Here we are in the middle of National Poetry Month, my third Showcase of five. Since this is the middle of the month, I feel we should celebrate with poetry. Back in week one, I said I would share my Chameleon poem. I wrote this in 2021 during the 200th anniversary year of the death of John Keats. This is an extract from a letter he wrote to Richard Woodhouse in 1818:

What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the camelion Poet. It does no harm from its relish of the dark side of things any more than from its taste for the bright one; because they both end in speculation. A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity – he is continually in for – and filling some other Body – The Sun, the Moon, the Sea and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute – the poet has none; no identity – he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God’s Creatures. If then he has no self, and if I am a Poet, where is the Wonder that I should say I would write no more? Might I not at that very instant have been cogitating on the Characters of Saturn and Ops? It is a wretched thing to confess; but is a very fact that not one word I ever utter can be taken for granted as an opinion growing out of my identical nature – how can it, when I have no nature? When I am in a room with People if I ever am free from speculating on creations of my own brain, then not myself goes home to myself: but the identity of every one in the room begins so to press upon me that I am in a very little time annihilated – not only among Men; it would be the same in a Nursery of children.

As a poet and writer, I can find inspiration in the smallest of details or the largest of themes. What this letter did, was show me that someone else had a similar experience to me in crowds. It made me wonder whether Keats himself was also Neurodivergent. As an ADHD Autistic creative, I find I’m pulled in many directions at once and the internet is full of rabbit holes… On this occasion I was inspired to write this poem.

Iamb A Chameleon

A poet and writer
does not have an identity
to call his own
He lives vicariously
through the bodies and characters
he inhabits along the way
iamb a chameleon
iamb your brother
your mother
the hanged man
the tree
iamb all things
animate, inanimate
waiting to be
iamb a mirror
iamb an empath
I take you unto me
but in a crowd I become lost
adrift in a sea
of emotion and identity
that isn’t but me
iamb ethereal, ephemeral
tenuous, like mist
iamb the grindstone
the blade
the mill for your grist
I live through my creations
through the words that I write
you can find me on your shelf
in a book late at night
iamb freedom and hope
iamb dreams in the sun
iamb vision and promise
of ideas not yet spun
iamb a prophet and a weaver
with a story just begun
iamb a poet and writer
a chameleon iamb…

(c) Peter Roe, 2021

Connect with Peter on Instagram and BlueSky: @mediachap

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As a publisher of other performance poets, my selection of who to publish is most often based upon seeing someone perform at a live event, or online, perhaps more than once. Ultimately, my selection may be based on how I identify with the poet and the subject matter.

About two years ago I met a young, autistic poet at an online Zoom meet-up of poets run by Tim King, ‘Forsaking The Mic.’ I reassured her and over some months we developed a creative relationship, sharing poems and advice. Advice goes both ways because we all have inner critics and being seen and heard is important in the growth of writers and poets.

At some stage I said to Charlotte Faulconbridge: “I would like to publish your poetry!” After a while I received her document, which contained a poem she’d written for me. This is what she said:

You witnessed my first-ever shaky performance (unfortunately!) when I was just starting to find my voice, so the fact you’re now my publisher is the most beautiful full circle moment I could ever ask for.

 This is what it meant when you told me you wanted to publish my poetry. Thank you.”

 I Want To Publish Your Poetry

In English we say:
“I want to publish your poetry.”

In poetry we say:
I want to immortalise your legacy
I want the world to read your story
I want your words to get them all talking

I want to publish your poetry because I like it

I want to publish your poetry because I don’t like it,
but someone else might like it
I want to give your pain a purpose
I want to give them the urge to scratch your name’s surface

I want to publish your poetry
to make people think outside the box
No,                    scrap that,
I want to publish your poetry
to make people forget about the box

I want to clot all the blood your pen has ever bled
I want to give you back the love your dad stole from the dead
I want you to anchor lost souls by forging books out of lead
I want you to stop using your heart like it’s your head

I want to Sistine chapel your art,
so they have no other option but to look up to you
I want to be the one to say “I was there”,
when your voice first sprinkled on our ears
like sweet morning dew

I want them all to know what you’ve been through,
just as much as I don’t
I want them to abseil down the miles of thread
you used to sew up your own wounds
I want to publish your poetry
so you never stop believing
in the people who believe in you

In English we say:
“I want to publish your poetry.”

In poetry we say:
“Always have a dream.”

(c) Charlotte R Faulconbridge, 2024

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I confess I became very emotional at this surprise addition to her collection: The Warring Twenties – Jawbone Nov. 2024. When I said to Clare Morris, Devon Maid Walking – Jawbone Mar. 2023, that “I would like to publish you…” she didn’t respond for nearly six months, so I asked again and she said, “Oh. I thought you were joking!”

Of course, I was inspired to write something back to Charlotte, also influenced by experiences with other poets who perhaps thought, ‘I am not worthy!’

When I Approach A Poet And Say… “I Would Really Like To Publish Your Poetry!”

When I approach a poet and say
“I would really like to publish your poetry!”

I am saying
that you have moved me
that you have touched
something inside me
that you have lit a fire
in my imagination
You have launched me
on a flight of fancy
You have left ear-worms
that tickle my frontal lobes
You have reframed an idea
that on the surface
seems to be something most simple
but you have taken an angle
that makes the ordinary
extraordinary
You have not only
taken me on a journey
but you’ve clipped my ticket
rung the bell
and brought around
the refreshments trolley
with the most exclusive
and satisfying
word combinations
that I could have wished for…

When I approach a poet and say
“I would really like to publish your poetry…”
There is no subtext
Yes…
“I do really mean
that I, would like to publish your poetry!”

(c) Peter Roe, 2024 

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I’ve already mentioned the Inner Critic. We all have them, developed over a lifetime of cultural, familial and societal conditioning. Parents are often our first critics: “Take your elbows off the table,” “Don’t do that, it’s not polite,” “You shouldn’t,” “You can’t,” “Don’t…” Who is the voice of your inner critic?

What about later, when we, in turn, become parents? What misunderstandings will we pass on to our own children? This fantastic poem by Alexis Brooks navigates this complex relationship, highlighting the confusion and emotional turmoil as a child transitions to independence.

Sink Or Swim?

I taught you to swim because I wanted you to be safe,
I taught you to swim because the mainland is a really cool place.
I taught you to swim because this island will sink away,
I taught you to swim for your tomorrows, now it’s today.
You are paddling, and you are so strong and brave,
I cast a net and catch you for one more embrace.
I can’t keep you, you are wild and untamed,
Maybe I could come with you and show you the way?
I put my life on hold for you, and I feel betrayed,
Hang on, that’s not what I wanted to say,
Don’t shrug your shoulders and look with disdain.
GROW UP.
And you are,
And I fumble
Full of fleeting feelings of fluttering anticipation,
A flash first felt with a surge of trepidation,
A buzz for all that awaits in the exploration,
Of all you will become in this transformation,
I am your maker ~ and you are my creation!
I didn’t mean I own you; you made that translation.
But yeah, I expect an invitation,
Leaving me here is no consolation prize.
I could advise.
Shipmate reporting for duty,
I’m not snooty,
You are moody,
And just rude see.
I’m not loony,
Or a stalky, gloomy little groupie.
Listen cutie, nobody told me,
I’d feel emptied and tempted,
To pretend I’m twenty,
That I’d beg you to like me,
That I’d be lost in these seas.
That I would look upon my perfect legacy,
With lips pursed and pinched in jealousy,
And however momentarily, feel cheated at the end of the day.
When what I want to say is,
Have the best of times,
Swim well and find your tribe,
I’ll be here and I am just fine.
Looking at you, I see,
A better version of me,
Be patient, it’s not easy,
Given, better is all I ever wanted to be.

(c) Alexis Brooks, 2025

Connect with Alexis on Instagram: @alexistamarbrooks

I loved this poem. There is tension throughout between love and fear, guidance and autonomy, expectation and reality. The interplay of expectations, desires and fears creates an atmosphere rich with complexity, culminating in a heartfelt recognition of the difficulty of letting go while encouraging growth. I first met Alexis when we came head to head in the Hip Yak Poetry Slam in 2024. She won. Alexis describes herself as: “A chronic under-achiever who took 40 years to recognise she could write.”

To all you scribblers out there: THERE IS NO AGE LIMIT ON CREATIVITY! Emerging poets and writers can appear at any age. Many I know have put their creativity on hold following a negative comment from someone, only to pick it up many years later and be utterly amazing. In 2017, I met a lady in her nineties who shared her poem, Lemons.  She wrote it in the post-war years, one of the only three she’d ever written. It has stayed with me. What a shame she wasn’t encouraged to write more in her lifetime!

Writing is a process: to get words on paper, you need to actually write. To get a glass of water, you first need to turn on the tap. Writing is like everything else: the more you do it, the better you get. I encourage you all to open your hearts, write about what you know and submit. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

I invite you to write and share your stories or poems.

 The Jawbone Collective is a group of 18 creatives spread across the SouthWest of England. We are also a small press publisher, workshop and live events organiser. www.jawbonecollective.org.uk

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify for Pocasters.

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