Please see The Return of the Long Lost Son in connection to the content of this article. I go to the markets on weekend mornings.
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Long she had known the family. One of them but not of their blood. Most akin to the sister, a shared generation bonding them; not
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I sit here contemplating writing this out, and say to myself, ‘I love these moments of little realisations’. And then I realise that what I
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I don’t know if I’m realThough I think and I feelI touch and I seeI breathe and believeAnd engage and doThen a moment comesA pauseThat
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The grief of unhealed childhood wounds In my other post, Healing in Poetry, I write about unclaimed or rejected feelings states. In this one I
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The engagement of art in therapy is an established practice dating at least back to the 1940s [1]. While we might often think first of
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I hear you speakYou do not whistle you do not roarNor whine nor blowYou rise and fallLike waves on the shoreWhat word to describe that
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