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.
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