Grow
Slowly, the self shifts
as stone does under centuries of rain.
Trace the tremble beneath.
You are not coming apart—
You are mind expanding.
Stand still. Feel the tide withdraw.
Let brambles snag your skin into reflecting,
roots exposed like nerves.
Hear the trickle-talk of a stream,
slipping between rocks, babbling
secrets like wind through hollow reeds
naming what you’ve buried.
Trees do not hurry.
Their green filters light
through leaf-laced air—
their trunk recording the years in silence,
ringed and unrelenting.
Julie Dexter ©
To the Man on the Train who Moved Sets because he Thought I was Mad
To The Man On The Train Who Moved Seats Because He Thought I Was Madcame from one of those moments. A quiet collapse on a public journey, a stranger’s reaction and the weight of everything I was carrying: not just sorrow for the father I’d lost, but disappointment in others who should have stood beside me and didn’t.
On reflection, that’s been one of the hardest parts: realising that the people who are supposed to be closest to us in times like this can, in fact, be the ones who let us down the most. I came to the painful decision that, for my own peace, it was better to stop trying to hold on, to let go of the ties that only caused more hurt.
This poem is a glimpse into that space: the mess of mourning, the loneliness of being misunderstood, and the strange, sharp clarity that sometimes comes with loss.
I hope it meets you wherever you are in your journey of grief and reminds you that you’re not alone in the ache.
Blindsight published
"Blindsight" explores origins before consciousness, examining humanity's cosmic connection while questioning existence and our inevitable return to earth.
Poetry Pamphlet Published by Pen to Print and Barking & Dagenham libraries.
What the Dogwood Tree Knows : pamphlet
Please contact me for a copy.
