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 you’re between life’s highs and lows …
```
".... seems sometimes 
you’re travelling 
in circles
mountains you thought 
you’d conquered
rise up before you 
again and again ..."
```
It’s hard to believe that we returned from our big trip to Iceland and the Faroe Islands in mid-November. Winter has been and gone and before too long, we’ll be setting out on our next trip in the camper van. I’ll be honest, it took me some time to adapt to being back home, to being fully present. Part of me was still operating at a much slower pace, Scandinavian-style. I’m not sure I’ve every truly caught up, which suits me just fine.

Of course, I’ve slipped back into lots of things almost unconsciously. I’m mentally planning out my days and writing lists. I’m back to doing all the admin stuff that takes up so much of daily life: thinking about what to cook, then cooking it; wondering what to wear; doing laundry; sorting the household accounts; tackling housework. The trappings with which we’re all familiar, right? This is normal. I get that completely. Yes, occasionally it feels mundane. Part of me yearns for the road we took round Iceland’s West Fjords, choosing where and when to swim. But, at the same time, I sometimes have to pinch myself that I’m home in what is a beautiful part of the world. Spring is in the air, and I can go cycling or running straight out of my front door. I appreciate the comforts of home, the convenience of my washing machine and kitchen. I can meet friends for coffee, have lunch with my mum, sleep in my own bed. With a wardrobe full of clothes, I can chose to dress up or dress down (let’s be honest, it’s mostly the latter!). I’ve had a winter of cinema trips and dinners dates to add variety to all the household jobs aforementioned.

This is the reality for most of us, if we are lucky. It isn’t lost on me, that it’s a luxury to have a house to clean, clothes to wash, money to spend. You only have to listen to the news to appreciate just how privileged we are. Right now, I imagine a lot of people are going through very tough times. Life sometimes can appear very black and white, but it’s rarely that straight forward.

This week’s poem could easily have been written in these times; it feels as relevant today as it did when I wrote it over a decade ago. In my experience, most of life is lived on the plateau between the peaks and troughs. It doesn’t always feel that way, most especially when you’re going through a bad patch. But a patch it is: it isn’t permanent. For good or ill, nothing ever stays the same. The highs are just as impermanent as the lows. For the most part, we live in state of flux between physical and emotional states. Every now and again, the balance will feel just right. In my own experience, that’s rare, but can and does happen.

If you, like me, are blessed, you’ll have stretches of time when life feels normal, perhaps even ordinary. Don’t underestimate times like this! I have a ceramic coaster in my house that reminds me to: enjoy the little things as one day you will look back and realise they were the big things. It sounds simple but also very wise. I wrote this poem during a difficult time in my life, juggling competing demands both at home and at work. It forced me to focus on what matters most in life. I realised it wasn’t the highs or lows where life was most lived, but in the spaces between. Give me mundane any day of the week, I’ll take it and be grateful.

the plateaux between Download
Why space exploration has me gripped …
```
"... our beautiful world 
feels anything but stable 
thin are the spaces
where reason can thrive 
wide are the chasms 
peacemakers must cross ..."
```
Have you, like me, been captivated by the Artemis II mission? I have a feeling that you’ll be in one of two camps: half the world have caught space-fever and the other half think it’s a complete waste of money, time and effort. Space exploration is a bit like marmite: you either love or hate it. Not many sit on the fence when it comes to space.

I’ll admit, I wasn’t always so enthusiastic. The first time I visited Florida, I went to the Kennedy Space Centre, because my husband wanted to go. I’m not sure I would’ve gone unprompted. I found it interesting, yes, but I wasn’t entirely won over; I held it at arms length. As it turned out, our visit was somewhat cut short because we happened to be there in September 2001. Half the exhibits were closed due to security concerns following 9/11. That suited my attention span just fine.

My second visit was entirely different. We went again in 2014, and spent the best part of the day seeing everything we could. I was blown away by the size of the Saturn V rocket and the opportunity to stand closer to Space Shuttle Atlantis than I could ever have imagined. I was awe-struck by the vision of the engineers, the bravery and skill of the astronauts and the technological advances that have benefitted us here on earth. Did you know, for example, that laser surgery is just one of the medical advances that has the space programme to thank?

So, this week, I’ve been listening to updates about Artemis II with keen interest. I’ve gasped at the photographs of earth and recall the photos taken during previous missions. Back in the 1960’s, it must have been incredible to see an image of our entire earth for the first time. Still, in the 21st century, it’s hard not to be moved by such a sight.

I was only 3 years old when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landed on the moon. I don’t remember it at all. It was the same year that my brother was born and I don’t remember that either! So much has happened in the world since 1969 and yet, at first glance, the photos sent back from Artemis II don’t look all that different from the ones taken by the Apollo astronauts. But things do look and feel different in countless ways. No doubt the ice caps and the coral reefs look smaller; the world population is larger; and we don’t appear to have learnt anything from history. War, sadly, is alive and well.

This week’s poem is very hot off the press and is the result of my pondering about the current world situation. The difference between my excitement at the space mission and my despair regarding the war in the Middle East could not be more pronounced. Of course, I know it’s simplistic and naive, but am I the only one thinking, how come the human race can be so innovative and destructive at the same time? This is just one of many questions. I’m also wondering: How can humans demonstrate compassion towards one other and yet demonise one other at the same time? How can we claim to care about preserving our planet and yet deny or minimise climate change?

It doesn’t make sense to me. Of course, I know that I’m considering opposing ends of the spectrum here, and there’s a whole range of nuanced viewpoints in between Nothing is ever straight forward and I can’t begin to truly understand what’s going on. I can only know how it feels from where I’m standing. The space programme makes me feel small, but in a good way; the situation in the Middle East makes me feel helpless, in a bad way. Finding the middle ground between those two feelings is not easy but it’s what I’m grappling with right now. And it feels important to keep trying to make sense of things. To paraphrase JFK’s famous quote, it’s worth doing, not because it is easy, but because it is hard.

earth Download
When old traditions take on new meaning …
```
"... I think I understand 
why wild animals hesitate 
when they are released
back into the wild 
what has been is known 
and what is known feels safe ..."
```
This week’s poem is a complicated one to categorise by year. It was first written in 2016, soon after the death of my best friend, but I’ve recently reworked it. Funny how a poem that once felt finished can be reborn. I suppose it’s a fitting reflection on how grief works. It is never still and never truly leaves you. It evolves.

The title of the earlier version of this poem was Easter Saturday. I was later advised by a good friend, that I was mistaking Easter Saturday, (which is the first Saturday after Easter), with Holy Saturday, (which is the last day of Holy Week). It was on Holy Saturday 2016 when the earlier poem was written, on that mourning day between the death and resurrection of Jesus. It was always a quiet, meditative day in the Catholic world of my childhood. Holy has become an uncomfortable word for me, although it does appear in the poem. According to Wikipedia, another name for Holy Saturday is Easter Eve. I prefer that; like Christmas Eve, it feels anticipatory.

It’s safe to say, I think, that we’ve all experienced significant endings in our lives. Be that the death of someone you loved, or perhaps a bereavement or closure of another kind. You might have felt a sense of loss when a job has come to an end, a study course or a great holiday. Perhaps you’ve experienced an empty nest when your child has gone off to university or on a gap year (don’t worry … they’ll probably be back!). I’m told that many people feel an aching loss when they retire (not my own experience!). Whatever it is or has been, it’s often hard to let go and move on. Depending on the nature of your loss, you may feel you never can. Life doesn’t return to normal following a bereavement, for example, but it eventually shifts, continuing in a different way.

It’s sometimes tempting to stay in your version of Easter Eve, whatever it may be. Queen Victoria famously never stopped mourning the death of Prince Albert, withdrawing from public life for over a decade. There’s that poignant scene in the film Hamnet, when Agnes lingers in the home she must vacate for a new house in Stratford. It is the place, of course, where her young son died. It’s a silent scene because words are unnecessary. Everyone can surely sense and understand her reluctance to leave.

There are moments in life when we wish time would stop. It most often happens to me when I’m experiencing something joyous, such as hiking recently with my cousin. I didn’t want the day to end; instead I wanted to cling onto that sense of being on top of a mountain with someone who had known me all my life. But it can also happen when experiencing a huge sadness; the feelings are so raw and deeply personal, you need time to sit with them. You want to feel the full force of that sadness, because it’s where you feel deeply connected to your loved one (or other experience). It somehow feels trivial to deal with everything else. Suddenly, your daily routines feel mundane and perhaps even meaningless.

That’s how I felt after that loss in 2016. Eventually, I gave myself a talking to, using language I’d never adopt with a friend. I told myself to pull myself together and stop wallowing in self pity. Harsh words. I wouldn’t talk to myself that way now.

Looking back, I can empathise with both sides of how I was feeling. I wanted to stay in my place of sadness, where I still felt connected to Karen, but at the same time, I knew I had to reconnect to the present, and to my life. It’s not an easy path to navigate and, on reflection, I appreciate the idea of Easter Eve. It creates a bridge between loss and new life, in whatever forms they take. I respect and value that.

It’s important to recognise when we need that time to wallow, but also to know we don’t have to stay there forever. We can cross the bridge and live life to the full whenever we’re ready. I wish you a Happy Easter, whatever side of that bridge you’re on right now.

easter eveDownload
What the spring equinox teaches me …
```
"... time to nurture 
the habit of gentleness 
plant seeds of kindness 
starting with myself
allow space 
for creativity to grow ..."
```
Last weekend, we in the northern hemisphere, celebrated the spring equinox, which marks a moment of balance between the light and dark, the day and night. From now until the end of June, the days will grow longer, whilst the nights grows shorter. It’s a helpful reminder, I think, that everything is connected. Springtime is the perfect opportunity to consider the different aspects of our lives and if they are held in balance. Should we be doing more of one thing and less of another? Only we can know.

I spent most of my working life searching for a better work/life balance and never really managed it. In fact, I was rubbish at it. I invariably put work first and myself last. It made me ill, not once but twice. I needed time out, and of course, I never gave myself permission to recuperate fully before, once again, diving back in. Of course, the organisation I worked for was more than happy to turn a blind eye whilst I worked myself to death, but on reflection, I know it was my own fault. I was (and remain to a lesser degree) a people pleaser. I was a woman in what still felt like a man’s world. I was bright but never brilliant, thus always felt I had to work doubly hard to keep up. It was exhausting.

When you suffer from vertigo, which affects physical balance, you will feel unsteady of your feet. There’s a constant need to check yourself. If you forget, you’re likely to stumble and fall. A lack of mental balance feels the same. I often felt anxious; I had to check myself to prevent panic setting in.

It was only when I stopped work that I truly appreciated just how important balance is. I guess I always knew this, deep down, but simply wasn’t ready to accept it. I knew that to achieve balance in my life, something had to give, and it was never going to be my job. I’m not proud of this, but it’s the truth.

When I look back now, I can see that I did relent to some degree. I stepped back when I realised that it was too much, albeit I took almost my entire career to reach that point. It came at a price but it was a price worth paying; I did recover. Recovery shouldn’t be that drastic or difficult but then, if you’ve been reading the blog, you’ll know that I usually do things the hard way. Check out my earlier post, if you haven’t seen it: https://fiwynne.com/2026/02/11/why-i-make-things-harder-than-they-have-to-be/

Spring and winter equinox, summer and winter solstice, all offer assurance that life is cyclical. If you miss an opportunity to make a change, don’t worry, it’ll come round again. I wrote this poem, not in springtime, but in autumn. When I think about it now, it makes perfect sense. Autumn’s the time you start to prepare for the following spring. You plant bulbs, giving them time to slowly settle over the winter months. Mentally, I was thinking ahead to retirement and future plans. I fully embraced the opportunity to plant new ideas, gathering momentum as my year has progressed. I sought to re-balance priorities and make space for new growth. It worked! It’s amazing what flows into your life when you make space for it to happen.

Our internal cycles don’t necessarily follow those of our planet, but there’s no better time than now to think about our life balance and consider if it’s time to plant new internal seeds, and make space for them to grow. What are you waiting for?

second springDownload
When walking away is the best you can do …
```
"... saying yes to you 
was a no to me 
your love an anchor
keeping me down 
when I might otherwise 
be free ..."
```
This is not an easy blog to write but it touches on something I know affects a lot of people. It took me a long time to realise that there’s no such thing as normal and that, for most of us, disfunction is the norm when it comes to family relationships. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve met over the years, both personally and professionally, who are estranged from one or more family member(s). It can be for any number of reasons. It’s often complicated and painful, and it brings with it a whole plethora of emotions.

I’m not about to go into specifics about the family member from whom I’m estranged. That’s not necessary here, and I wouldn’t put you through the sorry details. Instead, I want to use this poem, written about my decision to walk away, as a way to connect with similar experiences and feelings you might have had. I know a lot of people find it extremely difficult. Some will feel deeply saddened, others guilty or cruel. It feels like an incredibly cold thing to do, to shut someone out. But it may also be necessary. It is never a decision taken lightly and, yes, it comes at a price. But, for me anyway, it’s a price worth paying.

We all have people in our lives that we might term difficult. And yet, we will largely tolerate their idiosyncrasies because we love them. We love all their positive traits and we can forgive the less attractive parts of their personalities that we find hard to live with. Most of us will have various categories of friends: from casual acquaintances to very best friends and everything in between. Not all the people who come into our lives as friends are friends for life. There’s a famous quote: people come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime (attributed to numerous people, so I’m not sure who can actually claim it). And that’s okay isn’t it? It may feel uncomfortable when you lose touch with someone you thought of as a friend, or you may be devastated when they cut you off. Yet you realise in time that they weren’t meant to be around for the long haul.

But family is a whole other ball game isn’t it? There is this unwritten rule that you can’t walk away from family. Another famous saying goes, friends are the family you chose for yourself, meaning of course, that you have no choice when it’s family. But sometimes, you have to make a choice. In fact, we make choices about family all the time: where do you spend Christmas Day, for example. My parents divorced when I was a child, and it often felt like I had to choose between them. That feeling continued long into adulthood.

Some of our decisions are subconscious. As a middle child, instinct drew me to my younger sibling, when three always felt like a crowd. I have friends who are parts of big families and they tell me it’s inevitable to fall out with siblings when you have so many. I seemed to manage it even though I only had one of each!

Learning to navigate family relationships as an adult takes you to another level. As a child, you didn’t always have a choice, but as an adult you do. I said yes when I meant no to a family member more times than I care to remember. I tolerated the intolerable. Until finally, after one drama too many, I cracked. I reached saturation point and did the only thing I felt I could do to save myself. I walked away and never looked back.

The person you owe the most to is yourself and, if saying yes to yourself means saying no to someone else, then what’s stopping you?

yes to me Download