Rowan Rose

Biography

Hi, my name is Rowan, and I'm 24 and a Woking based poet-in-progress! I've been an active change-maker in mental health, care-experience and disability spaces since I was a teenager, and I've worked with the NHS and local authorities for 10 years doing this. My debut anthology is a collection of poems written while detained under a Section 3, exploring the themes, experiences and despondences that came up in hospital (the inquest of my sister's state-related death, a RASSO court case, and a lot more). I am still detained in hospital, so this is on the pulse-point of the system as it currently is, contextualised by years of austerity, compassion fatigue, and various issues that I have worked on national levels to improve, alongside recent scandals. As somebody who has worked in inpatient care, I have a unique standpoint influenced by years of working to make the system better and this has heavily influenced my poetry. I have seen how the experience of 'psych wards' has been diluted, with words like 'grippy sock vacation' and a general lack of understanding. Hospital is no holiday. Let alone the way it is shown in films/TV. Simultaneously, I am aware of how many people have had their lives touched or taken away by this system: and art has always been a vehicle for social change. I have written in many forms and for many different contexts for many years - it is my honour to finally create something tangible into the world.

Upcoming Work

I am delighted to announce that my debut poetry anthology 'Poems from the Psych Ward' is currently in production with Olympia Publishers! I also have some poems that have been submitted to and accepted by Asylum Magazine - keep an eye out in future issues for some of these. I am currently churning a good few poems out a week. However, let me not reveal things that are still in progress: so here's a recent one, probably one of my more positive poems x Travelling Feet Callused were the feet that carried me here. Five miles, fleeing, through mythical forest: Leather shoes, no socks: driven only by fear Adrenaline in my blood: screaming in chorus. Twisted was the ankle as I ran, once more. Trust taken from me as I was thrown to tumble - The drum in my chest, echoing through the floor Each thundering step, a daring earth-rumble. Nimble were the toes that tapped in time. Pointed, careful, expressive, in a dance - Clumsy children’s class to the stereo’s chime, Correcting my technical, lyrical stance: But my feet dance to their own beat, now. My heartbeat’s drum is my warrior-song. Still I survive (though I don’t quite know how) Sing arias to my own tune - all the day long.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.