Josephine Corcoran
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andotheritems.bsky.social
Josephine Corcoran
@andotheritems.bsky.social
1.4K followers 350 following 420 posts
Writer. Mostly poetry but also plays & prose & I dabble with VisPo. Liberation theology inclined Catholic. Wife & Mum. she/her

Website/Blog https://josephinecorcoran.org/

Substack https://open.substack.com/pub/andothernotes?r=36enk&utm_medium=ios
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andotheritems.bsky.social
Top notch postal delivery day. I’m now the owner of the very first issue of The Visual Poetry Times 🗞️ Thanks @thepoetrykiosk.bsky.social and I love your branding! Very pleased to be a subscriber #newpoetryjournal #VisPo #VisualPoetry #FirstIssue
My copy of The Visual Poetry Times placed on top of the envelope it arrived in Close up of a large black stamp with white edging on which is written ‘The Poetry Kiosk’
October 21, 2025 at 10:09 AM
andotheritems.bsky.social
‘Keep going’ poem by my sweet peas
Close up of purple pink sweet pea flowers in small jar of water. Two peas have begun to sprout into beans.
October 18, 2025 at 12:16 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
I had the beautiful experience of hearing Pope Leo say Mass on Sunday morning. I was with my family for the Jubilee of Hope, specifically last weekend the Jubilee of Migrants and for Missionaries.
October 9, 2025 at 3:24 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
By Ethiopian poet and activist Gemoraw (from @mptmagazine.bsky.social) “If we find ourselves in a free country / what is the use of freedom / if we do not speak for the speechless?”
MPT MAGAZINE (2016) ‘For The Voiceless People’ by Gemoraw Of all freedoms, speech is the first, and it is the tongue which allows us to voice our desires and our desiring. If the tongue is tied down and cannot tell what we feel, not only our flesh is tied, but our soul. And if our fellow man is tongue-tied, we must speak for him too! If we find ourselves in a free country, what is the use of freedom, if we do not speak for the speechless? Is it a crime to say I am their fellow man? your tongues are burning, your hunger is raging! blame the drought! say our Authorities. But for all those whose voice is silenced, and who cannot cry help! for themselves: cry help!! TRANSLATION: CHRIS BECKET & ALEMU TEBEJE
September 10, 2025 at 10:02 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
A few sweetpeas in a jar to see me through the weekend. Hope it’s a reasonably good one for you. (Image is a little washed out glass jar, originally containing mustard I think) and a few pinkish and mauvish sweetpeas spiralling out of it).
August 22, 2025 at 4:28 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
London friends, would you do me a huge favour and check if my zine Six Poems is available to read in the National Poetry Library next time you’re there? I haven’t been able to visit for a while.
I’m holding my zine which features a child’s white dress on the cover. Blurb on back of zine:: Six Poems was written to accompany 'Borderland' (Walcot Chapel, Bath, 28 Oct -3 Nov 2024) an exhibition of collage and intaglio print by Pauline Scott-Garrett in response to Donald Trump's 2018 zero-tolerance immigration policy which enforced the separating of children from their parents at the US border. In particular, the poems refer to a news report (The Guardian, 24 June 2018) about a Salvadoran single father and undocumented migrant who was deported back to El Salvador while his six-year-old daughter remained in US custody. 'Six' incorporates text from Catholic liturgy. 'Child not yet seven...' alludes to the Aristotelian (and Ignatian) philosophy "Give me a child until he is seven and I will show you the man." All poems by Josephine Corcoran, 2024. Cover image by Pauline Scott-Garret from an intaglio print.
August 22, 2025 at 6:45 AM
andotheritems.bsky.social
I was a runner up in 2010: my poem ‘Honeymoon’ published in that year’s anthology. It was my first published poem (I’d previously written short stories & plays) & the first thing I’d written after a BIG break while my children were little. Grateful to Bridport & Michael Laskey for choosing my poem.
My hand holding the 2010 anthology which features winners in that year’s Bridport Prize
August 3, 2025 at 3:37 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Very moved by this documentary poem of human kindness & compassionate solidarity written from within the ongoing genocide in Gaza. These details of ordinary life hit home to a family-oriented person like me. Thanks for publishing this beautiful book by Haia Mohammed @outspokenpress.bsky.social
HOW DO YOU FIND THE WAY TO MY HOMELAND? by Haia Mohammed I carry a backpack through life / moving from place to place to escape / somehow I remain attached to my land / when I return to the tent at night I pass a lady cooking on a clay oven / the irresistible food fills the air / I say to her what a wonderful smell / she replies please come my daughter / she doesn't know me / I don't know her / I know that this food isn't even enough for her family / this is inevitable in war / she invites me in / calls me her daughter / I realise this is my homeland's true path / when there's only one loaf of bread left for two days no one touches it / despite everyone starving / until my mother divides it among us / then I know I'm on the right path / whatever dish she prepares she sends to her neighbours / they do the same / so no one sleeps hungry / when you go to offer condolences for their martyred children / you find yourself / being comforted instead by their immense patience / faith / strength / walking through streets / you see people sweeping / organising remnants of their homes / others living in a remaining room / their destroyed house / a man sitting on his balcony chair / in the rubble / having breakfast / when you go to buy something / the seller tells you pay what you can, if you can't pay, don't / then you realise who the true owners of the land are / The book The Age of Olive Trees by Haia Mohammed published by OutSpoken Press Back cover: Haia Mohammed’s poems feel to me like the most important work being written in the world today. They are staggeringly impactful in their honesty, strength and beauty. The people of Gaza, as Haia says, are different; they write poems that defy death. These pieces are miracles of language and spirit, they are humanity at its best and most resilient. — Max Porter The Age of Olive Trees is the debut pamphlet by Haia Mohammed, a 22-year-old poet and student in Gaza, living through the ongoing genocide. All proceeds from the sale of this book will go to the author, to help support her and her family.
July 15, 2025 at 8:50 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Beautiful post waiting for me when I came home - thanks so much @outspokenpress.bsky.social
I’m holding a copy of The Age of Olive Trees by Haia Mohammed published by OutSpoken Press
July 13, 2025 at 8:50 AM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Rishi and Isabel having a chat on my timeline @isabelrogers.bsky.social @betarish.bsky.social
June 24, 2025 at 5:58 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
All peaceful in my Wiltshire garden except for the military aircraft flying over
I’m holding a hand painted sign next to a pink rose. The sign reads “wars are easy to start and hard to stop” (quote from historian Timothy Snyder)
June 22, 2025 at 2:28 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Writing prompt found on an old discarded betting slip. Dialogue, character and scenario provided.
A betting slip from the bookmaker’s William Hill. The horses names are ‘Appreciate it’ ‘Duffle Coat’ and ‘Three Card Brag’
June 18, 2025 at 2:16 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
A poem from my zine for #FathersDay - six poems written in response to a news story from 2018 about a Salvadoran single father forcibly separated from his six year old daughter & deported while she remained in custody until they were eventually reunited. Also a poem in memory of my own Dad.
Hija (Daughter) by JosephinenCorcoran When I spilled juice on my favourite dress, my father found water and sunlight, then salt, white vinegar, soap, then, again and again, the water and sun. Still, I cried, and still he held my sorrow to the sky, rubbing my tears with all of his energy until the ugly stain became faint as a ghost, only visible to father and daughter. Now I've outgrown that dress but still I wear its kiss of sweetness against my skin and still the ghost calls out to me, singing those long hours of my father's love. Copy of my zine ‘Six Poems’ next to wildflowers. The zine’s cover features an intaglio print by Pauline Scott-Garrett, a child’s white dress on a wire hanger
June 15, 2025 at 7:13 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Grief poem made with dried sweetpea plant, paper, pencil “I remember the flowers no longer here” #vispo #visualpoem #grief #loss #remembering
A dried pressed sweetpea plant on paper. In pencil where the flowers might have been I’ve written “I remember the flowers no longer here”
June 11, 2025 at 12:20 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Now the hot chocolate has arrived #BritishSummer
June 8, 2025 at 8:13 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Is anyone else enjoying their British summer this evening?
I’m in my sitting room wrapped up in a blue blanket
June 8, 2025 at 7:51 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Moving, sometimes angry, beautiful reading by #FadyJoudah last night for Awraq Festival facilitated by Sabrin Hasbun. Do not miss if you have the chance to see him tonight in Bristol and on Monday in Cardiff!!
Fady Joudah reading at a lectern. He is wearing a keffiyeh. Fady Joudah’s book […] published by OutSpoken Press. Its colours are red, black, white and green. One of many poems titled […] which is also the title of the book : [...] Suddenly I 'in a blaze' died. Suddenly time quit lingering. Suddenly you can't find my body, can't bury what you can't find. My final poem, I wrote years before my hour arrived. Suddenly my voice, thought voiceless because stateless, gave voice to a noisy world. Suddenly 'a kite’ Suddenly I.
June 7, 2025 at 9:17 AM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Forget-me-nots for #PopeFrancis and for #EarthDay #ForgetMeNot #Wildflowers
A little blank page book propped open with a rear view picture of Pope Francis wearing his white papal clothes, photographed next to some forget-me-not wildflowers growing on my patio.
April 22, 2025 at 3:43 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
I’m taking some poems into a care home tomorrow to share with residents (delighted to have been asked to do this) including these lovely nine lines by @johnglenday.bsky.social from his 2015 book ‘The Golden Mean’ @picadorbooks.bsky.social
A Pint of Light When I overheard my father say it was his favourite drink, I closed my eyes and imagined his body filled with a helpless light. Years later, I watched him pour out the disappointing truth, but still couldn't let that image go: he's trailing home from the pub singing against the dark, and each step he steps, each breath he breathes, each note he sings turns somehow into light and light and light. Cover of The Golden Mean by John Glenday (Picador, 2015)
April 1, 2025 at 11:49 AM
andotheritems.bsky.social
I’m posting this one today on Mother’s Day although perhaps it’s more of any empty nest poem. First published in Poetry Wales (ty Jonathan Edwards) then my @livecanon.bsky.social pamphlet then in this lovely @candlestickpress.bsky.social anthology.
Then, said I, Lord, How Long? by Josephine Corcoran Beautiful, the man in my hallway lacing up his second-hand shoes. He is 18 years old, he is my son, he is late, I have no money for him, all my loose change dropped in the church basket. Holy Hell! They are using it to fly criminals around the world! Waving goodbye is the man, shaved head and beard, a time-lapse the hallway, scuffed mornings. Boys and girls calling to walk him to school, billowing like fruits and flowers, disappearing - reappearing like film stars to crowd the hallway mirror, perfume the house. Tripping over, stepping around rucksacks, hats, gadgets, mud, musical instruments, books, sleeping bags, corner shop alcohol - Did you hand in your essay? Mum, the planet is dying - Goodbye, goodbye, for 18 years, waving goodbye. Hungry the baby, sucking his fists, cold hospital February, scored plastic cot, my nipples already scabbing and him three hours old, as they stitched me, he latched on to my breast, cuts on his face, bruises, mini prize fighter, starched blanket, milk, the heat of him. Next to the candles I sat, next to the Virgin Mary, reading Isiah backwards in my head, holding language in my mouth to taste it longer. desolate utterly be land the & man without houses the & inhabitant without wasted be cities the until answered he ở long how Lord I said. Then. Give me a kiss then, Mum. I'm away. Eighteen summers shaken from trees, falling flowers, leaves raining down, streaming, through park, town, along the street, into my hallway, my childless house. Ten Poems about Sons - Candlestick Press pamphlet with pictures of boys and men and countryside walks, paths and meandering rivers Love and Stones pamphlet by Josephine Corcoran published by Live Canon. A pen and ink drawing of Avebury Stones.
March 30, 2025 at 11:01 AM
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OK, I’ve achieved *something* today
A picture of a lemon drizzle cake, just out of the oven, no ‘drizzle’ (lemon juice and icing sugar) added yet!
March 26, 2025 at 2:38 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Heads up to #Bristol and nearby folk, there’s an interesting artist Lucia Sellars with a solo exhibition at a lovely pop-up arts space, L’Etoile, in Old Market (18 West Street) on this weekend and next and by appointment until 30 March
Poster for ‘Mute Embrace’ solo show by Lucia Sellars Exterior of pop-up arts space L’Etoile, 18 West Street, Old Market, Bristol Lucia Sellars by one of her paintings, a human figure and a white swan embrace. A figure with arms outstretched in blue and yellow, one of Lucia Sellar’s paintings
March 23, 2025 at 3:05 PM
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“Peace means returning to dig up the garden / to plan all the crops we will plant” Mahmoud Darwish

For #WorldPoetryDay the theme this year is ‘poetry as a bridge to peace and inclusion’

#MahmoudDarwish #visualpoem
Lines from Mahmoud Darwish’s poem ‘State of Siege’ (2002) on paper which has, arranged in lines, top to bottom, black leaf printing, white seed pods (from an honesty plant) green leaves and a sprig of rosemary, and on the left side, small red flowers & red wild rose hips.
March 21, 2025 at 7:23 AM
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From @mptmagazine.bsky.social 2016 ‘For the Voiceless People’ by Ethiopian poet and activist Gemoraw (1935-2014)

“If we find ourselves in a free country / What is the use of freedom / If we do not speak for the speechless?”
MPT MAGAZINE (2016) GEMORAW For The Voiceless People Of all freedoms, speech is the first, and it is the tongue which allows us to voice our desires and our desiring. If the tongue is tied down and cannot tell what we feel, not only our flesh is tied, but our soul. And if our fellow man is tongue-tied, we must speak for him too! If we find ourselves in a free country, what is the use of freedom, if we do not speak for the speechless? Is it a crime to say I am their fellow man? your tongues are burning, your hunger is raging! blame the drought! say our Authorities. But for all those whose voice is silenced, and who cannot cry help! for themselves: cry help!! TRANSLATION CHRIS BECKET ALEMU TEREJE
March 20, 2025 at 5:05 PM
andotheritems.bsky.social
Little poem by me for Spring
Celandines by Josephine Corcoran first lights of spring, buttercup bright guiding satellites for early queens pulsing yellow - will wasps & bees return? will swallows stream closer in lengthening light? nights still raw, we starry sisters fold green once more, keep our faith for snowless skies, we have nectar for hoverflies - will butterflies dip by?
March 20, 2025 at 4:27 PM