poet

A Love Letter to the Sea

Wanderlust

during the early hours of the morning,
while the world is still quiet, 
I find myself pulled
towards the gentle rhythm of the ocean.

as my feet carry me there,
each movement is purposeful, sincere,
taking me towards the promise of calm.

a long pier stretches out towards the water
inviting me closer.
birds sit perched on the decking,
fluttering away in succession
as my footsteps disturb their brooding.

the tide is high today,
the waves lapping into the deck
slapping against the wood.

I sit for a moment, gazing out into the ocean,
watching as the water morphs into shapes,
wondering what answers lay at the bottom.

I am undisturbed here,
except for the odd fisherboat that putters by
en route to this morning’s fishing spot.
if I strain my ears,
I can hear the distant sounds of voices and motorbikes.
but they are a world away 
from this place of calm.

I lay out my mat,
taking the time to stretch my body
and breathe in the fresh ocean air,
feeling it awaken every inch of myself.

but I cannot ignore the lure of the water,
longing for it to caress me
and hold me for a while.

the water is cold this morning,
my skin sensitive to its touch.
I take a moment to adjust
before I surrender to the sea,
allowing my body to float on its surface.

the outside noise fades away,
as the static of the sea plays in my ears
the gentle popping of pressure
like tiny pop rocks through my mind.

I allow myself to be carried by the ocean,
my body relinquishing control 
to the gentle ebb and flow of the waves,
the sea washing away my worries
and taking them to its depths.

I don’t drift far, coming up every so often
to admire the luscious green mountains in the distance,
witnessing them through the beauty
of the early morning haze.

there is a quiet magic to the ocean,
one I shall miss once there is land set between us.
but I know I can always return,
to once more float in the vast openness
and feel my worries 
melt away.

Comic Strip Version

Finding Joy in Hard Times – By Jessica Sinclair

Journey

what is joy?
for some reason, this question makes me
stumped.
like I have somehow misplaced this feeling.

is joy that feeling of flow?
those moments
where life moves so effortlessly.
no longer fighting against
a ferocious current,
instead letting it carry me
admiring the view around
free from expectations.

yet this joy
is so fleeting nowadays.
so wrapped up
in moments of uncertainty.

is joy those feelings of human connection?
those beautiful moments
where the world clicks into place
whilst we connect over
laughter, food, suffering,
joy.
where the world doesn’t feel so monstrous anymore.

yet,
connection nowadays is fleeting
our relationships held between four corners of a screen
cut between moments of
“I didn’t catch that” or
“I lost you, can you repeat that?”
this illusion of connection
only drives home this feeling of loss,
of false intimacy.

can joy then be found
on those long nature walks
getting lost in amongst the trees?
there’s something beautiful in wandering aimlessly
admiring the view
as my mind gets lost
daydreaming in a different reality.

whilst I do enjoy
the gentle strolls in nature
my heart yearns for adventure,
exploring galleries, museums, libraries
cafes.
oh, how I miss cafes!
sat musing over a coffee,
watching the world go by
a fly on a wall to other people’s lives
imagining their stories outside this point in time.

does this quest for joy,
instead of making me feel grateful for what I have,
leave me with a heavy heart?
yearning over a lost time,
a time I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to?

I sit here
in a room I consider home
wondering where the silver lining is.
where I can inject joy
into my own day.
today I make promises to go exploring,
maybe with some pens and paper
looking for new areas of inspiration.
perhaps I shall sit,
at an appropriate distance,
and observe others as they wander past.
for all I can do
is try and find the semblance of the old world
and hold onto those moments
where the world clicks into place
and I don’t feel so
uncertain.

Caffeine Flavoured Dreams

Uncategorized

morning beckons
as I clear the tiredness from my eyes,
stretch my tired limbs
feeling the echo of last night’s dreams
evaporating in the morning light.

bed draws me closer,
but the lure of the sweet nectar
lying in the bottom of my cup
entices me out of bed.

half asleep
I start my ritual;
fill up the percolator with grounds, water,
screw it on tight
and onto the hob.
fill up my mug with milk,
sugar, hot water,
and impatiently wait for the coffee to boil.

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Outgoing Introvert – By Jessica Sinclair

Journey

I am an introvert.
when I say this my mother panics,
she tells me I’m bubbly, outgoing, I can’t be an introvert!
like all I do is sit in my room
hiding from the world
afraid of human contact.

whilst some part of this is true,
I like to be alone sometimes, hiding away from the world,
I do still like to be around people.
conversations excite me, lets me learn about those around me.

but I can only do people in small doses.
in a large group I am an observer,
watching people like they are my entertainment.
sometimes it’s nice to be a part of this world
and not get caught up in it.

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Revisiting Past Self

The Void

This poem was written after going back to the UK after a year spent abroad. I find it harder to move back to the place I used to call home as I spend more time away. I find it’s like an old self trying to draw me back into a person I used to be. Written October 2018 in the UK.

Everything will work out.
I keep telling myself this,
writing it down on every surface I can;
Everything will be ok.
You are enough.
These words ring true to me somewhere,
I keep losing myself,
this place has a void
where I fell in years ago and never came out.

Whenever I come back to this place
I am quickly lost.
This place asks me to shave myself down
break off parts and leave them at the door.

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Feminist Conversations

Feminist Killjoy

This poem was inspired by the many conversations I have had with friends and new people I have met along the way. Written during my Europe travels July 2019

what is a feminist conversation?
are they those had
on the front lines, gathered in large groups
marching in hand, stamping our foots
to beat down the patriarchy?  

sometimes.  

are they long, drawn out discussions, debating all matter of theory
dissecting the world into pieces
crying out in despair
at the existentialism of it all?  

sometimes.

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Weeding

Journey

This poem is from my travels working on farms around Europe in June/July 2019.

when weeding around plants
it is important to pull the roots out too
so the weeds don’t grow back,
and you can leave space for your beautiful garden
to grow.
 
they make a satisfying
“pop”
as you pull them out completely.
 
don’t forget to admire your handy-work
holding your conquest out in front of you.
especially those ones you have fought with
pulled and twisted them in different directions,
careful not to pull too hard,
feeling that moment of victory
as you pull them out the ground
looking at their long-winding roots
wondering how deep they must have dug themselves,
how long it took for them to grow.

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