Poetry Space

A little about me

My name is Susan Jane Sims and I am founder and co-editor of Poetry Space - an international literary space for writers all over the world.

Passionate about poetry, I love to encourage others to write and I do this through my involvement in Lapidus(Chair of the South West branch), through workshops and writing groups, my work as a counsellor and through Poetry Space. In Autumn 09 I visited schools as part of the Threshold Prize initiative.

Educational background

BA(hons) English Literature and PGCE from the University of the West of England.
Professional Diploma in Therapeutic Counselling (City of Bristol College)

If you live in Bristol you would be very welcome at my writing for personal development group. We meet monthly- statring again in September after the Summer break. Please get in touch if you would like further information on this.

If you visit this page regularly you will be able to read some of my poems. They are here for your enjoyment.

How to eat an avocado
(after Wallace Stevens)

Run your blade
along the contours
of a ripe avocado.

Enjoy the sensation
of pitted leathery skin
opening to a smooth interior.

Observe with respect
the heart, half- naked
in a solid green ocean.

Scoop it out gently.
You will never attain
its silent perfection.

Find your loveliest plate
and a shiny new spoon
then sit. Savour

mouthful after mouthful
of creamy rich flesh.

© Susan Jane Sims

The above poem appeared in Reach 140.



Dining al fresco

Late summer
and I am roasting ribs outdoors.
The meat growls and spits
in the heat, the smoke allows
a feigned immunity to memories evoked
by burning flesh.

If you were here,
we would be having salmon, deep pink,
and tender, and salad with cream
bought specially

The ivy, cut right back, now climbs the wall;
its tendrils clinging to the stones,
its roots in clay.

That was you. An eighth born child
feasting on a grieving mother’s
dregs of love. You came back thick and strong
when we lost hope.

I am very much your daughter. Irene’s daughter.
And there are parts of me now you would not recognise.
I have shed the blindfold

I wore to stop myself from straying.
My voice now, adapted to its freedom
is growing back robust and strong.
Yours is softening.

© Susan Jane Sims



This poem is my contribution to Elements of Healing - A Collection of Poetry and Short Stories. All of the contributors are members of Lapidus South West and use writing therapeutically and creatively with people in educational, community and hospital settings. The book is £5 and all profits will go to Lapidus SW. If you are interested go to the bookshop page to buy a copy.

The following poems have previousy been published by Indigo Dreams Press:



Rosebuds for Mum

You could always rely on me my love
To make beautiful the darkest hour
A bone scan followed by fish and chips
became a grand day out
Wallace and Gromit style.

And so I wanted for you the perfect death,
a surrounded by family departing, from your own warm bed.
Rosebud sheets tucked round you. One of us
reading “Silver” by Walter de la Mare;
a favourite of yours, from school.

Not this bewildered hospital demise
dependant on the kindness of strangers.
Kisses for your cooling frame and you past caring.
I’m so very sorry Mum, it was not
supposed to happen this way.


© Susan Jane Sims


Last Night’s Rain

Only the flowers remain, drowning
in last night’s rain

You let her go

No, I nurtured her like
an exotic bloom, protected
her from sun and wind and shower
I had to let her stretch her…

Wings? Surely flowers can’t fly?

I thought she’d soar above the rest
Yet
the wax melted,
petals fell,
like confetti on the road.

Hold her…take as long as you want

Words
kindly meant, yet pointless
to hold a broken stem.

I need to remember her whole,
not fragmented and destroyed
by last night’s rain.


© Susan Jane Sims


On Parole

Waking to a world transformed
from grey and green and brown
to neon white, we abandoned
plans for work and school
and like prisoners unexpectedly
on parole, we headed
for the hill above our town
jewelled with sledges,
bright against the snow

Our ridge became a mountain range
a Christmas card delight
and the still cold air
fizzed with our laughter.

© Susan Jane Sims

Haiku

Jade for a mute child
gives voice to what's unsaid,
the rich pulse of pain.

© Susan Jane Sims


Body -fest

As the needle pierces my thigh
I disregard the deepening flush,
of a body ripening its unnatural harvest.
It’s tough, they said it would be,
yet it has the dubious reward
of preparing me for the menopause
when it comes.

Bizarre to be giving life
yet thinking ahead
to when I’ll no longer be able to,

a reminder of life’s briefness, the realisation
that in time we all become the sum
of body parts that one by one will let us down.

For now, I give the syringe access to my body-fest,
for a fee large enough to see me through
a final student year,
then I’ll be free,
to be, whatever I want to be…

“But you’re giving away my grandchildren”,
my mother wails, trying as usual
to tie me down to details.

Yet she’s there after the collection,
with clean white sheets and scalding tea
and with me six weeks later;
to hug, to pacify and to celebrate
a stranger’s nascent joy.

© Susan Jane Sims

Body Fest appeared in Reach magazine (no.132) and came third in the readers' vote.














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