Welcome to my poetry blog!

Click on the link about me, above to find out more about me and why I’m writing this blog. My blog explained tells you how the blog will work and provides helpful tips on how to navigate and search against categories, tags, and previous posts. The third link, other voices, provides a glimpse into some of my sources of inspiration, detailing creatives from different genres.

When you want to return to the home page, simply click on the logo in the top right hand corner. You will always find the most recent post immediately below. Thank you and enjoy!

When weather evokes memories …
```
"... who isn’t charmed 
by a wild flower meadow 
oxeye daisies stand tall 
battered poppies 
brave the wind
crane’s-bill and bindweed
line the lanes ..."
```
Well, what a summer it has been! The fields are parched, the hay is gathered early, and much of the country is in drought. But not yet in Yorkshire, although perhaps it’s just a matter of time.

We all have an opinion on the weather don’t we? But even the sun worshippers have to acknowledge, I think, that we need rain. I’m not about to get into a climate change debate, but I think it’s safe to say that the climate is changing. It makes me wonder where it will all end. The world continues to evolve and so, of course, do we.

I’ve been reflecting on how I’ve changed over the last few years, having reached some milestones in life. A year into retirement from my full time job, I’ve had the opportunity to do more of what I love and to spend more time with family and friends. I’ve found space to focus on creativity, to exercise and travel. I’ve thought a lot about how I am ageing. I can’t avoid it: I look in the mirror every day and see it looking back at me. And I welcome this older face, the grey curls, and the still bright eyes. If my social media algorithms are anything to go by, we are obsessed with ageing. So many of the podcasts I listen to tackle the subject of ageing, seeking to tell positive stories about how age can bring wisdom, freedom and fresh opportunities. So far, that’s been my experience.

It’s humbling to realise, as you age, that you are becoming the older generation. As what was the older generation die, you find you are filling the space they once filled. It’s a cycle as old as time. I have to pinch myself when I watch my nephew with his children, remembering the boy he was at their age. I watch my mother entering a decade that was once defined by my grandmother. I watch myself growing old, knowing it’s a privilege not everyone enjoys.

The summer of ’26 has taken me back to ’76, which was one of those defining summers in the UK. If you lived through it, you’ll remember it and can still talk about it. My friends and I had a habit of sitting on the pavement outside our houses to play. But we couldn’t that year because the tarmac was melting. I would’ve been in shorts and a t-shirt. There would, invariably, have been a plaster on my knee from some recent scrape. I was your typical tomboy; wouldn’t have been seen dead in a dress if I could help it. But I didn’t always get to choose. I occasionally wore a dress under duress and somehow lived to tell the tale. There was my First Holy Communion dress: white like a bride, complete with a ridiculous veil. All Catholic girls had to endure this torture and we bore it collectively, which took the edge off the humiliation. Then there was the bridesmaid dress, for a cousin’s wedding. My siblings both had new outfits, which they could and did wear afterwards. I had a pale green full length broderie anglaise affair that never again saw the light of day. Of course, the cousin later divorced, so it had all been for nothing.

My ten year old self would not recognise the woman I’ve become. I’ve evolved into a dress wearer. My collection is eclectic and plentiful: shirt dresses, maxi, floaty and fitted. This summer, dresses have been a life saver. You can’t beat a floaty number to keep you cool and feeling light. I will think of them fondly when, in winter, I am wrapped up against the cold and wet. The changing seasons will invite fresh insights and, of course, we’ll all have an opinion on the weather, whatever it brings. I hope that this very hot summer will have left you with memories to last a lifetime; that’s the best kind of summer in my book.

late summer Download
Why I believe in everyday miracles …
```
"... people can spend whole lives
planning for paradise 
not realising 
it’s already here ..."
```
It may feel incongruous to feature a poem in the midst of summer that was clearly written in the depths of winter. I don’t know about you, but when you turn on the news and hear about a very public suicide, then it feels appropriate to talk of dark days. I knew nothing at all about Jason Arday, only becoming aware of him as a result of the recent controversy over his professorship. But it almost doesn’t matter. Whatever the truth behind this story, the simple fact is that someone felt so bleak, that the only way out was to take their life. That’s incredibly sad.

I feel sure that everyone reading this will have faced difficult times in their lives. It’s impossible, isn’t it, to know what people are going through at any given time? It’s hard enough to understand ourselves, let alone appreciate the complexities of others’ thoughts and feelings. But we can feel empathy and I imagine most of us will have felt sad to hear the news of this untimely death, regardless of what you may think about the reasons behind it.

For some, it may have been triggering. If you have lost someone you love to suicide, perhaps it brought it all back. Perhaps you have felt suicidal yourself at times, but here you still are. I’m glad you’re here. Whatever it is that keeps you going, honour it. It’s so easy to take the things we love and value most for granted; it’s sobering that it takes a tragedy for us to appreciate, once again, just how precious life is.

I wrote this poem in the midst of a long winter. I normally love the wintertime, but must have been feeling particularly low that year, for reasons that are no longer important. I went out for a walk and, as is so often the case, nature worked its magic. I knew, despite everything around me appearing dead, that life was going on under the surface. Everything was preparing for spring even in the heart of winter. It reminded me of the impermanence of everything. The fact that nothing stays the same, can feel overwhelming at times but, equally, can feel reassuring. There are nearly always at least two sides to every situation. Think of it like two sides of a coin; when life feels bleak, flip the coin if you can, and consider a different perspective.

I’m not saying it’s always easy. Life’s complicated and often hard. I know that. Yet, it’s equally true to say that we’re all stronger than we think. We have huge capacity to love, to change and to grow. We really do.

I was thinking today, as I was out riding my bike, that when your legs are tired and the road ahead feels daunting, it may be tempting to stop. But if you stop on an incline, then starting again is much more challenging. You can choose to drop to a lower gear, and keep pedalling. Instead of looking at the road ahead, you can look to the left or the right, admiring the beautiful scenery. Before you know it, you’ve made it to the top of the hill. There is always a choice, no matter what.

My hope for all of us is that we treat ourselves and others with kindness. I am not a religious person, but I do believe in miracles. They happen all the time! In the random acts of kindness we experience: when someone finds something you have lost and hands it in (like my handbag once in Sweden, containing my cash and passport); when a friend sends you a card through the post that you weren’t expecting; or when someone asks you how you are and stops to listen to your answer. Nature shows us how a tiny acorn can grow into a mighty oak. Just think what we could do if we tried, for ourselves and those we love; isn’t it worth a go?

miracle Download
When a change of scene offers up more than what you see …
```
"... letting go is 
as inevitable 
as breathing
surrender 
the only way
to be free ..."
```
Do you ever feel like you’re going round in circles? Revisiting the same lessons you’ve previously encountered, being challenged again and again to respond to circumstances, similar yet different than before? See my earlier post: https://fiwynne.com/2025/10/15/how-the-lesson-you-most-need-to-learn-keeps-coming-back-to-you/. We are creatures of habit, after all. I recently had the pleasure of seeing James Taylor in concert. He started his set with three songs that he labelled recovery songs. He reflected that all his songs were variations on certain themes, joking that he’d written about 10 songs, in roughly 200 different ways. Everyone laughed, but it certainly struck a chord with me. I often write poems on similar themes and this week’s poem is no exception. (If it’s good enough for James Taylor, it’s good enough for me!)

I’m thinking that many of you may be taking holidays around this time of year. A holiday can be a great opportunity to reflect on how life is working out and if you need to re-think your priorities. Being away from your normal surroundings can offer up fresh perspectives, which is always helpful if you want to reconfigure. Distance provides space, room to breathe and time to think. The very fact that you’re faced with new surroundings can open your eyes to so much more than what you see around you. A beautiful landscape is a treat in itself, of course, but it can also trigger new ways of looking at yourself and your lifestyle.

A few years ago, I took a trip in the camper van to the Outer Hebrides, which was a part of Scotland I had not visited previously. The beaches blew me away. I spent hours walking by the sea, searching for interesting pebbles, and watching the waves. It was spellbinding. There’s something about the rhythm and sound of the sea that is intoxicating. It draws you in, and before you know it, your breathing is matching the rise and fall of the waves. What fascinates me most, is that moment, just before the wave breaks. It seems like time stands still for a split second, and I hold my breath, never quite knowing when the moment of surrender will come.

The teetering waves made me think about how perilously I’ve sometimes held on to my own sense of being. This was certainly true the year I was at Dail Beag, a gorgeous beach on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis. As per normal, it took me about a week to relax into our holiday, due to the stresses of work that I struggled to contain. I tried so hard to control my work load, and my response to it, failing on both counts. I held all that stress in my neck and shoulders, and in the way I breathed. But being on the beach that afternoon, my body instinctively tuned into the rhythm of the sea. My breathing slowed right down; I felt my shoulders drop, and my body relax.

I’m glad to say that I’m in a better place now than when I turned up, exhausted, before the waves on that beach. But I hope I never grow complacent. It’s all too easy to fall into the trap of setting impossible targets and punishing myself when I don’t meet them. Whenever I start to feel I’m struggling, I close my eyes and take myself back to Dail Beag. I concentrate on slowing down my breathing and dropping my shoulders. It usually works.

You don’t have to travel to amazing places to reconnect with yourself. You can do it right now, where you are sitting. Close your eyes, imagine the sounds and smells of the sea, and relax.

dail beag Download
How nature keeps me grounded …
```
"... I already know 
not all days 
feel like today
but all days are gifts 
the triumphs, the failures
and everything between ..."
```
I don’t know about anyone else, but I often feel like I live one of two lives, but rarely at the same time. In one of my lives, I am reasonably aware of what’s going on in the world. I will listen with interest to the news, and engage in discussions about national and international affairs. I’ll care about all of it. But after a while, I’ll feel completely drained and need a detox.

In my other life, when I’m not engaged in following the news, I’ll feel calm and contented. I’ll make more time to be creative, as well as do all the normal daily stuff, such as housework. I will certainly feel more productive and purposeful. This is the life I truly love and yet I know that I need to find a way to balance the two. It’s hard though, isn’t it?

I’ve been so busy recently that I haven’t had much of a chance to focus on what’s going on around the world. I know that, whilst I’ve been doing my own thing, world affairs continue unabated. I feel like I should make an effort to stay abreast, even though it will all carry on regardless of whether or not I’m paying attention.

Whatever side of the political fence you’re on, I think most would agree that change is afoot in the UK. How it will work out, who knows, but it will be different. Or maybe not. Despite all the talk, perhaps it will feel all too familiar. Whatever happens, it’s certainly true that for every political decision made, there will be some heralding it and others condemning it. Isn’t that always the case?

Who would be a politician? Certainly not me. I feel sure that most individuals who enter politics do so with good intention. They want to make a difference and yet, no one can please all of the people all of the time. Sadly, power has a tendency to corrupt and many a politician has fallen foul of that (and they aren’t the only ones!).

It all feels rather bleak doesn’t it? But take heart, we are not as much in control as we think. Just as it’s important for us as individuals to detox occasionally, perhaps we should do so collectively. It would do us good to adopt a different outlook occasionally. The planet has been shouting at us for years to wake up to climate change, an issue that far surpasses our petty local politics. Nature also knows how to whisper sweetly, reminding us with a stunning sunrise, just how wonderful life can be. Whilst we argue on the world stage about how to resolve conflicts, nature carries on doing its thing. That gives me hope. It’s heartening to learn, for example, that some birds instinctively return to nesting sites, year on year. It’s reassuring to see the sun rise and fall each day, despite everything. I even welcome the weeds reappearing with alarming regularity in my garden. Something here is thriving even when I don’t feel I am.

It’s good to sit in nature and let the beauty seep in. It brings fresh perspective. I wrote this week’s poem by an unassuming loch side where, in 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie arrived by small boat. Here, he set foot in mainland Scotland, a land he’d never known. His aim, to claim the crown, not for himself, but for his father. I imagined the hopes of all those who supported his campaign, many of whom lost their lives.

We all have dreams, of one kind or another, some personal and some public. We won’t always agree but we can still treat each other with respect. We may sit on different sides of a political fence, but we all have to live in the same world at the end of the day. We all wake up to the same sun and sleep under the same sky. So do all other living things. My hope for you today is that you feel at one with the world of which you are a part. It’s a privilege we should never take for granted.

the prince’s cairn Download
When advice falls on deaf ears …
```
"... I now know 
I needn’t have worked 
so hard
to secure the spaces 
already mine to fill ..."
```
If you have lost someone you loved dearly, you’ll know that it doesn’t take much to bring them to the forefront of your mind. I’ve written previously about my best friend, who died of cancer when she was 49. (https://fiwynne.com/2025/09/24/how-life-is-never-the-same-following-bereavement-but-still-there-is-life/). Last week, she would have been 60, and I feel sure we would’ve done something special to celebrate. She fully embraced life, and wasn’t one to bemoan the passing of years.

It got me thinking of the many things she taught me. It’s no surprise, given my stubbornness, that her voice wasn’t the only one expressing concern about some of my choices. I’ve lost count of how many people, over the years, have told me to slow down, not work too hard, or take life too seriously. I knew they spoke from a place of love and yet still I didn’t listen.

I worked incredibly hard at my job because I felt I had to. It’s just what I did. It’s only now, with hindsight, that I recognise the self-doubt, always bubbling just below the surface. The fact is, I lacked faith in my natural ability. I know I’m not unique in that. There are studies that have shown women have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good as their male counterparts. But being as good as the men wasn’t my key driver; it was me. I was the hardest person to convince that I merited success. As a result, I spent years over-preparing, putting in the extra hours so that I felt capable and confident. It led to burn out more than once.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why are we so often the last person to see what is obvious to everyone around us? Why, even when our most trusted people, give us advice, can’t we listen? I don’t know the answer, but for me anyway, I think it’s about needing to find our own way through life. That means making mistakes and picking up the pieces afterwards. I will always be grateful to my parents for allowing me the freedom to make mistakes and learn at my own pace. There must have been times when they despaired at my choices but they rarely said anything.

I wrote this week’s poem as I was approaching the end of my working life and the beginning of my retirement. It coincided with the near end of my 50’s. It was a packed decade of small triumphs, hard knocks, and many sleepless nights. A mixed bag, which is undoubtedly true for most of us.

The biggest lesson has been the hardest won. This year, I’ve reached that new decade, and realised that so much of what I fought for was already mine. I strove hard to achieve small wins that no longer feel important. But I’m not bitter. I look back at my younger, vulnerable self, with compassion. I can laugh at my mistakes and know they’ve shaped me.

I’ve finally reached the place of contentment that all those giving me advice knew was there for the taking; it just took me longer to get there. I’m grateful that they stuck with me, despite the fact I never listened! I feel sure that Karen would be proud, giving me that quizzical look that said, “what took you so long?”

towards sixty Download