creativity

Blogging in 2025

| Sheree

Hey I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve created a blog post every day so far in 2025. I don’t want to jinx the process by mentioning it. But many moons ago, I created a blog called ‘Everyday Creativity’. The aim of this blog was to be creative every day for a year and share it. I shared images, text, quotes, poems, reflection. Small stones were around at this time and I enjoyed creating them to remember moments.

Whatever was calling me that day was posted. I loved how it kept me engaged with my creativity. It also broke down some barriers I might have constructed about what is art and creativity. I realised that there’s no reason so be so precious about. Or put it on a pedestal.

I believe we are all creative and we just need to give ourselves permission, as well as the time and space to play, to create.

The End – Day 30

| Sheree

I might also be forgiving if you don’t write every day. I drafted these essays in half an hour. There was something very pleasant about that—to have a little exercise. It’s not like you’re trying to write the best thing in the world. 
—Ross Gay

These past 30 days have flown by. If I’d stopped and really thought about it before this month, I probably would have talked myself out of writing a poem a day. I’d been in a dry spell and not reallly doing anything to be inspired.

I’m glad I didn’t give myself any time or space to think about it as I’ve so enjoyed this challenge. And as the quote says, I wasn’t trying to write the best poems in the world. I was just trying to write and enjoy it again.

So mission accomplished.

The final task for the month is to look over the creations and to see if there’s any themes or connections to pull them into some kind of whole. It doesn’t have to include everyone. But if it was going to be a collection what would the title be?

Initial thoughts – something that includes ‘Blossom’ as it’s been a reoccurring image/ focus I think throughout the month. Just saying ‘Blossom’ reminds me of a black and white movie I watch with my mum one Sunday afternoon when I was a kid. And it was about a Welsh mining village and a black man comes to work there. Of course there’s a pit accident and the black man is killed saving the others, if I remember rightly. Anyway the black man would say ‘ Blossom’ but like ‘Blossssooomm’ really exaggerating it.

I must find out what that film was called. Hold on …

Nah, can’t find it. Found Proud Valley with Paul Robson but I don’t think it was that. But I think there was singing in it. Does this mean I have to watch the film to see if he says ‘blossom’ in it?

Blossom is only here for a short time and I don’t want to waste that time on a black and white movie when I could be enjoying the delicate textured colours of real blossom.

So the title of the poems form the month would be titled: when lush becomes blossom

That will do for now.

Self-Portrait as a Writer – Day 29

| Sheree

they say poets are reluctant to call themselves ‘poets’. well at least the ones that aren’t famous.we all have to come to the blank page. collections, awards, residencies whatever, we carry the fear of never being able to repeat that measure of success. or that we are never ever gonna write that good again. BULLSHIT. i don’t buy into self-depreciation. there’s enough of it out there without adding to it, by piling on myself. just give me a moment, to breath, to open my body, to listen to the whispers within and the world without. then i’m bound to create something. the trick is to remain open. to have no expectation. to drop the comparison trap and to just play.practice. dive into the process and {BE}. and before I know it I’ve got this singing imagine, this hook, this solid rock stance of intuition that I’ve just nailed the essence of a poem.

Getting Things Straight

| Sheree

Have you ever been camping?

This weekend saw me away from home at The Outdoor Connections weekend. It’s a weekend away for grassroots groups who are working to diversify the outdoors. Groups and organisations who connect with grassroots communities to offer opportunities outdoors with nature.

So Earth Sea Love CIC, me as Creative Director, was invited along to take part. And I went with Kiwi, my converted campervan, with the hope of camping out on the site of the youth hostel where everything was taking place.

That didn’t go plan as sleeping in my campervan wasn’t allowed on site for what reason I do not know. So each evening, I left the group to try and find a park up for the night.

Stanage Edge, Park District

I’m not complaining though as I found some lush spots to park up and rest.

Now I have returned home, I’m still a bit out of sorts. Not quite landed yet after my time away. So a way for me to get grounded is to make another handmade journal to use for my daily pages moving forward.

Well no sooner than I’d finished it, yesterday evening, that it’s full today. All I can say is that I must have had a lot to process. I know I did use it as my next to-do list after my last journal was used for the same practice. And it’s just helps me get things straight. Clear the decks and start again. Begin to work my way through the things that need to be done.

Revision, Rewind, Recognise – Day 28

| Sheree

You said you would paint my nails. Red. Because red would looks good on my skin. Purple even. This man. You blew so much hot air up my arse I was floating. Floating on fucking air all the way down there. 260 miles. 260 miles of Soca hits, blaring out the mini speaker. Getting me in the mood to wind up my waist. I’ve never felt so much carnival in my blood. Jouvert, jumping up in the midnight light, throwing paint, bodies slick with sweat, couldn’t beat the heightened anticipation of our meet. Lips thick, juicy enough to suck on. Like pork belly off the bone. Thick and sweet. They could become addictive. If only you’d check your attitude. Rude. And you think you elevated. Wise beyond your years and I better listen. Educate. Please! You better check yourself because this arse is moving out faster than when I got here. As I recognise, you might not be so much one of those bots, but you sure can scam. Making out you’re the jealous type and now I’m off the market because I’m yours. Excuse me, but our time has to come to an end sooner than you might have been planning. You mighty fine, but I’ve seen your ugliness and I ain’t buying it no more. To think I wanted to suck on those lips for eternity. Fool that I am.

How To Have Dinner With Your Ex and Not End Up Killing Them- Day 27

| Sheree

It would help if the get together is for some occasion.

Say a birthday.

Something involving the children and then you are honour bound.

This somehow helps in softening the annoyance and the avoidance.

Stay away from alcohol.

If you still need the courage try zero beer.

Still the light floral taste with bubbles without the poisonous buzz that would loosen tongues and resentment.

Keep the conversation light and centred on the children.

Avoid eye contact at all times.

Try not to be left alone at any point in the proceedings.

At this point, they tend to ask personal questions like they still have a right to know your business.

Smile and be aversive.

Keep your life and goings on close to your chest.

You are no longer theirs so you owe them nothing especially your heart.

Your life. Your light.

Skip desert. Split the bill.

Definitely make your own way home to your own safe space where you no longer have to deal with their shit.

Breathe.

Blossom Diptych – Day 26

| Sheree

1.

Blink twice and I miss you. Not wanting to make this mistake again, I watch for your arrival. Then once here, bask in your delicate beauty. Each bursting cluster unique. Soft and curled petals, blush and flush, fuchsia, rose, and pink.

I pray for the wind to stay away, to go away as with each gust you are forced to separate from your centre pistil and disperse like confetti. Floating upon the air to land anywhere. And then it’s over for another year. Short-lived gone in the wind.

2.

Each year you return with an open palm, gentle and vulnerable. I see you watching me. I wait for my time. I put on a display of tight fisted pink buds as a promise. A promise that soon comes. To blaze in my glory is a gift I cherish. As soon gone. Drifting off in the wind to become more in time.

Still/ Just Writing Out – Day 25

| Sheree

Going down is the sun. Still warmth to be had. Precious.

Let me sit in its grace and give thanks. A moment. Spring.

Blossom. Lambs. They look at me as if they want to say something.

Make a connection. I see you and you see me.

Running after mum, grabbing at her teat. Kids.

Always demanding something. Mine are both beautiful

inside and outside. I say this all the time. But what do I mean?

I take no credit in their beings.These birds are singing out

their lives, building nests before they can rest.

But when do you ever rest once you have kids?

What a worry. What a responsibility.

Yet, they have forced me to grow. To step into this thing called

mothering. Like a pink bud, still clinched like a fist, there is more

to learn upon this journey.

Giving Myself the Right to Refuse – Day 24

| Sheree

I give myself

the right to refuse.

The right to refuse

what has already

been refused to me.

These rules, standards,

boundaries and barriers, I refuse.

I’m taking myself

outside.

I refuse to be labelled

and placed in one

of your boxes. I refuse.

And when I think about it, from being a child,

asking questions

and taking the beats for them questions,

I’ve always occupied

this refusal, but I never

had the words for it,

the language to hold

it up to the light

and investigate.

To amberfy it.

Until now.

Thank you Fred.

Thank you Saidiya.

Thank you Dal.

I refuse to take up

the subservient position

of ‘black’, to play

the good slave,

to kiss your boots

that continue

to kick me in the face.

Nah man! I refuse.

I refuse the choices

you offer me

and I carve out my own. I refuse

your parameters

and (re)imagine

other possibilities.

I’m tapping into

my own desires

which you could

never claim

or tame. I refuse what was refused me – rights,

responsibilities, respectabilities,

and stepping into

the rapid rivers

flowing fugitivity.

I’m ceasing up my body and running,

outside,

escaping

your oppressions.