Kay Medway
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kaymedway.bsky.social
Kay Medway
@kaymedway.bsky.social
520 followers 670 following 690 posts
I’m a library assistant and poet with work published in The Dirigible Balloon, Disabled Tales, Dreambeast Poems, and featured on Brian Moses’s blog. My poems are forthcoming in Scaryness Express.
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Reposted by Kay Medway
sconnor7.bsky.social
Late poem for @thetoypress.bsky.social prompt, written from the experience of putting little ones to bed on Bonfire Night.
November 9, 2025 at 7:34 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
ludmillaart.bsky.social
It won’t be long and spring flowers will pop up again. 🪻🌻🌷Daffodils with a green roof barn. #painting #art #artsky #artistsonbluesky #clouds #landscapepainting #BlueSkyArtShow #Make_Bluesky_Beautiful_with_Art
Painting of daffodils field. Green roof barn stands in the background.
November 14, 2025 at 3:18 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
The lines in a Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer poem, about how without grass the meadow would not be meadow, inspired me to write a poem. #poem #poetry
I instil into myself how I belong. I belong like a poem that makes its way into a neater notebook pad, with the quiet belief of being one more among the best, something new and noteworthy for the keeping, here until its suitability for somewhere more visible becomes clear. Without it, what would be the pad? I have not always found a page space for me here, yet I cling to first realities on waking, searching with lighthearted urgency to remember whether the last writing like me was as recent as yesterday. I stamp names of myself like titles, with stamps and ink pads, collage and save up snipped letters, making me colourful on paper with welcome. What we write to keep is what we will wish to reveal. by Kay Medway
November 14, 2025 at 8:45 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
I was inspired by a poem about a meadow before writing this poem.
#poem #poetry #poetrycommunity
I instil into myself, how I belong. I belong like a poem that makes its way into a neater notebook pad, with the quiet beliefs of being one more among the best of other works, something new and noteworthy for the keeping, here until, and after, its suitability for somewhere more visible, somewhere else, becomes clearer and apparent. Without it, what would be the pad? That is the way I belong here. But I have not always found a page space for me here. Yet I have been the first realities I cling to on waking, with a lighthearted urgency in my searching to remember whether the last writing like me, already written, was as recent as the end of my immediate yesterday. I stamp names of myself like titles, with stamps and ink pads, collage and save up snipped letters from packets and boxes, making me colourful on paper with welcome. It is not honest that handwriting, and pen flourish, will find me as a being to replace. What we write to keep is what we will wish to reveal.
November 14, 2025 at 6:07 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
What do we collect?
Black fineliner pen’s tip’s dots,
a thimble’s dimple,
a loose flake of coconut,
small as raindrops, spots of joy.
#tanka #poetry #poem
November 14, 2025 at 3:43 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#poem #poetry
This marble is an orb of mauve colour miracle from upon a fairy's staff of mysteries, a ball of special effect of greenest fume and glow, glowing with the clues to collect when their glance at you falls within an oldest fairy tale. It is a rainbow still seen breaking through in a sky of transparent sea mist, with scatters of raindrops precise in their marble sphere of space, where we view rainbows snap or twist too in marbles. This marble is a classic ring of blue-bordered rounded sea farer's window. A chocolate and vanilla swirl of icing pattern, but here in fluorescent peach pink on a buffet gateau. It is also a costume of real jewels shining on a theatre stage, or a brooch that I’ve seen somewhere before, a teacher’s dangly bead of her blue‑speckled earring. Kay Medway
November 14, 2025 at 12:58 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
inksweatandtears.co.uk
Andy Humphrey's poem is resplendent in sensuous autumnal description and dark fairytale transformation.

Read it here: inksweatandtears.co.uk/andy-humphrey/

#InkSweatandTears #Poetry #Autumn
November 14, 2025 at 10:11 AM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#poetry #poem #haibun
A mini photo shoot by my sister would follow, until one day her rehearsed hair care on me will be beautiful on her own fair, fine-haired daughter. Me in a thick pink dressing gown, an April outside the door for her camera backgrounds. She brings out the best of my unrealised dressing-up fun box with the few products I use. She teaches me the worth of spending just that bit extra on a good foundation. She teaches in the nicest ways, quietly, carefully, knowing as a family we prefer to keep how we are and what we say private. She says hard things, and at first it hurts me to hear. I think you were too absorbed by it all, all the work when we were at school; it should not have been left that way, the intensity. She speaks this with concern at the end of our brief shifts at the hospital. She reminds me once to write to her in clear messages that she can instantly make sense of. Now my poems are clear, as her protection over me. April cool outside, sister’s words both soft and sharp, foundations of care. — Kay Medway
November 14, 2025 at 11:26 AM
Reposted by Kay Medway
floridasnow.bsky.social
Loved this beautiful little gem of a poem. Great on its own, but especially if you have siblings.
inksweatandtears.co.uk Ink Sweat & Tears @inksweatandtears.co.uk · 1d
Christie Gittins' tender poem reflects on love demonstrated through the ongoing guidance provided by an older sibling throughout life. @chrissiegittins.bsky.social

Read it here: inksweatandtears.co.uk/chrissie-git...

#Poetry #Family #InkSweatandTears
November 13, 2025 at 1:26 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
deemclachlan.bsky.social
Time for another #FridayPoem
I’m enjoying exploring the #haibun form so here’s another one. This for the #poemsabout prompt #desire . I’m afraid I’m not a brutalist poet so you’ll just have to make do with my soft nature work again!
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
#poetrycommunity #poets #poems
Desires a haibun by Dawn McLachlan Like so many others we went to the park at the first snowfall. I wondered if you'd be warm enough but you hardly seemed to notice how thin your jacket was. I did my best to control my shiver in case you offered it to me. The air was bright and brittle with the sudden arrival of winter. Across the newly covered grass people had already worn fresh tracks that meandered far from the paths we knew. They wound their way around the dazzlingly fresh snowy field turning velvet into lace. "Desire lines," you said. We sat on the bench watching people ignore the common ways and instead follow their own routes. We watched until the brown earth showed through the trampled snow and the cold seeped into our bones. In landscape smoothed white With all our paths now hidden We follow our desires
November 14, 2025 at 9:21 AM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #Desire @thebrokenspine.co.uk
I desire that novelty not wear off our invention, that others’ enthusiasm need not toward it dip, that our pressing on with the project not be without a reward to us, a viability, an evidence of good results. I record feedbacks, notable products of our encouragement, prompts from which you can realise you too can write from this angle. Bring to it what you need. I want to hear of your first click on an acceptance email, that your submissions were, after our input, already anthology-ready, and to write alongside your works with ours at the same time. I desire to press out from perforated shaped letters generosity toward our art, to keep its gloss, and for the above to be clear to you through.
November 14, 2025 at 9:44 AM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#poem #poetry
I am as treasured as toasties, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as flapjacks, a favourite feast, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, bright in a dish, I am happy. As bursting with bluesy at breakfast as blueberries, as shining in copper at Christmas as caramel. I am as treasured as toasties, left till gold to be a seeping-with-fillings treat at snack time. As marvelling at the miraculous of the world as marmalade. As frequent as flapjacks, with oat finery. As rich as a ribbon red layer of raspberry jam in a biscuit. As glad as a grain of spicy rice in a dish. I am happy. I am as afternoon time as a toasted tea cake, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as flapjacks, a favourite feast, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, bright in a dish, I am happy.
November 14, 2025 at 7:57 AM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#poem #poetry
November 13, 2025 at 10:28 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
Happy @michaelrosenyes.bsky.social Day!

@walkerbooksuk.bsky.social

#poem #poetry #poetryforchildren
I am as treasured as toasties, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy. As bursting with bluesy at breakfast as blueberries, as shining in copper at Christmas as caramel. I am as treasured as toasties, left till gold to be a seeping-with-fillings treat at snack time. As marvelling at the miraculous of the world as marmalade. As frequent with oat finery and flattery as flapjacks. As rich as a ribbon red layer of raspberry jam in a biscuit. As glad as a grain of spicy rice in a dish. I am happy. I am as afternoon time as a toasted tea cake, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy.
November 13, 2025 at 4:41 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
Here is my updated #poem celebrating @michaelrosenyes.bsky.social Day

@walkerbooksuk.bsky.social

I am
as afternoon time as a toasted tea cake,
as marvelling as marmalade,
as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks,
as rich as raspberry jam,
as glad as spicy rice,
I am happy.
I am as treasured as toasties, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy. As bursting with bluesy at breakfast as blueberries, as shining in copper at Christmas as caramel. I am as treasured as toasties, left till gold to be a toppling with fillings treat at snack time. As marvelling at the miraculous of the world as marmalade. As frequent with oat finery and flattery as flapjacks. As rich as a ribbon red layer of raspberry jam in a biscuit. As glad as a grain of spicy rice in a dish. I am happy. I am as afternoon time as a toasted tea cake, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy.
November 13, 2025 at 4:08 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
I loved the Shaun Jex fairy tale prompt. I am resharing my poem for Anti‑Bullying Week. #poem #poetry #fairytales
kaymedway.bsky.social Kay Medway @kaymedway.bsky.social · 25d
Inspired by @shaunjexauthor.bsky.social's prompt, my poem is a reimagining of the fairy tale “The Twelve Months." #poem #poetry #fairytales #stories #amwriting #prompt
November 13, 2025 at 2:52 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#AntiBullyingWeek #poetry #poem
There is an actress, different from her role, in her interview on television, teaching me gently how to find kindness again. You will have your victory for the day: even when it is to choose simply between an apple, orange, or banana. It will help you bring yourself together again. Remember how your choices, in such and more decisions, are worthy. You will keep strong. Boundaries are solid, bright and sheer. You will repeat: you will always be in your own ways, moving how you want, opening curtains across the whole day, never small, never unimportant, always making a difference by who you are, always enough. No one should ever make you feel less. Kindness is what deserves to be given to everyone. And when you open curtains, it will not be only light, but the star of you shining across the whole day. by Kay Medway
November 13, 2025 at 2:01 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
asls.org.uk
Annie – who had no children of her own – passed the birthday on to her niece, the Irish author Anita Leslie-King, who got much enjoyment from it, & who in turn left it to her granddaughter. Happy #RLSDay Heather Finn!
4/5
www.irishtimes.com/culture/birt...
Birthday present from Robert Louis Stevenson still treasured in Galway
Tomorrow marks the anniversary of Robert Louis Stevenson's death but the real event of the year for his fans was his birthday…
www.irishtimes.com
November 13, 2025 at 12:39 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#poetry #poem #poetrycommunity

I’ve been reading the poem “Autumn” by David Ignatow.
Winter A lone silver flake of ash flies far in air, from a roofed stall, rectangular, a gather-around fire for toasting marshmallows, roasting chestnuts, mistaken as the first sign of a flake of snow, whether true or stage show, like a conjured prop. And if I said it out loud at the Christmas fayre, what I saw as snow, mistakenly, for a second, they would not think I was playing jokes, nor being silly.
November 13, 2025 at 10:00 AM
Reposted by Kay Medway
liapas.bsky.social
It’s #WorldPneumoniaDay. Here is my #SciArt lung #embroidery, she breathed (2018) with a poem about ease of breath stitched between the bronchi.

🧪🐡🧶 #Medsky
An embroidery on a pale natural linen. There is a bone white diagram of a vocal apparatus, trachea, and bronchi/lungs. In between the branches of the bronchioles are small words embroidered in cursive in thin burgundy thread. They read: she breathed. Inhaled. exhaled. she knew. that breathing. was beauty. was the way. inside. to outside. when her breath. tightened. she found. ways. to soften. be still. to allow that. in. of the out. breath. to be. the. way through. she found the throughline. somehow. it. also found her. still. and breathing. deeply. each day was. new. each breath. a. different. path. always. through her. and. throughout her. such a. simple. thing, breath. such a journey. through. trees. and. branches. how the body knows. to still. itself. if we learn how. to. listen deeply.
November 12, 2025 at 4:05 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
If there is something that can get me to write a poem I am happy with, it is a day trip, especially at Christmas time, with so much colour, light, and sound. #poem #poetry #poetrycommunity
She built herself, in a workshop, a house. A Market at Christmas, a workshop of willow, weaves into reindeer and a wreath of hearts, from her, where with you she sees and hears trombone, sousaphone, banjo, and accordion. Where, in a showcase, she heard something new: banjo, bass drum, a washboard of silver with cymbals, thimbles, and bells. She made a home with them all, in the same fashion as how they made them into bands. Where there's a dance beside carolers, their red and green tartans of skirts, bonnets, and capes, an elegance of green coat and top hat. And in November, an autumn sunset of no rain for a sky above her home. Christmas lights fall from cloud to floor of her stone pillars. A rainbow for another day of Alice hair bands and miniature clipped-on bows. A hamper of marmalades, shortbreads, and teas, a bauble of her finished work, illustrated in a curtain backdrop of red. After all her workmanship, she looked up, and at four o’clock asked, is it night. And she filed it into a coach, guided it out in night by a green wand, where she might unpack and assemble a home. And she carried it forward, a home assembled in lantern and glittery gold, a red velvet bow upon the lamp post.
November 12, 2025 at 8:11 AM
kaymedway.bsky.social
It’s beautiful to visit the Chatsworth House Christmas Market. #Christmas
November 11, 2025 at 4:08 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
shaunjexauthor.bsky.social
A bit curious to have never read Jill Murphy's "The Worst Witch" until now, but it was a charming and delightful little book. I can't wait to read more of Mildred Hubble's misadventures.
A young witch and a tabby cat on a broomstick
November 1, 2025 at 7:05 PM
Reposted by Kay Medway
litkidsmagazine.bsky.social
Calling 5-13 year old creative kids! 📣
Please send writing, art, and photos for Issue 8: Air by 11/14! If accepted, our mentors will help you edit your work during a free mentorship month. We can't wait to spotlight your talent. Keep shining! ✨
litkidsmagazine.wixsite.com/lit-kids-mag...

#parents
a woman in a blue shirt is shouting into a megaphone against a green background
ALT: a woman in a blue shirt is shouting into a megaphone against a green background
media.tenor.com
November 8, 2025 at 11:01 PM
kaymedway.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #LockedDoors @thebrokenspine.co.uk
The little elite, exclusive crowd, led by a head of alumni, though through a closed door where I barely attended, sends invitations to us for classical music reunion events at universities with a swan on their crest. Wearers of garments of brightest colours, mauves with golds, enthrall over the elegance of the swan or royal charters dipped in snow, sleek. Yesterday, on theatre's routes, I saw the closed door when your palm-sized prospectus rested with stubbed-out cigarettes upon the black street bin's top, half drenched in rain and two bus trips from the open to some doors of your campus.
November 7, 2025 at 10:41 PM