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When the blood moon rises in the velvet sky, I’ll gather what I’ve carried and let the old things die. The stories that have tethered me, the words I never said, The ghosts of who I used to be, I’ll lay them all to bed. I’ll loosen every holding, release what isn’t mine, Let sorrow meet the darkness; surrender to the night. No more dragging yesterday into the dawn of who I’ll be, No more asking broken pieces to remember how to breathe. For the moon does not apologise, For wax

SHE GAVE IMAGINATION AWAY Some women leave diamonds, some leave their names in stone. She left books, and rhinestones.. Small hands held stories that opened doors to worlds beyond their own. She knew that imagination wasn’t a luxury. It was a seed. Give a child a story and you give them somewhere to go. Somewhere to dream. Somewhere to become. She came from little but dreamed enormously. And then she gave that dreaming away. Millions of books. Millions of little doors. Millio

I received this email following my accepted submission of Haiku poetry. You can check out all the authors words for free by clicking on the E-edition. You will find my haiku on page 81. Dear Poet, We are delighted to announce that Rain and Roots: A Nature & Earth Haiku Anthologyhas now been officially released by Fresh Words: An International Literary Magazine. The anthology brings together 92 poets from 10 countries, creating an international collection of haiku inspired by

There’s a thing. An opportunity. A submission call appeared from Fresh Words - An International Literary Magazine with a tight deadline. And immediately, that familiar little voice appears: Are you sure? Is your work good enough? There'll be hundreds of better writers. Only a few days until the deadline? Really? Perhaps leave this one… Hello, Imposter Syndrome. 👋 This time, I told her to shut up! Well… not entirely. 😂 She was still there, muttering in the corner, but I deci

Wanda the Wheelie Walker and I went wandering, Along the red stone track, wave watching. The desert-like landscape, all barren and bare, Made quite a spectacular backdrop to stare. The ocean rolled endlessly, blue and wide, While Wanda and I took it all in our stride. Well... her stride were wheels, mine were feet, But together we made a team, quite neat. We stopped for a while, to contemplate, To watch the Atlantic performing, we wait. The waves crashed and tumbled, then cam

Well.... That’s what happens when I started tidying up my own writing. I found things. Lots of things. Files galore! Poems that I’d forgotten about. A paragraph that makes me think, Oh, that’s actually rather good. Another that makes me think, What was I drinking when I wrote this? And then I started putting them together. Just to see. I even learnt how to create folders and file documents into them! And suddenly there’s a pile of words that are beginning to look suspiciously

There’d been a wish upon a list, A hopeful thought that would persist. Not just a walker, plain to see, But freedom, folds up gracefully. My name is Wanda, pleased to meet, I'm sturdy, smart and rather neat. My frame's champagne, a touch of class, Watch me shimmer as I pass. If you’re wondering why I’m Wanda, And not Matilda, Flo or Rhonda? A wish fulfilled that’s ready to wander, That’s why I’m named A Wish Called Wanda! Sally Somerton - Island Writer ©sallysomerton2026 All

When did we decide that feeling deeply was something to apologise for? That to carry the weight of the world somehow meant we were weak, dramatic or unable to cope? Perhaps the opposite is true. Perhaps those who notice the cracks, who remember the names, who cannot simply scroll past another tragedy, are not broken at all. Perhaps they are simply awake. Awake to the quiet grief that accompanies a life fully lived. Awake to the accumulated losses we gather as we grow older. F

My Poetic Prose for this Full Moon. By the time the Strawberry Moon arrives, the year has lost its impatience. Spring has stopped introducing itself. The hedgerows no longer need applause. Even the sea, though never still, seems to have settled into its summer breathing. There is a peculiar sweetness to this moon. Not because it blushes pink, as people imagine, but because it arrives when sweetness itself has ripened. Berries redden quietly. Roses abandon restraint. Bees move

For years, I believed my life should resemble a road. A clear beginning. Signposts. Milestones. A destination somewhere beyond the horizon. Choose a path. Stay on it. One foot after another, steady and certain.Keep going. But lately, I have begun to wonder if my inner landscape is not a road at all. Perhaps it is an archipelago. A gathering of islands scattered across an internal sea, each with its own weather, its own season, its own call. One island holds stories of m

SALLY SOMERTON'S JULY NEWSLETTER: 🌊 "CREATIVE TIDES" IS OUT AT THE WEEKEND 🌊 Sally Somerton - Island Writer For years, I thought life was supposed to follow a straight road. Choose a path. Stay on it. Keep going. But what if our inner landscape is less a road and more an archipelago? This month's newsletter explores creative tides, changing energy, islands, writing, rest, dynamic disability, and the wisdom of knowing when to sail and when to remain safely in harbour. If you

A Fibromyalgia Fatigue day for me today. Here's a glimpse of what that feels like, expressed through a short piece of poetry. INVISIBLE WEIGHTS Imagine lead weights wrapped around your body, invisible chain-mail armour, you never chose to wear. Imagine your head held tightly in a vice, thoughts squeezed thin, words lost somewhere between mind and mouth. Imagine legs wading through heavy boggy ground, in leaded boots sinking deeper with every step. That is my day today with fi

I stood beside the sea for years, Through storms and sun and salty tears. The wind would whistle through my hair, Yet no one gave a fig or care. I stretched my branches broad and fair, Providing shade for all down there. For dogs to pee, and those who'd stop, To eat their chips and drink their pop. Then one fine day, without a plea, A plastic chair appeared on me. No "May I stay?" No "If you please?" It simply settled in my leaves. Now people point and stare and see That bloo