Words by A Wensley

Realisation I knew in that moment, As I closed the car door That I was closing the door On the old me The one who takes the crap And makes it better. I knew in that moment, As you drove away That you had a journey to make That could only be made By the person Sitting behind the wheel. I had faith in that moment In the universe's strength To make Whatever needed to happen Happen For both of us. We were given that moment To pause and reflect. To calm from your anger, To rise from my perceived injustice, And find the path Of true togetherness. So as I reflect on that moment, 12 days ago, I realise that in staying silent I broke the cycle, Of you run, I rescue Of you lead, I follow. In that moment I had expected more from you Than to be considered weak, crazy A bad parent For asking you to stop... It was an unrealistic expectation From a heart so soft. Because in that moment That is what you saw. Because in that moment You did not see what had gone before The way she struggled with he

Created during a Jawbone Workshop from the exercise prompt - "a conversation with 'found' nature": 😉  And all is green And all is green. I step through, beneath, the ivy-covered bough; A portal,  Which arcs, framing the changing,  Uncertain skies above me - Mayflies dance, guide me  As my legs brush through long, untouched grasses, freeing them, Glistening wings shimmering the magic words: "This way...this way...you are safe here". They lead me to a bench Where countless stories have been told, Crafted, layered,  Like ordered slats of consciousness, Tales now committed to lichen, Whispering "come, sit, you are safe here". I open my mouth and  At the point where the words release themselves from my lips, Lichen forms, Reaching out to touch the air, As I tell my own story to the micro-lives  of this mystical glade. You lichen, are the embodiment of recovery,  The bench, humanity, Decaying wood returning to the woodland From whence we were felled. I

Poem 2 from my 'Home Soil' workshop with poet Olivia Douglass last week, was produced in response to an exercise which asked us to recall 3 phrases that reminded us of where we come from, and use them as the starting point for each stanza.  My mind took me to a dark place, but I went with it and read this to the group, feeling brave. So, as I share it with you now please note it comes with a trigger warning - alcohol/abuse. Please scroll on if you are affected by these issues. ------------------------------ At home in public houses "Let's pop in 'ere for one" Dad says, familiarly, To the car-load, our family, behind him. I watch the pub sign swaying to and fro Like something from a Western, or a drunk, Ominously threatening my sanity, A repetition of too many weekends out on Exmoor Gone before. "Where be to?" Dad gestures to go inside, So-called 'Adults', parents and grandparents,  'guardians' leading the way - To bar-stools and bar s

Four Hardy Poets Four hardy poets this November day, Set off through Bincombe, waterproofed, yay! The Autumn leaves aglow with amber Spurred them forth, no keener ramblers Ever, oh ever, did I see, I see Oh ever did I see! Beneath an arch, a portal-zone, They hiked with gusto, creaks and groans Did hear they from the wood surrounds, But fear they not the muddy ground Oh yes, oh yes, the squelchy-squelch Oh yes, the squelchy-squelch! Traversing ancient boundary lines Our poets puffed up the incline, Crossing roads, through sessile oak Waterproofs dripping, so-so-soak￾ing wet, ‘ing wet, ‘ing wet, ‘ing wet, Oh yes, it were so wet! Two roads converged in our walk-wood Two of us took less-travelled, good! In search of Lady's Spring we went But on arrival she was spent! Oh yes, dear lady, lady well, Oh dear, oh well oh well! Combe to combe Coco did bounce, Scruffling leaves, a squirrel, pounce! Onwards upwards to Dowsborough Fort But not today, we thought we ought - To march more quickly

 Last week I attended a workshop with the poet Olivia Douglass for a project she is leading called 'Home Soil'. One of the exercises she led during the workshop empowered us to think about the concept of Home and to write a journey poem taking in our own home(s), starting from one and leading to another. This poem is the result of that encouragement, and another's. Home (2004-2024) Union Street: a terrace-tiny-rabbit hutch we called Home; Wedded at the front door, Separated by the back door, And a family in-between. Cash-starved happiness, mortgage payments and dreams. I had a marriage then, A job of work, A place to rest my head, But was it 'real life'? They say home is where the heart is - That concept changed, when you left. Single-working-mother to 4 and 5 year old girls, School time, no time, to be myself. I saved and I grew, Just like my two,  But in other ways. Thank the Lord for depression And children who need their Mothers  To set them a good example. Fiv