Tag Archives: Poetry
Poetry: Advice
To every new parent who’s been on the receiving end of unsolicited advice, which is everyone, let’s be honest.
Raising Feminists #3
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Blog Post: On trying to get a child to sleep. ‘All the wise and experienced folk who write parenting books give untold amounts of advice on all stages and aspects of your newborn baby's life. Some of them are straight forward and easy to follow. Some are like myths from far off lands, too elusive to be grasped by mere mortals such as you or I. “Put your baby to bed sleepy, but not asleep."’
Better post this whilst I’m still 39
Reading my pal @overheavenshill piece on emotional labour and the mental load ( one of most read pieces on Irish Times website last week, strong work Geraldine !) reminded me I had written a poem ( I mean I feel bizarre even saying I wrote a poem. I wrote a collection of words and put them together in a short form) about similar a while back.
About ten years ago I was pregnant and unable to sleep. I lay in bed listening to audiobooks to help me sleep. I don’t know how , but at some point I stumbled on a podcast of Frank Skinner’s new radio show. I’ve always been a Frank Skinner fan and I’ve continued to listen to that podcast every week for the last ten years. I listened to it all through pregnancy induced insomnia, whilst breastfeeding at three am and pushing buggies around the park. I listen to it now on Sunday morning lie-ins, walking to work and often listen to old episodes during the week as I drift off to sleep. It’s one of my happy places. Frank has a co-host on the show , Emily Dean. She was an editor and fashion bod, now she’s a writer and has her own podcast called Walking the Dog. Emily lost her sister, mother and father in the space of three years. She wrote this book ‘ Everybody Died So I got a Dog .’ I knew I was going to love it, because Emily is funny and smart and warm. The kind of woman you’d really want to be friends with. I wanted to take my time with it, but I couldn’t. I gorged it in 24 hours. It says so much about everything, but I’m afraid the bit that broke me was when she said after her sister died, Frank would sign off texts to her, ‘ from an old man who cares about you very much.’ 😭😭 So yes , ten out of ten would recommend. ( I got my copy via @sdcclibraries 👍) @emilyrebeccadean @frankontheradio
Good grief I wrote a blog post. It’s only been about nine months. It’s about happiness and Queer Eye and a bit about mid life, I think...... “ Some days I feel terrible. It’s fury , mostly. The increasingly uncontainable rage of the nearly forty year old woman ( It’s a thing ). But I have a seat by the window in the occasional sun. I sit with my feelings in all their messy manifestations, and wait for them to disperse , for the light to seep in through the spaces in between.” There’s a link in my bio to the post.
This #worldpoetryday am sharing the work of a little known poet from the North East of England. I think she’s really something.
Sometimes my children come home from school and tell me the Irish they have learned. It’s quite funny having your children learn a language you’ve no knowledge of ( well, a little , I can say thank you but I’ve no idea how to spell it so 🤷🏼♀️) I’ve lived here 16 years , but I’m not Irish. I couldn’t vote here in the referendum last year, and I can’t vote in England either , having been gone so long. I’m an in-betweener, and I feel disconnected from both places in different ways. Home has many meanings and holds many emotions. Newcastle is in my bones and in my heart. But here are my two little Irish children : my heart is here too. How lucky I am to have two homes. All of which is to say, in a slightly over the top manner, Happy St Patrick’s Day.
**Do the thing you’ve always wanted to do.** I’m supposed to be on an Instabreak but I couldn’t do this and not post. I have been wanting to jump into the sea for so long. And today I went down to the forty foot and I did. And it was , literally, exhilarating. I think the big happy head on me says it all.
Beautiful day. Fresh air ✅
