I wrote poetry infrequently before reading out in public for the first time in September 2016, then began to spend more time writing it. When my Dad was diagnosed with cancer in December of the same year, I wrote a few poems, finding how much it helped me to deal with it. I’ve never been… Keep Reading
If you go to the festival in Saintes Maries de La Mer in the Camargue, Roma women will approach you to sell a trinket of Sainte Sara. The idea of buying one may be as alien to you as it was at first to me, but they need the money and you never know, you… Keep Reading
I’m sitting in a graveyard in Kaleva, Tampere on one of the hottest days of the year, late July, 2019. I’m leaning against a tree. Ants are running up my arms as I’m still. I’m drawing and I’m writing some stories about the dead people surrounding me. Anne Cowan is Finnish, Anne Erkola, the wife… Keep Reading
Whit Sunday . Crows: flicked ink on albino pavements Scissoring the evening air Children go home from coloured spinning metal . Beneath a peal of toy-church bells Orbs of sound, they’d be pale pink and scattered Across the patient hills, the combed-out fields . And the sycamore trees hold out their hands Like open palms,… Keep Reading
