Eleanor Holmes | Eliot North
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eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Eleanor Holmes | Eliot North
@eleanorholmes.bsky.social
680 followers 580 following 330 posts
Previously @eliot_north on Twitter/X. ND mum-doctor-writer of poetry & prose. Living in Valencian Country, working as NHS GP Weston-super-mare.

Commended NPC & Hippocrates, Pushcart Nom, Bridport Shortlisted

Pubs below 👇
https://linktr.ee/eleanorholmes
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eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Hello #poetrycommunity I have been absent lately, saying yes to too many things, viral illness, work: consistency is something I’m working on! I ❤️ #poemsabout & have this late offering on #desire Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk for all you do & the community you created 🙏
Onion Skin One cell thick, the onion skin Demonstrates osmosis As you cry into the petri dish Salty tears overflowing, You realise you are semipermeable That all your insides are out. The flow state of your normal, Is not under homeostatic control. Love has a high osmotic potential, You guess this is why you Are so lubricated at times, So very certain about their touch. Always shy to initiate conversation, The Sod, and larger molecules Cause your delicate skin to swell, Engorge, takeover the brain. You can think of nothing else But this, your next collision an Inevitable undoing. A silver trail Left on the kitchen counter, The onion sting on their fingers That you offer to lick clean.
November 17, 2025 at 6:29 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Morning all, I'm going to be looking through posts later today for #poemsabout & #imperfectme

This has taken me back to an old project, 'Flora Speaks' where I created the character Flora to say things I struggle to. Basically she is badass!

Thank you 🙏
@alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
ink blot they tried to dip me in ink, press me on paper, just like a specimen collected for show. his Red Hot Poker was the last thing they expected to find, between white sheets of tree pulp, sweat, and the salt stain of tears. a life size ink blot for fools, who would try to understand the unknowable. Rare Book Division, The New York Public Library. "Quanta neruorum tabula. [Human ervous system]" The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1545. https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47dd-f38e-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99
October 10, 2025 at 8:35 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Brian Patten’s ‘Love Poems’ was one of the first poetry collections I bought. His words carry such a gift of connection, seconding this #lifttothesky
Brian Patten ‘Love Poems’ front cover image
October 7, 2025 at 6:29 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Well this is a lovely surprise for @poetrydayuk.bsky.social having my poem 'The Crab Man' 🦀 from 2014 NPC used for close reading / writing prompts on the theme of #play for NPD by @shotscarecrow.bsky.social - this is the right Jon Stone?
Hello, and thank you 🙏
poetrysociety.org.uk/wp-content/u...
The Crab Man by Eliot North Turn left, close the gate Enter Mariner’s Lane. The road to the shore Is all salt and tar. Go right down to Correction House Bank. Smell the fish guts, Feel it pull you. Push Gossip’s voice Far from your mind. Ignore the shudder Of trains, overhead. Down Tanner’s Bank Pick your way. Head held high, Nose to the wind, Past empty warehouses. Go to The Crab Man. Block out the warning Tone of her voice. See him in his red robes, Inside the chainmail door. Feel the cleaver’s rhythm Smashed over and over. Watch how he stills, Cocks an ear to the sound. The swish of metal skirts Closing behind you. Filmpoem of The Crab Man by Eliot North (Eleanor Holmes) on The Poetry Society website:https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/poets/eliot-north/
October 2, 2025 at 5:34 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Going tangent to #PoemsAbout #SilentPlanets to write about the void, orbiting & silence around reproductive trauma.
This poem was published in the #WriteOutLoud anthology & I want to share it here to spark the conversations that so rarely happen.
@alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
Microchimeric Lament For the embryo that never made it, stuck Empty snowstorm of grey on a screen, Fimbriae no longer wafting, but bursting Womb unable to receive. For the name never bestowed, ‘Ona’ Wave, in either tongue a bitter taste Haunting bloom, cells carried within me, Scrub beyond the hospital window. For the empty cot in a sterile room, fecund Corridors of women who have endured Cries of new life, as another departed, The dawning our project has failed. For this feeling of dislocation, ectopia Blessing of nurses and doctors without The language, gratitude for the welfare Of women, cradle to grave within. Cover of Write Out Loud 20th Anniversary Anthology: Echoes.
September 19, 2025 at 5:36 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Thinking for a while about #poemsabout #candlelight and kept returning to this memory from childhood from the snow of 1987.

This and playing with candle wax in restaurants, good times!

Thanks as always for the prompt 🙏 and fab #writingcommunity
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
1987 to be just eight, in the snowstorm that took down the powerlines in our Warwickshire village, buried most people in drift & made Dad a hero in his 4x4 pickup, ours the only house with a solid fuel Aga, hearths blazing, hot water chains up to the old iron bath that could easily fit four: we learned community, invited neighbours for hearty soup & stews, gathered around the kitchen table, faces lit by candlelight as we played our hands, my brother & I off school in the middle of the chaos, holding a candle it would never melt.
September 12, 2025 at 5:39 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
This is a very brief scrawl that I have come up with, having read all the excellent responses today to #poemsabout #facades

Thank you as always to @alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk

(Clearly I have some unresolved anger issues!) 😳
Façade The little squiggle Under your snaky ç-word Doesn’t make-up For your forked false lashes Or bare-faced lies
September 5, 2025 at 3:10 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
I asked him and he said it wasn’t … arroyo is much smaller than the Girona (this is Alicante region.) I love this river for its white stones, wildlife & vegetation. The valley it comes from seems to even in dry seasons keep water flowing under the stones! Spectacular water mint, egrets, heron etc
September 1, 2025 at 8:44 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#promptcombo #vss365
@hool415.bsky.social
#winged

Poison Plum

A Dunnock sits atop
The weeping poison plum
Hidden in magenta leaves
Peep peep, a warning
For little hands not to touch
His song the sound of
Whiteboard markers
Scribbling his message
‘Do not eat these plums
They are all for me.’
Poison Plum A Dunnock sits atop The weeping poison plum Hidden in magenta leaves Peep peep, a warning For little hands not to touch His song the sound of Whiteboard markers Scribbling his message ‘Do not eat these plums They are all for me.’
September 1, 2025 at 8:31 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk

#poemsabout #riot

Reflection on the first wave COVID lockdown in Spain & was first published by @rfredekenter.bsky.social
@icefloepress.bsky.social and then featured by @iambapoet.com @markantonyowen.com
🙏

www.iambapoet.com/eliot-north
https://www.iambapoet.com/eliot-north Audio recording of poem by Eleanor Holmes | Eliot North
August 29, 2025 at 6:57 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
So excited to see my poem ‘Burying with ham’ in issue16 of The Alchemy Spoon ‘Food’ edition.

Thx to @clareshawpoet.bsky.social @kimmoorepoet.bsky.social for Jan Writing Hour prompt on death rituals,
where this poem was born.

Launch reading 🚀 tickets below 👇
www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/the-launch...
Cover of Issue 16 ‘Food’ of The Alchemy Spoon Burying with ham Great Aunt Florence was buried with ham, my brother asked at the last to shoulder her coffin, the unbearable weight of it despite her tiny frame breaking him, the lowering on ropes undoing his upper lip. Six strong men slip sliding in the mud struggled to ease her at a dignified pace, the straps scoring skin as rain fell in Llandenny. The earth swallowed her life force that fed us with love, drizzled in lemon cake, veg, roast meat raised on the farm, goodness in life preserved for us now with jars of pickle and jugs of perry. How the village hall tables groaned with ham cut thick and bread fresh from the oven to toast Flo a whip of a woman, rosy russet cheeks and strength of character shining through on the smiling faces, steam from the mugs of twice brewed tea on windows, glasses, through the misting of tears a choir of voices eased her passing, hall windows open wide to set her free.
August 18, 2025 at 1:32 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Late #poemsabout #blacksky today!
Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk

The prompt has taken me back to the month I spent on the Djerassi ranch for Scientific Delirium Madness 2018, the people I met & night we all spent stargazing with our own astrophysicist guide, Seba Pérez!
August 8, 2025 at 9:30 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout #starcrossed
Thank you once again to @alanparrywriter.co.uk
@thebrokenspine.co.uk

Looking forward to reading more poems on this theme after work today.

This poem ‘Just Married’ was published some years back on Medium by Poetry Sunday

open.substack.com/pub/eliotnor...
A poem called: Just Married She was fond of eating toothpaste  On small discs of paper. Her family got Macleans With the stripes, Unlike boring white Colgate Like we did. She had red hair And freckles. We did everything together. Wrote our vows In pink sparkly pen Persuaded her younger brother to officiate. Made him marry us in her upstairs bedroom, Hands clasped solemnly: “Til death do us…” Attached a Just Married sign To her bike with string. Clung to each other tightly As we rode down her parent’s path, Empty cans clattering Behind us.
August 1, 2025 at 7:55 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout
#waxtears

This one took me to childhood again, by divination! The new word to me ‘Ceromancy’ sparked this little offering…

Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk as always for a thought provoking prompt.
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
Ceromancy Sounds like a New Wave band, Not a form of divination Wax candles, my child tears, Dropped into cool water. Or, just left to burn right down Forming the shape of saints, Wild animals, people’s faces Lucky or not, it works a charm. My brother and I regularly Dipped into this occult practice At local pizza joints, candle-lit Laminated gingham tabletops. Chianti bottles rippled in wax, Too temping for little fingers Creating lava flow pile-ups Burns worth the misdirection. Small prints of perfect whorls Peeled off, left in little piles, Our mother’s scolding worth The pleasure-pain principle.
July 18, 2025 at 7:36 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Poetry post! 🎉💥🔥Exploring indy presses/zines & now have this pretty pile! Binge-book-buying, love so many, individual posts soon! Thx to:
@theemmapress.bsky.social Aftershock Review
@maxwallis.bsky.social
@mptmagazine.bsky.social
@poetrysociety.bsky.social
Ignition Press & Templar Poetry
July 10, 2025 at 7:34 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
It has taken me too long to post about the arrival of these four beautiful handmade books from @the-ethelzine.bsky.social Hybrid, experimental, devastating-wondrous-thought provoking work from @rfredekenter.bsky.social @katieschaag.bsky.social Jenny Irish & Ali C (who I can’t find here!)
July 3, 2025 at 8:08 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout #spectacle

This is another poem from Medium days, now on my substack: eliotnorth.substack.com
Hoping this speaks to the spectacle of 'chemistry' in all its meanings and explosive potential.

Great prompt @alanparry83.bsky.social , really enjoying reading all of these!
Potassium and Water I remember our chemistry teacher requested we stand back. Made us wear lab coats, safety goggles, before she revealed the Potassium safe in a jar of oil. How carefully she unscrewed it. Showed us how soft it was to cut. How quickly Potassium tarnished in air. I now know that some elements, when combined, can be volatile like people. Best then we never tried to mix Potassium and Water, to feel the lick of lilac flames explode in our faces. Image on Unsplash by NASA of a nebula following a supernova
June 6, 2025 at 3:21 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout #defeat
Thank you @alanparry83.bsky.social for another great prompt that I have flipped on its head today. Gone back to my old Medium writing which is now on my Substack.
I am writing about my Grandma a lot at the moment, our shared oddness. Children defeating adult is a fav narrative!
The Actor Moves In I: Grandma’s Lair Push your way through fur and silk, Talc and Yardley Lace, Then close the door behind you. Before The Actor moves in Try on her clothes, Lie on the bed, Sit at a mahogany dressing table. Look into the oval mirror, Puff powder, slick lipstick. Before The Actor moves in II: Interloper It wasn’t right. He isn’t wanted. That thick brown beard, His booming voice. You listen with a glass against the wall About Stratford, The Royal Shakespeare Company, Who might play Coriolanus. You don’t give a damn He shouldn’t be there In her place, with his stuff. It’s all ruined. III: Eye Spy After The Actor moves in He tries to talk to you. You stare at him, Force him to turn away. You are all powerful, He doesn’t know. You watch his every move. From the dusty carpet room With Dad’s binoculars. Go back through the secret door Make adjustments, Move his things. Plot IV: Battle Lines After The Actor moves in Two things happen: First: Garlic sausage sandwiches Thrown from your window, Block the guttering Near his front door. You know and don’t tell, Predicting correctly. The flood Second: The rats in his pantry Next to the kitchen, Feast on finest Gouda Then have loads of babies. It doesn’t take long, The Actor Moves Out.
May 30, 2025 at 6:23 AM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout #glory

@brokenspinearts.bsky.social
Again another corker of a prompt! @alanparry83.bsky.social
I have been laid up with a migraine today but just come out the other side and remembered a ‘moth obsession project’ I had on the go a few years back: ‘The Girl With Golden Fur’
#mothlove
Prologue The girl stands at the bus stop Brazen midriff, mini skirt Body hair fine copper fuzz. Slavic sunrise bulb of heat Wings jostle inside his chest, Tarmac shimmer, dazzle-dust. Light strikes her arms and legs, First instar attracting stares, –Glistening– the boy blinks A Girl with Golden Fur
May 23, 2025 at 1:53 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
#poemsabout #neverforget
Fantastic theme with a brilliant multiplicity of responses
@brokenspinearts.bsky.social
@alanparry83.bsky.social
barter we used to exchange rhubarb, for advice a barter that left both feeling warmer i was jealous of his Russian hat collection he of my fluency in matters of the heart healthcare titbits and NHS navigation for freshly dug carrots, leeks, the odd spud it seemed to me Fred had life sorted my own was falling apart, I didn’t let on his wife was in and out of hospital until one day, she wasn’t any more a bag of onions left on my doorstep the exchange one-sided and raw.
May 16, 2025 at 1:48 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
Big thank you to @bookgaga.bsky.social for re-posting this and to @icefloepress.bsky.social for publishing this back in 2020.
I was on the Djerassi ranch in California soaking up the fog. It also inspired this carved poem installation called 'Twelve Names For Fog'
A carved poem called 'Twelve Names For Fog' created by Eliot North / Eleanor Holmes in 2018 on the Djerassi Ranch, California
May 10, 2025 at 5:36 PM
eleanorholmes.bsky.social
First time posting to #poemsabout #stardust

Thank you @alanparry83.bsky.social and @brokenspinearts.bsky.social

This is a re-worked poem that is based on a recurring obsession of mine: Segària, the mountain of legend whose craggy face overlooks our little village of Beniarbeig!
May 9, 2025 at 6:29 PM