Poetry Blog by Emma-Jane Stradling

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Andy N on The Wasp (Sun, 19 May 2019 05:24 pm)

Martin Elder on My Mum's Lover (Sun, 20 Jan 2019 03:23 pm)

poemagraphic on My Mum's Lover (Sat, 19 Jan 2019 01:07 pm)

Big Sal on Dead Wood (Sat, 19 Jan 2019 12:53 pm)

poemagraphic on Wounded Healer (Mon, 17 Dec 2018 10:44 pm)

Martin Elder on Portals to Other Worlds (Sun, 23 Sep 2018 07:00 pm)

Big Sal on Portals to Other Worlds (Sun, 23 Sep 2018 06:08 pm)

Emma Stradling on Dead Wood (Wed, 11 Apr 2018 06:01 pm)

Wood on Dead Wood (Wed, 11 Apr 2018 01:03 am)

Fred Varden on On the suicide of Sally Brampton (Sat, 11 Nov 2017 01:50 pm)

Blackbird Mother

My wings are brown, not black and shiny.
I'm always peeping out through leaves.
I try and keep above the fear trilling below,
I know they are ingesting bitter roots.
And yet I swallow their song all the same.
The empty smoke of hope that arises,
as I am the Blackbird mother sitting,
gathering material and protecting you,
refined in pointless expectation.
I am a gust of failure that ruins,

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The Wasp

She is dead already,

those eyes have murdered her.

They shut her inside jars,

scream their pain, projection.

She needs not to sting humans

but she is overwhelmed.

Searching for open windows,

A chance to kill herself. 

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bullyingfearsuicide awarenesstrapped

My Mum's Lover

A house,

a staircase

it was an accident

you hit me

with your words

it's my home I say

but you don’t care

you have come in


soon you will leave

but not me, her

I find my bedroom

solace and silence

the smallness of me

you have come again

I do not want you

you are not mine, hers

you smother me,

press me into bedsheets

you smell of bull swe...

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abusechildhood traumahopelessnesssurvival

Wounded Healer

Wounded Healer

Chestfull of Grief

Subdued Heart

Full of Mischief

Scan my Matter

I am a Thief

Don’t listen to Spirit

Just Seeking Relief

Drowning Dreamer

Trauma of Belief

Rivers to Conquer

I am the Dirt

The Soil that Speaks

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Healerhidden meaningUniverse

Portals to Other Worlds

entry picture

You can find it in the drumbeat of a Shaman

Or within trees which possess doorways of hope

A certain stone can transport terrestrials

A mirror reflects what we know


A panorama roars into our psyche

While smells of childhood sear on our souls

The music we know the words to

even though we've never heard it before


We write a poem sacred in its rawness

Visit church...

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otherworlds; life;

Dead Wood

Dead wood, no good.

Get rid of the dead 

wood that won’t burn 

like wet yew branches.

People are dead wood,

like soul callouses.

They cling to you,

bring only judgement.

Spouting forth sin,

or their own piss;

its all the same

when you don’t drink it.

They call you wrong,

say you are useless, 

no use for burning.

I smack the dead wood

out of my life,


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A little poem off the top of my head. Not edited, written v.fast. 


Why should we bother?
To think about the souls
who fought in WARS
when peace is our goal.

Why should we bother?
To find a hour to spare
To witness their support 
when we weren’t there

Why should we bother?
To think about the tears
Of all the men and women
who sacrificed their fears

We should alw...

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War; Rememberence

Walking with my girl

entry picture

The wind blew us away,
but we stayed sure footed.
Evening drew in 
as dark clouds swam 
in post storm
a God dwelling sky. 
We built shelter 
for your game,
The way you faced
the wind 
made me so proud. 
We the warrior queens, 
wanting nothing but this. 

By Emma-Jane Stradling

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Queen of Cups

Enchanted women enter 

Hades fucks Persephone

whilst watching a silver Queen

Re-enter the ordinary world 

where Poseidon rules the sea

I dive through opaque water

the salt flushing out my eyes

under the silver silent waves 


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depression; women; myth


entry picture

The girl begins to unfold like a snake

unfurling itself from it's resting place. 

The arch of her foot, the ringlety hair,

the smooth skin that's yet to be shed.

She emits her stellar energies now.

Her unconscious is blissfully sleeping. 

Then they start to tout, with their sales.

Girls on the front of magazines, exposed.

The innocents look on in suspicion.

Is this what ...

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beautyfeminineyoung girl


entry picture

I saw you first when I strolled in,

massive horse, the god of the yard.

You gave us health, you god of healing.

The light streamed in; your heart lit up

just like you were Apollo,

the god of truth, you saw our souls.

You put your head on my shoulder

It was so heavy but I held fast.

You smelt of hay and horse.

Your stamps echoed around the place

your feet as big as di...

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grief; loss; horses;

A star collapses

She speaks up for the thousandth time,

when it's easier to keep quiet.

A star who says what's is in her soul

when you respond with your mouth.

A shard of silver pain in her heart.

But they have no idea.


You say the first thing in your head,

collapse her nebulous boundaries.

She’s a people pleaser, easily moved

by those who would like her to fall.

A nebula that ca...

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We hide our dark matter behind walls of soft red flesh.

Some people deny the existence of the matter.

Some think their's is so beautiful they should be first.

You deny the presence of it, even with my prompting.

I have descended into the dark labyrinths of my soul;

separating and extracting the Constellatus from Con -

‘together’ + 'stellatus.'

‘arranged like a star.'

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Shadow side; Jung; Emotions

On the suicide of Sally Brampton

You gave me hope when there was none,

from the misery in the mother and baby units

from my child's extraction, enraged breasts

useless. It was death, childbirth.


I too sat on the beach, at Southbourne

suicidal, with remorse reeking with illness;

I dug my fingers into the dark, cold sand,

and tussled with the need to stay awake.


I suppose the beach at Hastings was ...

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Sally Brampton journalist; suicide; depression;

On the death of David Bowie (By Emma/written in 2 minutes when I woke up!)

So I hear from you all that he has died,
the man that touched so many lives.
He has not left you in your heart,
now it's time to do your part,
keep his music alive through the dark.
His shining light will never depart.
He left a legacy to show,
his wishes for those who know.
Never let your creativity die,
From the starman waiting in the sky.

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creativitydavid bowiegrieflove


I want to be alone,
but only within my family.
I want to to teach you
but only with him too.
I want to help myself
but only if you help me.
I want to be confident
but only if you are there.
I want to be creative
but only if you allow me.
I want to be a parent
but only if I’m parented.
I want to be an adult
but only if I can be a child.
I want to feel emotions
but only if you hold me...

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growing upindependenceloveparenting


entry picture
She sees the sinews of life:
her mental scar tissue.
Purple welts plagued her mind,
from childhood to death.
While we revisit our pasts...
She tended to neglect coincidences
the acts we thought we'd regret
Sketches scored lines on her skin.
And souls exit to the light,
while she skeptically fights.
Tremulous, unable to bite back
with her mental scar tissu...

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Lifemental healthpoetry and mental healthself-harm

28 Years Later

entry picture

Can you imagine infinity as a 10 year old?

Yet now, 28 Years Later, I think it’s no time at all

I know you’ve been with me, all this while, watching, 

I grew from a child, into a girl, then a daughter.


There were times when I wished you weren’t there,

private moments, intimacies, melancholic memories,

I silently searched for you to surprise me,

my wedding, a fatherly hug ...

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childhood lossgriefhopeloss

Breathing Liquor

Liquor, such a licentious name,

I hear it whispered on TV,

my hair stands on end.

I move the bottles out of sight,

to negate their seductiveness.

They cry to be held or treasured.

The weakness of wine glasses,

resonating when they are washed.

They are true to their purpose at least.

I pour a scant amount,

measuring with molecular like precision.

I swig it back with...

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alcoholalcohol abusealoneness

The School Run

Swinging upwards,

scathingly steering myself towards salvation.

School Run: teacher testimonials and tallies.

An “Other,”

an outcast from tradition.

Rousing the reluctant offspring,

combative to my requests.

We breakfast briefly,

on little balls of sugary synthetic yellowness

We arrive at school,

greet the countless glamorous goddesses

oozing out of the orifices


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mothers taboo subjects.schoolSocial Observations

Travelling Home

An evening, sitting, wanting, ripping, blackening.
An acerbic wind.
Wait for the train and the glut of passengers to spill out.
The end, endless encircling madness, himself in the wilderness.
Girls, Judas and their selfish wives, lives pass, suck Jesus.
In his selfish mask.
Tormented, pushed down, I’m full: kill, hell thoughts.
Giggle to stifle grief, uncomfortable familiar family and perfe...

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Am I a Son of God?


I am as blessed as bees benefitting from a bounteous bloom.

I am chosen like choosing a caramel from a box of chocolates.

I am holy like the hopping Robin just ahead of me.

I am forgiven as I forgive those who trespass against me.

I am as blameless as my brother’s baby.

I am adopted as an angry teenager whose assaults are acerbic.

I am wise as worries that have wro...

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God is looking for action


God is looking for action,


take steps,


write a book or a manuscript.


It might make you woozy,

to sign a pact with the devil,

blind panic.


But take that first step,

peeling rust off steel,

deciding you can do it.


Then gaze blankly,

fall asleep,


lean against a bar,

break a figurine,

take a li...

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entry picture



That mourning I went to the woods,
misrepresented by madness.
Life chastened, clouds crept on whilst I cried up on my cross.
I picked obscure rose petals and placed them in abandoned jam jars.

I trampled on my spirit, a quiet cost.
I found an inner peace, like a pardon.
A new diadem excavated encircled my loss.
I danced on wet grass with God, crown festooned.

I grasped but my hand me...

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