says they are feeling nervous about a presentation they are due to give. The other tells them they will be fine. The second person probably believes in them. They probably have evidence that their colleague will indeed be fine, and their colleague will give a good presentation. But imagine moving from that kind of conversation to one in which there is time to explore the thoughts, feelings and behaviours so that the first person believes in themselves and knows this belief is true. That’s a coaching conversation.

2. The joy of thinking forward

My past brought me to where I am today. The tricky times, the sad times, the hilarious times, the successful times. And on the way I have planned things and set goals. But I now know that there’s nothing quite like a coaching space for helping to get to the real nitty gritty of what next, the clarity of hearing what you really want and the recognition of what needs to change. A coaching conversation brings clarity.

3. The power of 1:1 connection

Working with one person at a time is an absolute privilege. There’s a real joy to being part of someone’s journey. Creating space together for focusing on what’s happening now, what needs to happen next, sharing the celebrations, exploring the goals. A coaching space is just for you.

4. Knowing what potential burnout feels like

For me the alarm system in the building became the final straw. It was one thing too many when I felt stressed and worn out. It wasn’t actually that complicated and it didn’t happen often, but it became a symbol of a potential breaking point. I knew I needed to make a change. I chose coaching. I wish I had chosen it sooner.

5. Recognising that successful people who work hard benefit from time to think, breathe and be

An hour and a half of dedicated time is rare in a busy world. The kind of time where you can think about your own story, your own dreams, what it is that makes you tick, brings you joy. This kind of time exists in a coaching space.

6. The need for change

I took time to take stock and recognise what I was good at, what brought me joy, what gave my life purpose. I explored my values properly after 53 years. I learned a lot, found humour in the fact that the answers were in there all along and took time to explore my goals. A coaching conversation is the perfect place to think about change.

7. The power and joy of thinking out loud

An hour and a half of time dedicated to one person. Time to think deeply. Time to explore thoughts, feelings and behaviours. Time to focus. Time to notice. Shared thinking time that helps diminish solitary over-thinking time. A coaching conversation helps you organise your thoughts.

8. Coaching brought me to coaching

Being coached gave me time and space to listen to myself. I was able to really tune in to what I wanted, what I needed, where I was going and what was blocking me. When I changed career, I got up early each Monday morning to rebuild my relationship with a day of the week that had begun to overwhelm me. I breathed the morning air and noted its smell. I set my goals, I was honest with myself about what was blocking me, and I loved it.

9. The joy of sharing time

Humans are ace, but sometimes the very busy nature of life itself means there isn’t the necessary time to think, breathe and be. Coaching provides an authentic space so that you can hear what you really think, take a breath, be yourself, hear what you’re saying, recognise what next. I love the fact that using my time and my coaching skills can give others valuable time. It’s a fair exchange.

10. Wanting to make a difference

I thought it was the case, I felt it in my bones, I reflected on my work and then the testimonials backed it up. A coaching space is just for you. It’s an investment. It helps.

I will end today with a reading of ‘The Clock Ticks Louder Now’:

THE CLOCK TICKS LOUDER NOW

For the last three months the red clock

we rehomed from the charity shop

has been ticking more loudly.

I used to only notice if I listened.

Then I started to hear it when I bent down

to turn on the tv.

After that, I heard it each time I swapped shoes

for slippers in the hallway.

Now I can hear it when I lie in bed;

through two shut doors.

I dread lying down.

The space between the tick and tock

is just the same hyphened gap,

but my pulse tells me there’s something wrong.

I have started watching YouTube videos on double speed

eating my toast when it is a shade lighter than caramel

and there’s this voice in my head constantly

chanting, Hurry up, hurry up.

A group of figurines and a picture of a heart

This morning it takes me a while to find the scent. It is tea roses rising on cool damp air.

I have two special pint glasses for my daily water. One with ‘Coach’ engraved on it and one with ‘Poet’. And I like things in jars. Sometimes I know exactly which of the pint glasses matches my day and sometimes I have a mix of the two. It is quite rare lately not to have one or the other feature in my days.

Alt text says this week’s photo is ‘A group of figurines and a picture of a heart’. I say it is a pamphlet of poems with the title ‘Untamed Love’ and that I loved taking some things out of jars to create this image. Alan Parry, editor at ‘The Broken Spine’ has curated a lovely collection of work by the 14 poets featured in Wave 1 of ‘The Whiskey Tree’. My favourite poem from this collection is currently Mary Earnshaw’s ‘Lost and Found’. It was beautifully read by Susan Richardson on her podcast ‘A Thousand Shades of Green’. I do of course recommend the whole collection and am delighted to be within the pages.

Last week saw the Cheshire Prize Awards for Literature Evening where the announcements were made for poetry, short stories and script writing. Livi Michael gave an interesting opening speech about her own writing and the importance of each writer’s relationship with winning and not winning. I did not get placed in the competition this time, but I loved the event. Beforehand Kath and I got to chat to lovely poets that we know and this made it all the more special. I felt a lovely sense of belonging. In the past there had been a big part of me that felt anxious at the very possibility of winning because I was so self-conscious. This part has disappeared and it was lovely to recognise this when I reflected back on what had felt particularly good about the event.

I still remember vividly when Cheryl Pearson’s poem ‘The Cartographer’s Daughter’ won the competition in 2016. Ian McMillan was presenting the prizes and he did a wonderful build up to us finding out which poem had been selected. I loved the feeling of anticipation before he read the whole poem out loud and the feeling of celebration and admiration in the room. Looking at the back of the anthology from that event I see the names of the poetry tribe that gathered in the foyer this year and it makes me smile. All of us still finding joy in writing and entering competitions.

Huge congratulations to Helen Kay who won this year’s prize. Strange to think that the pandemic interrupted our plans to bring additional poetry opportunities to young people. Also lovely to remember fondly with Angela Topping the poetry she brought to the young people I worked with and how this led to Poetry Suppers and celebratory anthologies. Good too that my work comes full circle now and I am fortunate to be involved in the work of Sidhe Press to collate the writing of a group of talented young poets. There are poems that I absolutely love in the work that is being sent through and one in particular that has stayed with me since the first reading. It’s one of those poems where you can feel the power of setting down the words and the way they vibrate from the page with the energy they hold whilst being set down. I hope one day to tell that young poet just how much I admire their writing.

There’s something about getting positive feedback about poetry that feels completely heartfelt to me; that glorious recognition of the way words capture something which resonates with another person. I’ll keep entering competitions that catch my eye and keep on enjoying the glow that comes from positive feedback in any shape or form.

If you’ve been following this blog you will know it is my way of holding myself accountable whilst I change career. I have learned a lot about my relationship with recognition and overthinking during my coaching journey and it is nice to feel the spark from this learning. Spending two days at a wide variety of online coaching events last week gave me a wonderful opportunity to reflect and continue my learning. Here’s a big part of what I do… I help people regain clarity. And that seems fair since I regained mine.

Here’s to joy and clarity and letting someone know if you like something they are doing well.

Running Away with the Circus

The morning’s air is fresh. I can’t get any particular sense of smell apart from fresh this morning, maybe because my eyes were reluctant to open after vivid dreams (the kind that wouldn’t make good poems) but I am noticing colour. The sky is grey and the lawn is speckled with yellow buttercups and purple clover flowers.

This weekend saw my first yarn show in a ‘circus tent’. I felt inspired by the surroundings and recorded my poem ‘Blade’ with the tent as a backdrop. The poem is one of those that evolved from a seven minute write. I have always liked a timed free write, but I credit Caroline Bird for the seven minute timescale. I am pretty sure that’s how long she gives writers after delivering a prompt. It works for me because I can be completely focused for that amount of time and love seeing what can begin to emerge in ‘half a tea break’.

To write ‘Blade’ I saved a link to a photograph of a dagger from a news article. I also put my writing journal on my desk so that it would be the first thing I saw the next morning and would therefore remind me that I had something particular to explore. It was such a great picture I knew I wanted to create a response of my own to mark it. You can find an image of the blade here: Crystal Dagger.

I got up the next morning ready to write, and set a seven minute timer. The writing desk in the lounge is tucked in its own corner and feels like a solace all if its own. Like going somewhere you can visit and come back from. It’s very old, and very small but as a space it works!

The ‘grassed air’ bit of the poem comes from my memory of visiting the circus with my sister when she was young. Entering the warm humid space to find our seats (or perhaps bench space) I was hit by the seeming greenness of the air I was breathing. I do love it when a phrase flows when I am writing and that one seemed an appropriate description. I imagined being a sword swallower with a dagger carved from ice. The poem was starting. I had to let the images of the lion and its trainer work their way out of my head, and the memory of me and my sister re-enacting the part where the trainer put his arm in the lion’s mouth. We were in awe when it didn’t bite him and loved the way he rubbed its forehead gently to get it to open its mouth in the first place. Filtering out the real and keeping my pen moving on the new felt fast and furious and that’s a good way into a poem in my opinion.

I am still learning about reels and stories on social media, but I did manage to post the video as a reel. It felt good to do a one take wonder in the wild! Also teaches me to watch my diction! There’s a video of the poem on my YouTube channel, but I liked the live approach so I am grateful to James who said it would be a good thing to try.

There was definitely ‘grassed air’ in the tent for ‘Wool at Junction 13’ on Friday and Saturday afternoons. And cold air on the Sunday. I laughed when the air was cold because I had proudly announced to Kath on Friday morning that my bag was easy to pack and that it zipped up much more smoothly than usual, and Kath noted it was because I hadn’t packed any jumpers. Note to self… probably good to always squeeze a jumper in just in case!

Ronnie photographed well during the weekend. It’s a sign of joy when he jumps and somersaults for a photo and it was lovely to note that these photos raise a smile in others too. Disappointingly, Alt Text didn’t pop up to offer any suggestions for this week’s photo but I say it is Ronnie jumping for joy by a circus tent at a yarn show and temporarily ignoring the fact that there is a very high probability of landing in some sheep poo.

There was also joy in chickpeas. I took a lunch break with a chickpea curry and sat in the sun while live singing was happening and it felt so good to just be in the moment. A writing prompt once focused on gratitude and led to me listing things I was grateful for. On that day chickpeas were in the first line. Good little things aren’t they? If you have a chickpea poem or a circus poem I would love to read it.

Good poems were in plentiful supply last week because Caroline Bird launched the new collection ‘Ambush at Still Lake’. It always feels good to hear the poems in the poet’s voice and it was lovely midweek treat to join the Carcanet webinar for just such a thing.

Midweek also marked the lovely occasion of the anniversary of a highly successful blind date. Twenty-two years ago I met Kath at Telfords warehouse. A lucky moment in my life because I had just realised that I was spending too much time looking at a couple of dating sites to see if I could meet someone. The very night I put my cup of tea down and went to the computer to delete those sites once and for all I saw a message waiting to be read. It offered me the choice of tea or beer on a Wednesday night and I took that final chance! The rest as they say, is history and there’s a particular bridge over the canal in Chester which holds a special place in my heart. The poem ‘Telford’s Warehouse’ in my most recent collection marks the moment well and ‘That Coin’ which can also be found there is a love poem for Kath.

I’ll leave you today with another circus poem:

THE FIRST OF THREE KNIVES

He fell in love with her silently;

from underneath.

Her legs flawless in tights, cheeks powdered smooth,

lips gloss-red.

She didn’t pout for him, but he took it anyway

held it in his mind.

When the tent emptied and the grassy air thinned,

he imagined her painted fingernails flirting against his chest.

The night his partner was delayed in Kent,

the ringmaster issued instructions:

the trapeze artist will be standing in.

He had never known his heart beat as fast

as when her wrists and ankles were secured

and he was offered the first of three knives.

Two Golden Tickets

This morning the scent is not as I predicted. It is rose petals and rosemary. I thought it would be conifer hedge because yesterday there were adventures with a new power tool. The overgrown hedge was tidied up and I went deep into the corner were the big bushes grow. Our garden waste bins are now brimming with the kind of garden debris I imagined adventurers would have lined their hand-built dens with before settling in the for the night.

I laughed when Kath came in for a shower after round one of hedge tackle and left a trail of bits of green and herb while I went back for round two. Later I found that those bits can get in places I couldn’t have imagined and I was heard to say that overalls for future jobs might be quite the thing.

Alt text says this is a group of people posing for a photo. I say it is Me and Dolly and Kath posing for a photo. In fact there is a lot I could say about this photo which is ten years old now because it means so much.

Here are ten things:

I won the opportunity to meet Dolly.
I felt like Willy Wonka getting the Golden Ticket.
My Nan always said it’s better to be born lucky than rich.
I wouldn’t have chosen to wear that top if I had known I was going to meet Dolly.
Wearing that top didn’t affect the magical moment.
I got to be in the presence of one of my absolute heroes.
This was the second time I had won a meet and greet with Dolly.
This time I was able to share the moment with Kath.
I have loved Dolly Parton and her music since I was a child.
Dolly Parton’s dreams to goals story is inspirational to me.

This past week I have been doing things I dreamed of last September. I have been working 1:1 with people. We have talked, thought deeply, thought long and wide, reflected, laughed and thought some more. This felt distant back then and that makes me chuckle because back then feels distant now. That link between dreams and goals is being seized and I am so grateful to the people that are part of my journey. It’s like my own yellow brick road and that reminds me of some very special people who got me to this path in the first place.

In memory of one of those special people I took an old flatbread I had saved specifically for the occasion out into the garden. It was the night of the full moon. That flat bread was going to be the moon. All because that wonderful person once sent me a photo from social media of a tortilla on a double-glazed window and said, ‘Look here’s your full moon’. We had much fun tossing it in the air trying to get the ‘perfect’ photo. That didn’t happen this time, but if you ever see me throwing circular bread in the air around the time of the full moon then you will know why.

I will leave you today with a link to Susan Richardson’s podcast, ‘A Thousand Shades of Green’ where she reads poems from my collection ‘Welcome to the Museum of a Life’. Three reasons:

I am glad that our paths have crossed.
Her readings are wonderful.
If you like podcasts and poems you will find much to love in all the episodes she has put together.

The Bandstand

Photo credit: Field of Dreams Photography Oswestry

This morning the air brings the smell of many blooms. In my head I picture peonies and geraniums and in my heart I feel summer. It has been pretty cold, grey and rainy for June so far so this feels new and enlivening. It begins to balance the fact that my eyes that did not want to open this morning.

On Saturday I put on my new t-shirt and headed for the bandstand in the park in Oswestry ready for the town’s first Pride festival. I also packed a jumper and a coat. I even used my hood on arrival because it was very rainy. I had to hold it away from my ears so I could keep my wits about me when crossing the road, but thought it was better than turning up looking like what my nan would have termed a drowned rat. Fortunately, the downpour stopped before the entertainment began which meant that people could gather by the bandstand to listen as well as listen whilst picnicking or browsing the stalls. This was my first poetry reading at Pride, my first reading from a bandstand and my first time reading with a microphone that had to be spoken into. All those firsts felt rather exciting.

I had great fun choosing the poems for my set and Kath came to Poetry Corner in the lounge earlier in the week to listen in and check my timing. There was much laughter after this when a quick scroll through social media saw the event described as “family friendly”. We decided it was probably best to remove some of the darker poems I had included (and my one erotic poem) from the list. After all, I would like to be invited back.

Linking the poems from my different collections and the anthologies I have been published in was fun. We had been talking about the preamble before poems as a way of introducing them and that some people like this and it can give a nice way of settling the poem into its moment. This is coming more naturally to me now as I see the importance of it. ‘Answering My Mother’ was included in my choices because I thought it would appeal to all ages and even people who would not class themselves as poetry lovers. And it seemed to go down well. Overall it was interesting to note the poems that seem to drop at the audience’s feet when I finish reading them rather than hang in the air. I think I have done some learning about which poems to leave on the page and which ones are in their element when floated out into the air to be listened to.

Alt text says this week’s photo is, ‘A person standing behind a sign’. I say it is a poet slightly on tiptoe because they didn’t really adjust the mic properly for themselves reading the first poem in their set at Oswestry Pride 2024. I also say they must have disappeared behind the sign each time they bent down to select a different book to read from and missed the opportunity to milk that moment by popping up like a puppet!

As well as performing, I got to be in the audience this week because Kath was part of a concert on Friday night. I loved hearing Zadok the Priest and seeing different young people take centre stage for a range of solo performances in amongst the choir’s offerings. I also loved the fact that I got to sit quietly in the church whilst the rehearsal took place. I am fascinated by watching people use their skills and love just sitting without speaking. It stills my mind and sometimes there is a lot that benefits from being stilled.

I wondered on the way home about my journey from being the ten-year-old child who read their Harvest Festival poem in a church to being an adult poet who felt nervous at the very thought of standing up and sharing their work. I am enjoying my poetic journey and the way combining it with coaching enables me to see what makes me tick and thrive. Those young people in the church on Friday were having wonderfully rich experiences of performing to an audience. I love that they were using their skills authentically and would be able to feel the feedback and take time to reflect afterwards on how it felt and what they were going to do next. I need to write to the choirmaster to let him know how much I enjoyed the performances so he can share this with the performers. It feels important to me that they hear some words about it as well as have their own reflections.

Positive feedback about my coaching this week included a person I share thinking time and space with telling me that their tendency to overthink had diminished. I know the joy this brings when it happens so to also know that I have helped someone with this brings me extra joy. I have treated myself to another Nancy Kline book to read and this one is called, “The Promise that Changes Everything. I Won’t Interrupt You.”

The time and space that thinkers create in a coaching relationship is a privilege to be part of. The uniqueness comes from proper listening and deep thinking, and I get the feeling this book will help me continue to develop my use of silence. Of course there is plenty that goes on beyond that space and between sessions, but the thought that six lots of ninety minutes over a six-month period can be such a good investment of time feels well worth celebrating. I am glad for my new path and love working 1:1 with people.

Here’s to words and to silence and to really listening to them both.

Castor and Pollux

This morning the air smells as fresh as it does on the mountains. I breathe deeply and catch a hint of lavender there too.

Alt text says it’s ‘A cat on a cake’. I say it is an excellent card to have received in the post to celebrate my birthday and shows a cat presenting an iced birthday cake with sparklers with text reading ‘Castor (AKA Sue) In a world full of candles you’re a sparkler’. I love cards and I love the fact that I wear a number of names. Sometimes I am Poodle Floppet, sometimes I am Sissy, sometimes I am Sooper Sue, sometimes I am Freda, sometimes I am Castor to someone else’s Pollox.

I think the passing of time which is marked quite dramatically by a birthday got me into ‘sorting mode’ last week. I decided to revisit a massive box of ‘stuff’ that was bursting at the seams and a massive box of photos. Although neither are out on display (one is tucked under a set of shelves and one under a bed) I could feel the untidy nature of my storage and a call to look to see what was in there. By the time I had finished I had delved back into so many memories I felt like I had revisited all the past versions of me!

I read kind words, relived funny moments as well as poignant times. I tidied it well and enjoyed the long memory lane. I do wonder what possessed me to label the photo of two plates of dinner as ‘Quinoa 2005’, but must admit that that photo remains in the box. I might recycle it next time, but for now I preserve the quinoa! I read an old birthday card from a friend who is no longer with us three times and realised how much I had missed getting a card from her this year. That stays in the box too. I like keeping things, but I also like the feeling of knowing that I don’t need to keep absolutely everything in order to prove that I have been respected, made people laugh, shared my time and been loved. Some of my old photos were easy to recycle because they came from the times of taking a roll of film on holiday and then waiting to see how the 24 or 36 pictures came out. Quite easy to whittle these down to half a dozen decent memories! Some things have become old and tattier than I would like and they will get photographed instead of retained. And that makes me laugh because it sort of messes with the app on my phone that shows me things from the past each day. When I am very old I might think that I met the Beverley Sisters in June 2024. And I guess in a way I will eat my words because I fed some rather entertaining correspondence from my twenty-six-year-old self to the compost worms during my sorting. I love my compost worms.

In my continued tidying mode I went out to tackle the weeds at the weekend. It was hard work and I was determined and had to remain determined! It’s amazing how many weeds can spring up when you’re not really looking. There was a wonderful feeling of satisfaction as I noticed it was making a positive difference and there was real joy in the fact that the phone rang twice. Two people who I love very much calling me and I got to ditch the muddy gloves and lie in the sun talking and listening. Perfect moments in time.

Sunday is my walking day and as my sister calls it, my Snowdon training. I am a bit of a fair-weather walker. In fact I am quite a lot of a fair-weather walker and it was raining hard on Sunday by the time I had finished digging in the garden and decided I was ready for my walk. I had woken up at 4am and considered a dawn chorus kind of walk which I dismissed for more cosy hours in bed. It wasn’t raining at 4! I considered not going for my walk at all, and heard myself saying that would be a missed opportunity and that it was highly likely that there would be very many other rainy walks in the future and it would be very strange to discount them all. So I donned my waterproof coat and off I went. It felt good. I am definitely getting better at dressing appropriately. The other week I set off knowing I had a hole in one sock and thought I could out walk it for an hour. I was wrong. Blisteringly wrong. Hence the right socks and right boots and waterproof coat this time. Wrong jeans and no hat though because I am not yet fully my best self! I hate wearing my hood up because as well as dulling my hearing it sort of rustles so I do prefer a hat and of course I have hats, but I ignored them and set off. Next time it rains I might take my hat, swap jeans for walking trousers and take my ‘fully prepared walker’ bow.

Sometimes when I am walking I spend time deciding what my snack will be later on. After I had pictured thick toast with peanut butter and jam and a large cup of tea I listened to my thoughts about writing a fanzine for The Manic Street Preachers and the fact I had googled it to see if it is rare. I think it is rare, but it wasn’t googleable. I tucked my signed copy into the box alongside a postcard that told me they enjoyed the fanzine, not too far from my signed Beverley Sisters photo. I do like an autograph or two! I smiled at the thought of seeing the band live next month and am curious to see what that feels like after all this time.