Every word a wave
Next to you
Written for MediaStrong Conference 2026 The camera whose cracked lens has seen too much The writer with ink run dry whose mental script keeps running The carrier pigeon with broken wings sent out to fly The witness of burnt bodies whose own burnout is never witnessed...
Top Trumps
It has been five years since I realised I was a shell of a person. The inner fractures were silent chasms. Barely any help could touch the sides, it all just echoed and reverberated round the dark chambers. Somehow, slowly, there has been some repair. I have met...
Crossing over
So many thresholds are hidden. Even those with clear punctuation marks like a change of job or something that involves a ceremony. We have rituals for these. But even they are brief, perhaps a few hours, maybe a day or two. Certainly not enough time to travel such an...
Tethered
rust fired off in all directions like sparks clatter of metal over metal the release of coils unbinding that anchor would never move wedded to the ocean floor, is left behind this ship, tethered for years releases the handle listens for the crash as the chains fall...
Moral injury is like an oil slick
There is little point in tending to the edges of the riverbanks if what is allowed to flow through is poison. At it's most simple moral injury is where what you believe to be true and what you experience do not align. More than that, they clash in such a way that the...
Menopause as murmuration
Q: If menopause had been framed as sacred how would I feel now? A: Like I was stepping into an era as an honourable rite of passage, witnessed and welcomed by women and ancestors. Revered and respected by younger generations who do not fear it, or me as I enter this...
Ostara / Spring Equinox
Spring, who made her announcement in whispers and tiptoes,arrives from the wings.Enters centre stage to pirouette, all eyes on herdelicate balance.We lean over, hold our breathand pivot into light. C o p y r i g h t © 2026 Kate Fox Robinson Image by Fabio Marciano...
Imbolc
Brigid is remembered as a goddess, or a saint who is celebrated at Imbolc, which marks the first turning of the wheel of the year in Celtic tradition. what if, among the starting againanticipation and waitingwe were to arrive at the realisation we are not alone?what...
Writing Forward
What if, as well as writing backwards into memory and experience, and writing now, on what is seen and felt before us. What if, we were to write forward? Contained within is yes, all the years I have been, but it is also true that in me and my surrounds are the...
Yule
Winter solstice poem The hum of activityof making and sellingFire's lit stoves' on We fill the rooms with chatter and grand gestures Yule comes gentlyknocking at our wreath donned door The silent guest who speaks only in the quietness of the earth Breathes in the...
If in doubt, breathe out
If in doubt, breathe out.If standing in a shopping line,or stuck at a red light If in doubt, breathe out. If hounded by your children who keep calling your name, or waiting at a bedside desperately hoping your Mum would say the same If in doubt, breathe out.If you're...
AI whose ancestry is algorithms
AI is not old enough to have an inner elder it has lived only long enough to be a teenager at bestsimplifying information, regurgitating a reply AI vocabulary informed by the dominant prevalent forces of our past distilled online, which are not pretty and make no...