Finding joy

 

Finding Joy in Small Things

For a long time, the word joy felt a bit old‑fashioned to me. But recently it has found its way back into everyday language — helped along by the wonderful animated film Inside Out and Marie Kondo’s book Spark Joy.

In Inside Out, each emotion becomes a character: joy, anger, fear, sadness and disgust. Their colours help us recognise them instantly. Many of us will relate to blue — thoughtful, anxious, often overwhelmed — while bright yellow Joy bounces through life looking for the positive.

Marie Kondo, meanwhile, is known for her approach to the Japanese art of decluttering. She suggests that we are weighed down by too many possessions, and that letting go of them can bring more joy into our lives.

But when we’re feeling low, the last thing we want to do is sort through years of belongings. Moving house can force us to declutter, but it’s painful when you’re holding an ornament your mum loved, a model your child made decades ago, or a souvenir from a holiday with someone no longer in your life.

So instead of focusing on things, try noticing small moments that spark joy without emotional weight. Use your senses. Pause. Pay attention. Almost all of us can get outside — and even a window can offer something uplifting.

Here are a few simple prompts to help you find tiny pockets of joy in your everyday surroundings:

• Open your curtains. What sky greets you? Blue with the promise of a bright day? Grey with the promise of rain? Are planes crossing overhead on mystery journeys with mystery people?
• Open the garden door and listen. What can you hear — silence, birdsong, a passing car?
• Stand on your doorstep and breathe in. What scents reach you — flowers, rain on the ground, someone cooking?
• Walk a little. Even 500 steps. Notice your feet, notice what you pass.
• Find a tree. You don’t have to hug it unless you want to. Look at its shape, its bark, its presence.
• Look closely at a flower or leaf. Notice the texture, the colour, the pattern.
• Pick up an unusual stone. Hold it in your palm. How does it feel? What shapes can you see in it?
• Taste a small piece of chocolate. Let it melt. Forget the calories.
• Study a piece of fruit. Look at its colour, smell its perfume, imagine its taste.

Even choosing one or two of these prompts may help you discover a tiny spark of joy. Keep going. Joy is there to be found — and those small moments can gently help us feel a little better.

And if you feel like it, you might write down what you notice. Writing often helps us see things more clearly.

Joy as a Small, Certain Thing

Joy arrives softly,
like a bird testing the morning air—
not asking to be noticed,
only to be welcomed.
It perches in the ordinary:
a warm mug,
a familiar path,
a hand reaching back for yours.
And when you pause long enough,
it sings.

Finding Joy Again

I thought joy had wandered off—
lost among the busy days
and the lists that never end.
But it waited, patient,
in the corner of a quiet hour,
in the kindness of a stranger,
in the laughter I nearly missed.
Joy doesn’t vanish.
It simply waits
for us to look up.

Joy in the Everyday

Joy is not a thunderclap—
it’s the hush before it.
Not the grand arrival,
but the steady presence
of something kind
and quietly true.
It grows in the cracks
of ordinary life,
blooming where we least expect
and most need.

My Word Dispensary Introduction

Sometimes, 

all you need is a listening ear, 

a hug of words, 

and a shared slice of cake.

As an English teacher — and someone who has lived with mental illness all my life — I’ve discovered how powerful words can be. The way they shape my mood has changed how I cope with the world.

My love of poetry began after hearing the Welsh poet Gillian Clarke read at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on the South Bank. Her gentle voice washed over me, and even forty years later I can still picture the moment. I remain grateful to the colleague who took me that day.

Perhaps teaching English Literature helped, but once I started playing with words, sounds and rhythms, I became absorbed in what I could create. Some pieces were forgettable, but some I’m proud of, and over the years I’ve gathered a small collection of my writing.

After moving to Hampshire, life brought some significant changes. My mother died. I was diagnosed with cancer — now thankfully in remission. I joined my local surgery’s patient group and began volunteering. Through this, I saw first-hand how worried people are about their health, especially with the changes happening in the NHS. I became a listening ear for many, and it struck me how often people simply needed someone to hear them.

I couldn’t offer long‑term solutions, but I began to wonder whether poetry might provide a moment of comfort or reassurance. And so the idea of a Poetry Dispensary was born.

Colour your life

When I first started teaching and tried to introduce poetry writing to very self-conscious adults, I set them a task of writing a poem, which asked them to describe themselves as a colour in a sentence It is fascinating to read how people saw themselves without saying anything.

For many years I have loved colour and how I feel when I am surround by colours. A really good example is when I enter a wool shop. Being immersed by the different colours and shades seem to produce a sort of balm to my mind. I don’t knit much but just looking around is so good form. The same is in material shops. Again I don’t really sew but sometimes I buy a fat quarter (a folded Quarter of a metre used for patchwork) in a colour and design that speaks to me and that has the same effect.

The idea can be extended into nature. A walk in a park with flower beds really raises the spirits but another way is through art. This can be anything form watercolour, pastels or simply colouring pencils. There are lots of colouring books available, but I prefer those that have geometric designs, as you don’t get caught up with the narrative of the picture. Colouring is definitely not just for children.

So, there are two tasks today!

• 1.   To try and write yourself as a colour.
• 2.   Try colouring a picture. You don’t have to follow expected colours. Trees could be pink, grass blue! Go mad and have fun. 

The words that follow are about colours and the effect they can have on people.  I will be adding to this at a later time. 

Green — Calm, Renewal, Steadiness

Poem: “Green Holds You”

Green is the quiet field
after the storm has passed,
a place where breath returns
and nothing asks too much.

Prompt

“Think of a place where you feel steady. What shade of green belongs there?”

Warm Yellow — Hope, Soft Energy, Morning Light

Poem: “Yellow Arrives Gently”

Yellow doesn’t rush in.
It slips through the curtains,
lays a small warmth on your hands,
and whispers, start here.

Prompt

“What small thing today brings you a little light?”

Rose Pink — Kindness, Self‑Compassion, Comfort

Poem: “Pink Says Be Gentle”

Pink is the colour
that sits beside you quietly,
holding the cup,
waiting for your heart to soften.

Prompt

“If you could offer yourself one kindness today, what colour would it be?”

The look of loneliness

 

Is this me?

Much has been said about loneliness and the difference between being lonely and being alone? It's complicated.

Some people have a life full of family and friends but can feel lonely and some who live alone with no family and few friends don't consider themselves alone.

I can remember years ago being told by my GP that many patients often need to talk rather than wanting medication. I understand that. 

Aloneness (is that a word?) is usually forced upon us. Children leaving home, friends moving away, a partner or family member die, a divorce or a breakup or maybe a job move. And please don’t underestimate the death of a pet. These events can mean your support network becomes fragile, and there are no easy answers to deal with this.

“Time is a great healer” said Sophocles. That is probably true. Scars mend but rarely disappear. They just fade. 

The writing I want to share today focus on time and general loneliness. You may be able to relate to them and allow you to pause to reflect on your situation. 

The first is the lyrics to a rather beautiful song called Only Time, originally sung by Enya but there have been many arrangements and recording of this. Take a look on YouTube.

Only Time

Who can say where the road goes?
Where the day flows? Only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose? Only time

Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies? Only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies? Only time

Who can say when the roads meet?
That love might be in your heart?
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart?
Night keeps all your heart

Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose? Only time
And who can say where the road goes?
Where the day flows? Only time

Who knows? Only time
Who knows? Only time

The next few poems are about loneliness in general. Hopefully some may resonate.

 

The Quiet Chair

There is a chair
that keeps my shape
long after I’ve stood up.

It waits,
as if it knows
I’ll circle back
to the same small silence.

Loneliness isn’t loud.
It’s the soft thud
of a heart
looking for somewhere
to land.

Rain on the Window

The rain taps the window
like someone practising
how to say hello.

I almost answer.
But the room is full
of the kind of silence
that grows roots.

Still, the rain keeps tapping.
Still, I keep listening.

3. Candle

Loneliness is a candle
burning in a quiet room.

It flickers
when a memory passes,
leans
when a worry sighs,
glows
because even in the dark
we are trying
to stay warm.

 

As you read this entry please be aware of others who maybe feeling low. A smile, and Hello or even the offer of meeting up for a coffee could mean the world to someone.

Warning

 

The first poem I am adding is a very well known one by Jenny Joseph called “Warning”.  It deals with the topic of getting older, daring to have fun and not worry about what others might think. The main character is a woman, but the theme is just as appropriate for a man. Maybe you might like to write it from a man’s perspective?

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.

 

Why poetry and not prose or a story?

Yes, I know lots of people are put off by the term poetry but that is usually because they had a bad experience at school or they “won’t understand it”. Bear with me and I am sure you will start to see the value in these wonderful, crafted pieces of writing.

Think of poetry as painting with words. The poems I will choose will be short, some written by well known poets and other written by me. Hopefully some will relate to you, whether it is something funny, sad, thought provoking and hopefully memorable.

Occasionally I will drop in a few ideas for you to try writing your own poems. Don’t have high expectations. This writing is for you. Only share if you wish to but having written about something that is important to you, you might like to show someone. Initially I hand write my poems. There is something special about holding a favourite pen or pencil. Here is a poem I wrote a long time ago about my preference to write using a pencil.

TO BE or NOT 2B

How I envy the yobs who,

with midnight skill,

tag uninhibited

on bridges and buildings

in brilliant colours.

Even graffiti on signs,

trains and buses

show a boldness from which

most of us recoil.

 

We may possess the tools,

hiding in drawers and pots

ready for us to compose

our first clumsy thoughts

 

There are roller balls,

fountain pens and biros

in rainbow colours

waiting for a call to action.

 

But in my small leather case

I have soft erasers

and newly sharpened pencils

that wait for my words.

 

And they wait patiently.