Love Letters – #3 Ever Moving Mind

Dear Emily,

I am not Cathy Earnshaw.

I am not Cathy Linton.

Or Isabella Linton.

Yet you are write these characters with such texture that I connect to them. They are not women who are likely heroes, but I still hear the trials and understand them.

This seems important, as you seem like none of these women either, from the short biographies we now have of your life. You write in such an a rich way, that we even connect with Heathcliff.

You come over as someone who had a sense of wonder alongside a sense of home. Who could carve rich imagined worlds from the limits of your bedroom. If we could all write like this or imagine life like this, we would all be able to live freely.

Your poetry also talks of being in the moment. Connecting ourselves into the presence.We have a name for that now – Mindfulness. Linking that to your rich imagination is both inspiring and humbling.

“Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving—
Come back and dwell with me.”

Shall Earth No More Inspire Me, Emily Bronte

My mind is ever moving. If I could hang out and chat with you, I am sure that I could become enlightened on this darker regions.




Love Letters – #2 Joyful Leaving

Dear Frida,

You were brave.

And I loved that.

You gave us all you pain

Your doubt

And your uncertainty

In sharing your complex relationship

You had with yourself

And the world around you.

You showed us

That identity is a movable feast.

In this you were not only ahead of your time,

But my time too.


I hate boxes.

I hate labels.

I hate the notion

That we are one thing

Or the other.

You showed us all

That we could be more

Than what the world

Would shape for us.

We could be more

Then what we could

Shape for ourselves.


You lived fiercely

Overcoming pain

And sharing it with us

In vivid paintings.

In your work,

I see that as Artists

We have to be brave

In sharing ourselves

With the world.

We can not simply

Put ink to paper

Without our heart

Pulsating through our hand

And onto the page.


You last diary entry

‘I hope the exit is joyful

And I hope never to return.’

Sings sweetly of a life lived to the full.


All my love,


Love Letters – #1 Still Marching


Dear Suffragettes


Here I am writing

The first of my of Love Letters.

I plan to write a 100.

1 letter for every year

Since the change you

So fiercely fought for began.

1 letter to all 100 women who I love.


You stand out


Deeds Not Words

In a crowd of women and men

Who changed the course of history.

You saw that quiet negotiation

Was not working

And you drove social change

With your militant approach.

I am in no doubt

Had you been here

100 years later

Trump would have described you

As a ‘Nasty Woman’.


And you were.

You were unsettling

You discomfort drove others to be uncomfortable.

You were loud and divisive

You were more the floppy hats

We see now in grainy black and white

You were cotton and earth

You were long hours

You were sexually, physically

And emotionally attacked

You were without things

I now so readily take for granted

Rights over my body

Rights over my property

Rights over my children.


You were dismissed as temperamental

You were dismissed as difficult

And I am so thankful

That inspite of this

You ploughed on.

You clogged up the prison service

With your revolution.

When they had enough of the force feeding

When they had realised that prison

did not hold sway over the power

Of your mighty hearts

They took their violence onto the streets

Assaulted in broad daylight at the middle of the road.


How can I honour you?

How can I carry on your fight?

It’s more than voting and petitions.

It’s more than banner waving.

It’s more than marching.

It’s more than online campaigning

It’s living my life to the fullest

Not being held back

By the views of others

The laws support me

Even if some people do not.

I will stand up for fairness

And I will stand up for others

Whose representation is missing

I will hold space, create space

For others.

I will support, share, hold hands

Walk alongside those

Who are not granted the platform

That I do have.


I will not run away

I will not be apathetic

Or indifferent.

I will not be silent.