This post from Kate Shrewsday is welcome not only because her posts are always a delightful read, but the concept, the person she writes about is a bit of balm, I’d argue, for what many of us are feeling right now. The focus here is writing, but the healing properties of poetry in particular and writing in general are real and necessary.
So, it has been a while.
I return to write here today, because yesterday a woman in a white coat told me I must make the space to write. She told me this with the conviction of a true medic; and the zeal of a true poet.
She is The Emergency Poet, and she operates out of an ambulance.
I was on duty yesterday: working at my Cathedral in Guildford, manning the kiddies crafts and taking photos for publicity.
My boss and I strolled out of the great marquee – they call it a canvas cathedral- onto the lawn to watch the early visitors to the Cathedral Summer Fair. The air was soft, moist English air which caresses the skin, and though there was the odd spot of rain it was a benign sort of day, really.
Our eyes surveyed the scene, panning round to the large ambulance parked to…
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