From an early age, I learned that poetry didn’t have to all be pretty and comforting, and the subjects didn’t always have to be pleasant.


For me, this made poetry a genuinely living thing because, through this outlet, I could express a whole set of emotions, even those I might not show or admit to so readily in daily life.

My approach to poetry has always been draw inspiration from real-life situations. To express on paper what those emotions and experiences felt like and how they affected me.

Though much of the subject matter originates from a very personal space, I find that when reading poetry, emotionally, we connect to scenarios even if they’re not our own and by that fact alone we may consider our emotional landscapes with a more vibrant sense of awareness than we’d typically have done.


After all, a different perspective can help us to balance our thoughts better.

Poetry, at times, can make us feel naked and vulnerable as writers or as readers, but we should address those feelings as the fully clothed masked version of ourselves has little substance or reasoning without them. I hope that in sharing my poetry, the reader may be inspired to find their true voice and not be afraid to use it.

Poem of The Day

Consider the Lilies


As they glance up from pavements

waiting for a kindly rain to spill

from a stranger’s purse

and nourish the day, for the night is cold

—so cold.



He who plays blues harp

for strangers in the city square—can’t hold a note

his deep moans and crooning-unintelligible

flat cap on the ground lightly kissed

with copper coins

—his soul is dancing.



The fat lady

walking hand in hand

with an emaciated man at her side

who is looking out for who?

Conclude they both are—

opposite ends of the same bookshelf

bookends that don’t care what you think

They understand each other—they’re in love



those poor unknowns

who left the note:

“Rest in peace

Sweet Pixie xxx”

with a bundle of flowers

tied to the railings overlooking the Tay

—their hearts, broken by love


and the young man in his prime

who sits gazing into the distance

with a look of quiet contentment

in his world of headphones, private playlists

and quiet contemplation

he’s a dreamer—he’s never going to wake up.



The street preacher

who follows the lonely, the desperate

and anyone who’ll listen

saying “Jesus loves us all.”

When nobody answers him

he keeps believing—he doesn’t quit.


Well; we visited an art gallery

looked around and bought a book

contained inside were some of the artworks

from the exhibition

the book was called consider the lilies

I looked at the art in the book

and remembered the paintings fondly.


We returned home

and I considered them

the pale blooms of Saturday afternoon.

© Copyright 2019 wintermoonpoetry

Angus, Scotland