Inner Child

SOPHIE’S WORDS: Spoken, Written and Sung

This poem was written during an Authentic Artist Workshop (Jan 2017) led by Kath Burlinson, who encouraged a deeper delving in to the self – a scary and emotional roller coaster. Here is something I found on that journey that I hope will serve me, and those around me, well.


I shall nurture the hidden inner child
No longer ostracised for her mere presence.
Listened to.
Satiating her need for love, attention and warmth.
It is not her who is the problem!
She is, but a child,
Formed by external forces
Binding, bending, stretching her perceptions,
Her needs, her delights, her woes.
She needs to be heard.
She needs to know that she is worthy,
That she is good enough, that she is loved, that she is relevant.
And then she will be peaceful,
Providing a constant source of joy, love and inspiration.


SOPHIE’S WORDS: Spoken, Written and Sung


These words heal
Encapsulate a notion, an experience, a resonance
A fear, a bleeding hurt
Stored to the depth of my spine
For an eternity.

These words release
Holding, aching, pulling,
Defining a hidden mystery
Rooted with tentacles of anxiety that flood my soul
A deluge of adrenalin.
Fight or flight.

These words flow,
With energy, chosen carefully
Each one placed to paint thought,
Emotion, physical or the sacred.
Textures of pain, streaks of sweat,
Stains of blood, smudges of tears,
Fabric of love, threads of me, frame of family.

These words express
From how I may appear,
Sure and calm, strong and clear.
Windows opened on dark rooms.
Shutters flung wide on monstrous failures.
Doors beaten down to reveal the truth.
Who I really am!

These words save
Those that have come before.
Un-cherished, unappreciated, mistrusted and dismissed.
Crumpled, scrunched and tossed aside,
Filling an unsightly bin.
A paupers grave.

New words gather, embracing the old.
Collective nouns call to a new page
Giving purpose and life
To breathe their past existence in to the now.
Resurrection, reincarnation


SOPHIE’S WORDS: Spoken, Written and Sung

A poem about trying to create something – that fragile moment when ‘it’ needs to come to you without your mind getting in the way.


Tentative tendrils
Reach out to embrace a wisp of thought,
A soupcon of motivation,
A minutiae of meaning,
A feather-tip of feeling,
A crumb of connection.

The tiniest seed has been activated.
No sign of life, of energy,
But resonating with a fragile will
That can only ascend towards its potential.
Let it be.
It is but a seed.

As an acorn lies upon the forest bed,
No thoughts of magnificence shadow its first trembling,
No cries of greatness drown the gentle awakening,
No gargantuan branches swathed in glorious leaves
Hamper its singularly simple self-esteem.
Let it be.
It is but an acorn.

A thought, a whisper,
A tingle, a flicker.
Without expectation.
Without doubt.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Let it be.
It is but a start.

Women’s March

SOPHIE’S WORDS: Spoken, Written and Sung

On 21st January 2017, along with my daughter and husband,  I attended the amazing Womens March in Edinburgh. Loads and loads of gentle, strong women, children and men standing up against hatred and intolerance.  After the horrors of Brexit and the rise of Trump in 2016, standing amongst  those like-minded souls, and knowing there were hundreds of thousands more  standing around the world on the same day, gave me a strong and real sense of hope after feeling so much despair.

I wrote this poem afterwards, which I recently performed at Kino Teatr in Hastings – my first ever Spoken Word performance.

Women’s March

I stand, amidst the turbulence,
Feet wide and firm,
Trying to deflect the waves strong enough to topple,
To brace against the threatening furious fears,
To absorb the power to find the calm.

Can I shout waves loud enough to turn back this rising tide,
A rising tide I don’t want to see?
Do I whisper,
To reluctantly welcome the ebb and flow, surf the changes
Keeping my toes dry?
Or do I jump in and fight?
Risk drowning.
Risk being consumed by waves seemingly larger than myself.

I can duck and dive.
I can float and fly.
I can swim and sway like seaweed, tossed on the ocean floor,
Flailing arms in stormy seas,
Yet, remaining intact, tethered and safe.
I can ride the white horses in the direction I choose
And call the ocean’s spray to sing the words I want to hear.
The words I believe.

And like each tiny, unique snowflake that forms an avalanche
I am but one water molecule amongst a billion,
Bound with attraction to the same ideals.
Flowing in the same direction.
We will be a tsunami,
Ripping out the heart of the fascists, the racists, the sexists.

Yes, I am jumping in,
Feet first, with every intention of getting soaked.


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