JAE ROSE

Poetics Tuesday: Comfort food

The buttercup yellow butter

Trickles down my fingers

There is nothing better than toast and jam

On a windy evening

I hum a little, in-between bites

I do this when I am happy

Pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth 

And making it clip like a reassuring footstep

Occasionally I may be tempted by cakes and colours

As I walk around the shop

But always the fresh bread finds its way on to my plate

I like the reassuring sound of it popping out of the toaster

The firm scrape of the butter on the knife 

And the crunchy slices within my mouth

All seems better when the stomach is quieted and full –

Happy, I think, in fact.

Shhhhhhh…….Quiet, Please!

Silence cocoons me like snow on a winter’s day

Keeping my ankles wrapped 

Safe as walking through marshmallow 

I like leaving behind a path of footprints – 

As if I have truly been there 

Not just silenced and cocooned inside my head –

But truly being.

Looking Back

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2026/03/friday-writings-219-looking-back.html

Perhaps now it is time to look forward 

Rather than looking back

The choices I have made are drawn strong on my body

But they are not the sole definition of who I am –

And what I still could be 

Even looking out the window 

Seeing the fields and hills in the distance

The soft clouds blushing the pale blue sky

The church spires – it is always there

A constant ‘outside’ which I hope one day to feel with my hands

Instead of just feeling the possibility inside myself

Perhaps I am scared of doing well

Perhaps I will continue to trip and fall 

But maybe, just maybe the landing will be soft (er)

As I will have the knowing of my past to inform my next stage.  

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2026/03/anger.html

Perhaps like paint anger fades with time

What was once red slides into blue 

Like dipping your toes in a soothing tide

Letting the universal sky heal and love you –

For what you are – not for what you have done – 

Or used to do

All feelings ebb and flow 

Perhaps with time we forget what we were angry at

It just turns into the marks on your flesh 

And they fade with time as well – become smooth as a pebble in your pocket 

A ballast to hold on to 

A map of your journey 

Where no step is a mistake just all that you could do at that time 

I see anger as a fleeing dragon

Watching it fly away with a smile. 

Poetics Tuesday — Irish Blessings

I still hear your voice – it makes me feel strong on foggy days

It is both powerful and vulnerable – as perhaps you were

And I am too – the phoenix from the flame 

You gave me comfort and strength 

Led me to your homeland where I wandered the streets

Sat in churches and listened to conversations  

Any little nuance that would make me feel closer to you –

To understand the world that had formed in my head

Of course, I learnt that chasing thoughts

Is not a tangible affair – you were a person 

But what you gave to me was thoughts and feelings – the right to live

I miss you but am glad you showed me your magic –

The ability to both raise my voice and the capacity to ‘be’ enough for myself inside.

Prosery: Winter Lull

“It all belies
Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.”

The winter lull is like a pillow. I sink my head into it. Feel the comfort of its support. In my pocket my treasures rattle. A tiny little secret. No longer safe. But I like to warm my treasures in my palms. Make them shine – take them out only when needed. Then put them away.

The crows call and bring me out of my thoughts. They rest like ink-blots on a page. Proud, bold and sharp. Like black marks on lily-white pages. There is a new path to follow. To move the story along. Their caws no longer scares me.

Winter seems to have been and gone. Flowers begin to emerge. It is like a flash of colour after months of monochromatic morning walks. Time seems to tumble forth  

The world is there – it all belies our existence; we wait, and are still denied. 

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2026/03/ten-years-later.html

I cannot remember ten years ago

Perhaps the days have been both good and bad

I am still here, which is good I suppose 

There are no photographs or memories

Nothing to celebrate – no photographs or memories 

Inside I whisper to myself – I am still here

I have very few intentions – keep sober, stay safe(er)

At the moment that feels enough

My skin can account for ten years 

The absences and hallucinations also 

They ring as loud and clear as church bells

I am lucky that I have more chances – or choices

I hope the next ten years will be softer and gentler 

That I will continue to tend the fire inside.

Poetics: Embodying a Landscape

I stand by the window 

The sun is rising and the birds are singing 

Cotton wool clouds pass by

I imagine they tase like sugar  

Big, juicy bundles of cotton candy

As sweet as marshmallow

The thought makes me feel full inside

Like it is worth staying another day

I would like to walk over grass again – climb a tor, see the sea

I wonder how that would feel – if it would be painful walk backwards 

Perhaps finding different places of safety is like moving on

Keeping the few happy memories of youth alive in my mind 

I am always moving inside – escaping, surviving 

But I am trying to absorb myself in the landscape I have for now 

Perhaps even thinking of a world outside and beyond is a start

More fulfilling than powders and pills   

I leave my curtains open and wait for a buttery sunrise

I hope it embraces me and makes me feel safe. 

Quadrille #243: Bird is the Word 

I place the tiny bluebird

In her soft and gentle hands

She smiles as broadly as the moon

Nestles it like a hundred golden pennies or fallen star dust

I know that she will let it coo and sing

Then let it fly away.

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2026/03/friday-writings-217-your-message-to.html

I used to think my story was impossible to tell

Then I discovered kindness – humanity 

It is in the gentle things – the soft touch of caring fingers

A smile in-between the silences- just knowing, perhaps

If we learn how to treat ourselves well 

We can learn to love and honour the differences of others

It doesn’t require much thought

We all have pain – we all want it to be soothed – acknowledged

That is the spider’s web we all climb and fall, climb and fall from

It is best not to linger in the past

Rather, to keep walking, tiny steps at a time – move forward

If we are lucky there will be even more kindness on the path 

Or maybe our own hearts will change into a lucky, green clover.