I’ve always been a poet. I wrote my first poem at the age of five whilst on the way to school with my Mum. I can picture exactly which street we were walking along when I first recited it to her. Earlier in the walk we had scuffled through autumn leaves, and I spent the rest of the walk secretly composing a poem about autumn in my head. I still remember the poem now. The scansion needed work, but it did rhyme. And more than that, I remember my own, and my Mum’s, delight, when I shared it with her.
I still have a notebook full of poetry I wrote in early childhood, which I hold very dear. At secondary school I used to dash off silly rhymes to amuse my friends. Someone, somewhere still has copies of “I love my orange cardigan” and “Ode to a £3.99 bottle of whisky”.
The thrills and spills of student life, the start of a career, an up and down love life – in my twenties, these things all put childhood interests on a back burner. Fast forward to forty, and, thank God, the mid-life crisis struck with a vengeance. Where had my inner Nina gone, I wailed, as I reflected on a life which seemed to consist of washing small boys’ pants and being late for work. So I picked up my bic biro and a fancy notebook, and I started to write.
I haven’t stopped writing since, and my poetry has now featured in Light Magazine, Lighten Up Online, The New Verse News, Snakeskin Poetry, and Ink, Sweat and Tears. With fun at its heart (and the odd serious moment), my poetry is my favourite therapy. I hope it provides a little therapy for you too.
PS It used to all rhyme, but it doesn’t necessarily all rhyme any more. I mean, it usually does, but nevertheless, it’s all become a bit awkward, what with the URL and all. Let’s not speak of it.