Saturday 12 August 2017


It’s always a good idea until I do it

Young adults punching the air leaning over a balcony

Tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts and no white gloves

You’re warm – did he mean that or was he being sarcastic

Chillout room- smoky haze of cannabis

Hiya, where’re you from, what’ve you had

Being sick in the corridor

Do you want some water?

Do you want some pills or whizz ?

Bouncers with torches for coshes

Angry music, brilliant cinema nightclub

We were there to dance, not to pose


Middle aged geeky adults moving to the sound

Scruffy trainers, long hair, no hair

Its good, yeah, it’s good

Smoking rare and especially not inside

Hiya, are you so and so? Been years

Not drinking alcohol

Do you want some coffee?

Do you want some crisps to keep you on?

Self-policing soft bullied people

Soundscape pictures, Victorian school hall

We were there to listen, not to dance


Middle class culture slags and their children

Smart dress but it was a hot day

Getting tranced out with the images and music

Don’t know when smoking banned in theatres

People behind muttering, rude

Complaining to ticket office for the balls up

Do you want some water?

Shall we go get some food after?

Ushers and people selling ice-cream

Amazing experience, Victorian theatre

We were there to immerse, not to move


I am working on a new sequence about identity and this is a recent poem I have completed as part of this. 

The hills are alive

Dance, dance, dance

to the music

I love to dance

to the music

it has to be possible

to dance to the music

with a good beat

its possible to dance

to the music


We are here

to enjoy ourselves

to be thrilled

and buzzed up

and excited

with watering mouths

because of the music


I must listen

to the music

intently, listen

to the music

Pick out instruments

in the music

hear the whole

piece of music

I love to listen

to the music

with a stereo

I can listen

to the music

with my imagination

I can listen

to the music


I want to

make music

with my poems

I can make music

to my ears

as my words

make rhythm

in the music


If a radio plays

in a forest

with no-one to hear it

would it make a sound

would there still

be music

if someone knew

the radio was there

playing music

but didn’t hear it

would there still

be music


I’m going to buy a BOSE

for the music

for my iPod and Spotify

for the music

I need good sound

for the music

It is so important

to have good music

to like the right music

that means you are

a type of person

who likes that music

And I don’t like Ed Sheeran

And I do like HipHop




RB 14/5/2017 20:00

sitting, slouching, typing, thinking, working, breathing, listening, looking, watching, digesting, concentrating, twitching, itching, stretching, pausing, shifting, moving, muttering, mumbling, distracting, typing, looking, repeating, rubbing (head), scratching, smoothing (head), pausing, waiting, typing, reading, muttering, tabbing, typing, pausing, thinking, muttering, deleting, typing, moving, fiddling (with ear), fiddling (with spot), reading, breathing, processing, pausing, typing, touching (knee), typing, scratching (ear), leaning (on fist), picking (spot), reading, mumbling, (eyes) widening, thinking, sucking (finger), biting (finger), typing, typing, typing, deleting, back-spacing, mumbling, clearing (throat), picking (spot), reading, mumbling, typing, reading, thinking.





My Father

(after John Wieners My Mother)


eating a Sainsbury’s salad in the St Johns centre


my mum and dad walk past,


they don’t see me initially

but I say hello to my mum and wave


she grins and waves and dad follows-

this was a few years ago in Winter

because I remember what I was wearing


My dad mutters to my mum:

Who is it?

She says, laughing

Sally, of course


Oh, for Gods sake


I love them very much

I think it’s the hat I had on

And because I was not at their house

Eating their food, watching their TV.


Selected unpublished blog posts of a Mexican panda express employee by Megan Boyle: a Review

I read this over three or four days, gradually, and mainly when on a train. I loved it. It falls into a genre of confessional prose poetry, perhaps, and is uncomfortable at times. This discomfort made me not want to read certain pages but I was very glad I did. As female and having been young once, I found it very funny and could relate to the work. It succeeded in bringing up emotions and memories from my own twenties self (not all of them pleasant), but gave me a sense of solidarity and normality with this woman. It is well structured and very accessible (which is something I value) giving an apparently honest account of emotions and wry insights into a world. It created images in my mind and I liked how the poetry reflected on itself as written. Using a stream of consciousness style approach it brings to life, very cleverly, the writers experience and I felt like I knew her as she knows herself. This in itself brings up issues around poetry and blogging where it easy to disclose personal information to an unknown online (potentially huge) audience, more so than you may tell a friend or work colleague. It is written for the writer like a diary, but at the same time, for anyone who happens to read it.

Spell it right

Little Dragon is like a name I’ve heard before

I am listening to Little Dragon

Dragon tattoos are good

I would get a tattoo but they cover up freckles

I can’t get freckles removed 

On Monday I jumped on mole hills

Today a baby weed on me

Today I saw good people

Tomorrow I will see good people

Tomorrow is Friday

I am writing this today

I am writing this tomorrow

I will post it today

I want to be anonymous

I should write in secret


I am anonymous poet

Not all anonymouses are the same

My name is changed

Legal pseudonym

I am still listening to Little Dragon

Poetics Statement 26 April 2017

Feminism, post-modernism, lived experience of life, relationships between men and women, women, poetry, and emotions are some of the themes that my two poems : “Too many geniuses” and “When one door closes, another opens” cover. Both poems use stanzas of four lines with individual lines of different lengths. Syllables are not counted, but the lines break at natural points. Sometimes the sentence continues on the following line to keep the reader awake, and sometimes this uses ambiguity. My aim is to write accessible poetry that could be understood by a wide audience and resonate with many people. I would like to bring ideas to poetry, whether new or old, and give them a new perspective. I wrote both poems after a recent reading of “Unnecessarily Emphatic” by Kathrine Sowerby (Red ceilings press 2015) and this work influences the structure of the poems in terms of where to use line breaks. Also, in the use of repetitive phrases with slightly different emphasis.


My aim to write accessible poetry is because I want my ideas to be understood. My poems are more about ideas and content than they are structure and syntax. I value more highly the poetry that changes the way I think, rather than poetry for only the literature elite.


Ideas need shaping. I had two attempts at writing “When one door closes, another opens” and the first was necessary in order to process ideas and information to come to the final version.  The first draft was a way of understanding what I wanted to get across.

Too many geniuses


I can’t think of a famous female genius

I am not a genius

I don’t believe in IQ tests because they are too hard

and also western-centric


The King James Bible says Eve was made of Adams rib

It was Eve who ate that apple and gave it to Adam

It was HER fault, not the serpent

who said Trust in me


A guy said to me once that I could not trust him

It was MY fault he didn’t like me

It was my fault Eve ate that apple

I am Eve, My name is Sally


Men are generally physically stronger than women

In the beginning they had power

In the end they had power

Rise up, rise up, defeat those men with intelligence


I think of Florence Nightingale and Mother Theresa

I only heard of Gertrude Bell three years ago

I like Angela Merkel, the Brontes’ and Jane Austen,

Marie Curie, Malala and Tracey Emin


A woman should win the Nobel Prize more often

Posh Spice got an OBE for being famous

and services to charity – I don’t know what they were

I don’t want an OBE


My old Headmistress from middle school had an OBE

I don’t know what for – maybe for teaching

or Scottish dancing

I don’t deserve an OBE


I am not famous; I don’t want to be famous –

Even an online presence seems undesirable

and filled with anxiety

I’m not sure I like community groups on facebook


I would like to be a famous poet, or writer

I would like to receive rewards

Like an A for an essay at school

And people saying well done, that’s great


I haven’t found my poetry niche

Rimbaud gave up his accolade

If he had been female

She would not have gone gun running, probably


Maybe if Rimbaud had been woman

She would have had a baby, instead of poetry

I think babies are harder than poetry

We were all once a baby


Not everyone becomes a parent

I’m glad I am not a parent

I hope my parents are pleased

they are parents, mainly


My marriage is based on equality

of humour, love and money

He needs more attention than me

which disrupts a balance occasionally


I shall rise up against the stupidity of men

and those women who do not consider

the feelings of other women

in relation to their men


Women are not a homogenous group

Men are not a homogenous group

People are fascinating

I have never met anyone called Eve


I know a few people called Adam, but

Richard is the best male name

I hope no one is offended by that statement

I don’t like offending people


It makes me feel bad to make others feel bad

I can’t cope with the inward self-loathing

I have internalised the Eve blaming

Richard often blames everyone else but himself


But I don’t blame him





The poem I read on my last day

Szaz said

it doesn’t exist

that schizophrenia

it’s a construct, not reality

but thanks to

Dr Kraeplin and Dr Bleuer

it is a thing

A powerful leader with a belief, a conviction, could lead to brainwashing in the ambivalent. The spectrum needs balance. It’s important to have opinions but not be opinionated.  Debating society is only for the elite.  Accept what you cannot change.

The tick box,

some say

helps psychiatry

and society

more than people

who are struggling

to cope,

but it’s difficult

to know.

There is a lot

of hatred of

the power

inflicted on the

mentally distressed.

Power, Intended to

help people grow

or potentially,

control, in

their best interests

A strong message with a clear argument and rationale could perhaps sway the vulnerable. We are all vulnerable. I’m not sure there is a point to life. I want to live.

Some say

psychosis is

not an illness

but an amazing


which has been

misunderstood for years.

So, If we liked our

voices, it might

be easier to

accept the gift

of schizophrenia

or bipolar

or schizoaffective disorder

or something

with psychotic features

or a type of personality

disorder, maybe

People need to feel belonging and the minority, the oppressed, seek answers and hope for a better not being bullied future. Are people weird because they are marginalised, or marginalised because they are weird. Someone once said I was one of the weird people.

I thought I was

special to have

psychosis but

I wouldn’t

want it again.

Life is confusing

as it is, without

paranoia thrown in.

Without medication

I can’t function

which I guess is bad

but I’d rather think

quite clearly and

keep my job intact.

My biggest fear

used to be to

do with

getting sacked

and somehow

taking heroin

and losing my home

and family and

life and fear

and nightmare anxiety

which can be

catastrophic internally

Someone told me people are more likely to sympathise with the right wing for a reason I can’t remember. Change the way you look or sound if people don’t like you.

This poem,

I hope you realise

is not making

a final point

on whether

mental health

is illness or concept

or syndrome,

but just sayin

there is an issue

in some people’s

world and I change

my mind

once an hour