Kathryn Epps Poetry

A snowy morning;
my footprints in the snow will
melt away by noon

Today when I was running down a narrow country road I heard a distant vehicle approaching and stopped on the verge to allow it to pass. Immediately afterwards I resumed running, and noticed the vehicle flash its hazard lights as a gesture of thanks. It was only a small thing but it meant a great deal as it made me feel seen and valued. This made me think about my poem, 'Acknowledgement' which is effectively a list of small spontaneous acts of kindness that we experience and do on a day to day basis and often without even thinking. In a world that is so full of problems it's easy to feel helpless, but I believe that the little things we do make all the difference, and when we open our eyes to these it can really bring hope. Keep smiling at strangers, keep saying thank you, keep being kind. It really does mean the world.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Giving way to vehicles waiting at junctions.
Raising a hand in exchange of thanks.
Blasting the horn in warning of danger, or when noticing a friend.
Holding open a door for the person behind.
Nodding, smiling with a passerby.
Moving aside to give them space to pass.
Holding out a hand to someone that's stumbled.
Stooping to gather what's been dropped.
Waving to a baby beaming from its pushchair.
Calling out to an acquaintance on the other side of the street.
Dropping coins into an empty coffee cup outstretched.
Making eye contact, saying hello.
Offering a tissue, crying together.
Laying flowers on a neglected grave.
Pausing to read words lovingly etched in stone.
Allowing a moment to remember.
Noticing the community around us, the care that's been taken.
Thanking the caretakers by doing our part.
Stopping for traffic while waiting to cross the road.
Flashing lights say “I see you.”

WE WERE HERE FIRST

It’s an argument that seems to work for you
when you feel your habitat is under threat,
so why not we
who have been here longer than your forefathers?
We are literally rooted here,
unwilling protestors waiting to be cut down,
unable to put up any resistance against the chainsaws
or even flee in the wake of our death warrant.
A hundred years may seem a lifetime to you,
but we are still in the prime of our lives
at two centuries or more;
there is no need to euthanise us
when we have plenty of life left,
and oxygen to bestow on future generations,
oxygen that you have willingly traded in
for a better transport system.
You have sold out on your children:
pure air for polluted roads,
a busy, hectic landscape
for the tranquility of the forest.
Even if you replace each one of us,
planting saplings in our memory,
you will never live to see them
in all their glory, as we stand today.
Tomorrow when you visit the killing fields
and walk among the bodies of the fallen,
remember for a moment the sanctuary
we once provided: the branches arching overhead
to shelter from the elements,
the soothing whisper of the leaves in the wind,
enough to send you to sleep
against the strong trunk cradling you
like a grandparent, asking for nothing more
than for you to put your arms around them
and hug them tight. We were here first,
but we need to be part of the future too.

I was deeply saddened to hear about the senseless felling of the iconic Sycamore Gap tree. It's not a tree I've ever seen for myself and now I never will. I'm sure one day I will write a poem about it, but for now I am too lost for words, so here is a poem I wrote 3 years ago. It was inspired by the trees that were felled for HS2 but is still relevant. I have altered the final line from 'want' to 'need'.

An excellent blog post about poetry as the gift of attention. It's worth a read...

Poetry As The Gift Of Attention - Blog - Scottish Poetry Library Poetry bears witness – not just to the beautiful moments in life, but also to the inarticulable pains of being alive, of losing, of never having.

There's an interesting exhibition on at Summerlee Museum of Scottish Life about North Lanarkshire poets. I went to see it last weekend and would definitely recommend it

A Haiku for National Haiku Day

So much can be said
in seventeen syllables.
Where do I begin?

I am delighted to have received the first ever copy of my Dad's latest poetry collection, This Present Beach! I've had the privilege of reading some of the poems ahead of publication and I am sure it will be a very enjoyable read! Find out more at Fiery Hedge Poetry

My Dad's forthcoming poetry collection!

This is the image that I've selected to appear on the cover of my latest volume of poetry, due for publication one month today. It's entitled This Present Beach and this is the blurb:

This Present Beach celebrates the immediacy of the joy that comes in the moment. Emotionally central to it is the Isle of Mull’s Calgary Bay and the geology of this setting reflects how various elements of personal history inform the sense of uplift encountered there. Composed between 2018 and 2022, the collection addresses questions raised by Brexit – among them, anxieties about the state and viability of the Union – and considers the impact of the recent pandemic. Family experiences are interwoven with contemporary events while material on the Celtic saints offers perspectives on their significance and the integrity of the individual in difficult times. Permeated with an awareness of “the transitory”, these poems – which include a sequence on cancer treatment – document the memories that endure “on that inner skyline”, whether of young love, the accumulating stages of parenthood or the landscapes visited with others that “enlarge the map the/affections trace.”

The last few months have, for various reasons, been nonstop, allowing very little time for poetry, and as a result I am suffering from the dreaded creative burn out, while adjusting to big changes. I did, however, submit my poem, Sharing a Pint, to the Poetry Archive. I wasn't intending to participate this year, but had a last minute change of heart. Here is my entry

Sharing a Pint by Kathryn Epps The Poetry Archive Now! WordView 2022 EntryPoet’s BiographyKathryn Epps grew up in Exeter, where she lived until attaining a degree in English Literature and...

I'm delighted to announce that my second poetry collection, Driving Through a Rainbow, is now available! You can buy copies from Amazon, or direct from me for £7.50 (add £1.50 for postage, or free local collection). I will have some available to buy tomorrow at the craft fayre at St Ninian's Church, Stonehouse if you are local and eager to get your copy!

Last night I took part in an open mic night at Exeter Snooker Club. It was a great night with so many brilliant acts, and it was both terrifying and thrilling to perform for the first time alongside such talent! I hope to share some video footage from the event in due course

Working through the final edits of Driving Through a Rainbow with my publisher Nick Ware at the Fiery Hedge Poetry base

A preview of my second poetry book, which will hopefully be published in April. Here is the blurb to give you a taster.

Kathryn Epps grew up in Exeter, Devon, residing there until, in 2010, she was awarded a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. Moving to Norfolk, she lived there for seven years, at the end of which she relocated to Lanarkshire, Scotland, where she now lives with her husband and two children.

In 2021, Kathryn published her debut collection of poems, Hope Is Coming, a volume characterised – among other things – by thoughtful domesticity. The same quality emerges in this second collection, Driving Through A Rainbow, but the sense of movement implied in its title also encompasses various journeys – internal and external, emotional and geographical. The travel motif affords multiple opportunities to look back “as pilgrims/to those places we uprooted from,/places that shaped us…” and ahead at an “adventure” that “isn’t over yet”. Although the predominant voice is that of wife and mother, a child’s-eye view emerges at times beside that of the observing parent. However, like the phenomenon described in the title, these poems are “born in the conflict of sunlight and rain”: they engage with both light and shadow while preserving their hopeful trajectory and the belief that “love is bigger than our darkest fears/and all will be well in the end.”

Much of my poetry is inspired from raising my two children. As it is Mother's Day in the UK today I thought I would share a poem from my upcoming second collection which reverses the idea of VIP status to explore the less glamorous side of parenting, alongside the absolute love that exists in a family, even when it isn't verbalised.

VIP

We are second class citizens
with celebrity status.
We don't so much strut
down the red carpet
as hoover it in the wake of others.
Our adoring fans grasp for us,
and we in turn serve them,
falling to our hands and knees
to clear a pathway for them.

We are their bodyguards,
their chauffeurs, their help;
seeing to their most menial needs
without complaining,
and with minimal gratitude.

We recognise this is our vocation
and we delight in it,
we delight in them,
putting their wants and needs
above our own,
going to all lengths
to fulfill their happiness.

And despite our humble status,
we matter to them, and they to us.
They are our VIPs, and we theirs:
last in everything,
but first always in their love.

Kathryn Epps

Getting outside and engaging with nature creatively does wonders for mental health. I'm not going to pretend the poetry and sketches from my morning ramble are anything spectacular, but it felt good to get them down, and I hope you'll feel inspired to do the same!

Solitary Meanderings

The morning is fresh but already warm,
I set off with sketchpad, battered notebook,
pen at the ready to strike like a sword,
to wander idly, observed by livestock.
For a time I don't see another soul,
and tune into the litany of birds,
woodpecker percussion and buzzard call,
too beautiful to be captured in words.
The day is waking, the mist starts to lift,
the sun sweeps the shadows beneath the trees,
and I am captivated by the world,
drawing inspiration from all I see.
Walking the paths of poets long ago,
wherever the words take me, there I'll go.

Kathryn Epps

Last week I donated blood for the first time. It was a positive experience and naturally I wrote a poem about it

Sharing a Pint

If this quantity of blood was spilt on the carpet
I'd be seeking medical attention right now.
As it is this is controlled haemorrhaging,
the contents collecting cleanly into a pouch
that is taken away to be stored for later use,
the flow staunched with a wad of tissue,
wound sealed with elastoplast, when the needle is released.

The next morning I wake to the sound of blood pulsing loudly in my ears,
as though the ten percent withdrawn
has left an echo chamber somewhere inside of me,
and when I get up I feel marginally adrift;
my immune system warns of its slightly weakened state.
Miniscule bruising at the crook of my elbow
is the only outward sign that I've been bled.

I think often of that pouch containing tiny particles of me,
miles away now, waiting for transfer to another source,
a ready supplement for the depleted.
I will never know my beneficiary nor the outcome of their story,
and whether my blood will be enough to save them.
But I picture them someday sharing a drink with friends,
talking lightly of their near brush with death,
and with the hope that this vision might someday be reality,
I gladly raise my pint to their good health.

Kathryn Epps

A poem for International Women's Day.

Why Women Weep

Mostly it’s that we’re weary;
we do great works that go largely unseen,
trying to hold our own in a world
where men still have the upper hand.

We give all that we have, all that we are,
only to be told that it’s not enough, we are not enough;
dismissed as weak and foolish,
accused of being manipulative,
when we are overcome by emotion.

And yet we know there’s healing to be found in our tears.
We weep, not out of weakness,
but because we are strong.
We are survivors.
When the tears have dried
we pick ourselves up
and carry on.

Kathryn Epps

I've spent the morning playing around with the Magnetic Poetry Kit. I'm not sure I produced anything of substance but I enjoyed the challenge of trying to create some poetry from a limited range of words!

Today is Winnie the Pooh day. As you probably know Winnie the Pooh was a poet too. Here is a quote about poetry from the bear himself (I couldn't resist sharing a picture of my homemade Christmas cake too!)

'Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.' Winnie the Pooh