Lucy Coats
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lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Lucy Coats
@lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
1.4K followers 550 following 340 posts
Writer/Poet/Myth witch. Classical Association Prize 2017. Latin Programme Poetry Prize 2022. Bridport Poetry Shortlist 2024. Holy rage Feminist/Animist. 🐝 🐍
Lover of owls & goddesses.

ADHD/ND & ME\CFS🥄
Free 🇵🇸
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Threads: @lucywriter
Web: lucycoats.com
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lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Delighted to have my poem ‘If’ published in this quarter’s Beyond Queer Words magazine. Hope you enjoy it.

#poetry
#PoetsOfBluesky
#lgbtqia+
#QueerPoetry
Lucy Coats is a bisexual writer and poet living in Northamptonshire, UK. She writes about queerness, war, goddesses, the minutiae of the countryside where she lives, and the effects of patriarchy on the lives of women everywhere. In 2024 she was shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize, and has been published in many magazines and literary journals, including Clarion, BQW and The Winged Moon. If I could start again, I would ask the Fates to send me lush-bodied witches with midnight hair, and pillow soft breasts to lay my head in the long light of solstice dawns. A back strong as oak boughs yet supple as willow fronds, so that I could dance fandangos without pain; a gut that could ingest the heat of scotch bonnets and laugh; a heart that loves without fear of becoming burnt sugar in a neglected copper pan. I would demand a life that fitted me like green velvet gloves on a plump holy whore
September 17, 2025 at 8:38 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
She’s not on here, but today’s #LiftToTheSky is for Joelle Taylor (elsewhere as @jtaylortrash) and her newest collection ’C+nto’ which has been a revelation & delight to me. Really—read it.
@brokenspinearts.bsky.social

#PrideMonth 🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜
Cover of C+nto and Othered Poems by Joelle Taylor. Black and white lettering on dull gold background.
June 2, 2025 at 8:34 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Wednesday is #gardening day for me, so I present to you (with pride) my beautiful, just picked French Breakfast Radishes. I may write a poem about their peppery crunchiness, and the way they feel in the mouth when I put sea salt with them. Later, though, when I’ve finished the weeding…
A bunch of radishes with leaves and one spring onion on a grey-blue wood background.
May 21, 2025 at 6:44 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Hooray! Just discovered #ThickTrunkTuesday is here. This is one of my own favourites—an ancient oak in Somerset, where I used to go for a writing retreat every January. He has very comfortable roots to lie in and dream.
An old oak tree standing in a frosty field, surrounded by sleeping sheep.
May 20, 2025 at 9:21 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
A #LiftToTheSky @brokenspinearts.bsky.social this week for poet and writer @nikitagill.bsky.social whose work on myths and goddesses is stellar, and whose poetry uplifts me every time I read it. Here’s one of hers about rage and justice, very appropriate for the times we live in.
May 19, 2025 at 9:58 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Part of my poem 'How To Heal Your Own Wolf Souls' which I read at last night's launch for Clarion 5 (recording here: clarionpoetry.com/videos) It was a wonderful evening full of love and poetry, compèred most ably by Clarion Poetry's founder and editor-in-chief, @hironstom.bsky.social

#poetry
How To Heal Your Own Wolf Souls A spell for inflorescence in thirteen parts Lucy Coats Do not feed your gaunt, black wolf, the one whose many nightmare names intimidate your dreams; the one who gnaws down the roots of your soul, even as she hungers for sticky morsels of hate, the bitter rage broth of despair. Instead, feed those to the dandelion seeds; let them spin out on a westerly wind, touching sun and descending once more to ground, becoming forever gold in spring after blooming spring.
May 9, 2025 at 3:27 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
There's a tradition of challenges by female deities and mythological characters to their lovers (or tormentors)—this is mine. Not much is known about the nymph Cyrene of Thrace/Ares’ relationship, which leaves a lovely big information void for me to write what I needed to.
#PoetsOfThreads
#Mythology
Cyrene to Ares, God of War Would you love me more if I returned my rage to Thracian earth, became once more the shy, sweet nymph you courted for her safe behaviour (and maybe for her looks)? You say I’ve changed, become a Fate, perhaps the one with scissors, and it’s true. But know I only do what burning Gaza now demands, deadhead the rotten roses, cut them out of time—politicians who lie, the child killers, women rapers and the genocidal pricks. Maybe you should call me Nemesis and have done. ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
May 8, 2025 at 11:55 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Please share. This ship of humanitarian aid workers needs rescue NOW.
#HumanitarianAid
#Gaza
#SOS
May 2, 2025 at 7:01 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
A new birthday poem from the lakes of Switzerland. And a statutory selfie to mark the day, from the same place.

#Poem
#PoetsOfBluesky
#HappyBirthday
#Switzerland
Birthday Meditation Overlooking The Moritzersee Still waters run deep, they say, but still is not the same as silenced, and deep is what an old heart craves. Underneath the paddling coot, feathers all awry from landing wrong, swim mountain char, silver scales reflecting sun. Below lake mud is rock so old it knew the world before the world began. Yesterday its mica glitter caught my eye, a shard ripped out of place. So shall I be in my ripened age, a shining stillness framed and held by ground, rooted soul-fast and loved by earthen things and stars. ©️ Lucy Coats/@lucywriter A white haired woman with a yellow red and black scarf, and a lake with snowy mountains and woods behind her. She is wearing glasses and smiling. Her hair is in a bun.
April 29, 2025 at 11:37 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
A new sad love poem for small poem Sunday. Enjoy!

#SmallPoemSunday
#PoetsOfBluesky
#Love
Sometimes our souls are in the river holding on despite the flow. Sometimes our hearts are nested swallows who never yet flew south. Sometimes I dream I am the sun, remember I’m alone. ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
April 27, 2025 at 2:44 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
For my trans sisters and brothers, a poem I wrote for you after yesterday’s terrible news.

#PoetsOfBluesky
#TransRightsAreHumanRights
A Meditation on Cornflowers Consider the cornflower (mixed), making meadows lovely since time began, blue, white, pink, scatter stars among the green. Does each choose a colour, or are they perfect in their own difference, being exactly what they are in their transitions, not mown down by hate but loved for their exact beauty? ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
April 17, 2025 at 4:56 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
It’s Monday. I’m utterly enraged by all those who so casually play the AI ‘action doll’ game. Does nobody realise it’s based on art stolen from actual artists? So…I wrote a sweary thing. Call me a killjoy. I don’t care.
#PoetsOfBlueSky
#GenAI
#ActionDolls
To All Those Jumping On The Fake AI Doll Wagon I do not need AI to tell me I am not a fucking doll. I am abundant flesh, red hot rage blood, and a dose of star dust. Put that in your algorithm and smoke it, yeah? ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
April 14, 2025 at 8:50 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Early Muse call this morning at 5.30. I dictated this draft from her in the drifting space between sleep and waking for day 5 of #NaPoWriMo after seeing yet more horrifying video footage last night. Anyone else have a Muse prodding them into action? 🆓🇵🇸
#PoetsOfBluesky
#Poetry
#Mythology
#Goddesses
When Humans Fly Like Birds If you want to play with Minerva, find a bright coffin in deep waters. Line it with silk, spun from the hair of ravens. Let there be a sword in its belly. For so She will demand, She the lightning dweller. Her playground is war, but She will have justice before the end of time. Never forget She is also Nemesis. Where will you run to, faithless dogs? You who snipe the flesh of children, you who kill the healers, you who drop death, make helpless humans fly inair stained grey with blood. For She will hunt you down, Her Gorgon shield turn you to stone until the final day of judgement comes. Take your coffin, set sail down a chute of red rocks, till you come to the wine-dark sea, and find Her, waiting. ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
April 5, 2025 at 2:08 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Never written a folk horror poem before, so was thrilled to get this one published in Vial of Bones zine’s ‘My Eldritch Horsey’ edition last month. Prepare to have your socks scared off by the Mari Lwyd.
#Poetry
#PoetsOfBluesky
#Horror
#Folklore
She comes, she comes, she always comes, beware, you golden, dancing girls and black-maned boys, who line the streets with shouts and laughing eyes, you who cry taunts and brazen challenges, snapping fingers and clicking phones, daring her skull to come and get you, shivering at your own fear, for always, underneath you know you know you know the night mare comes. Between the flicker and the flame she dwells, where light and shadow meet the wall, behind the lamp, beside the bed. And she will come, all sheet-less now, bones held apart with naught but air, her mane astir with frozen griefs, teeth sharper than the banshee’s screaming knife. She comes for you, you silly child, you who shouted loudest, who caught her empty eye and smiled, not knowing her for what she really is, Mistress of Revels at dark Arawn’s Ball, she who lurks in Annwyn, dark and drear, till she is called again to fill his halls for New Year’s Night. No human door for her— that thing you think is twig, tapping your pane, is not. A soft brush of her ghostly mane is all the warning she will give before her teeth are at your throat, draining out your human blood to serve as wine for morgens. Your frail flesh is entrée for Arawn the king, roasted with bitter herbs, served on a plate carved from your hips, licked white by her vanished tongue, and fashioned by the Elf Queen’s smith himself, pinned with silver, for no iron may enter here. Your fragile skin she takes in one fast strip, hangs it it with other fools from previous years, grim pink bunting on a washing line of thorns. Your soul she holds in a jar, made from the heart of a kelpie maid, who spurned her once, centuries ago. They’ll find you gone, no trace, no clue, no sign, and never know your fate hung on one smile. So all you black-maned lads and golden girls, beware: she comes, she comes, she always comes, the ghost-maned mare, she made of air and bones. ©️Lucy Coats Lucy Coats is a writer mostly focused on mythology, but her poetry takes in a wider view, encompassing the minutiae of nature and the countryside, as well as war, grief, Celtic folklore, witches, queerness and sacred feminism. She is currently working on her debut poetry collection as well as researching and writing a book on matriarchal goddesses. In 2024 she was shortlisted for The Bridport Poetry Prize, and in 2022 won the Latin Programme Poetry Prize. Her work has also appeared in The Winged Moon,ThreadLitMag, Beyond Queer Words and Clarion. She is based in Northamptonshire. Roll Up, Roll Up For The Mari Lwyd Show’ is a poem steeped in the folkloric carnival tradition of the Mari Lwyd, the skeletal horse skull who dances through the streets of South Wales on New Year’s Day, above a sheet-clad bearer. But behind the carnival revels is a darker truth, and a sacrifice for the feast of Arawn, king of Annwyn, must be paid. Only the brightest and best may apply all unknowing for an honour they never asked for. Mari Lwyd, Mistress of Ceremonies, will have her due. There are things that go bump in the night… and things that merely whisper your fate. Think Shiver by Nox Arcana, and that thing you can’t quite see out of the corner of your dreaming eye.
April 4, 2025 at 12:59 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
I’m supporting The Society of Authors today in their action against the book thieves Meta, who have stolen millions of authors’ books to train their AI. 13 of mine. It’s bloody iniquitous and I am so angry.
#BookThreads
#DoTheWriteThing
April 3, 2025 at 10:49 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Absolutely delighted to have been shortlisted for this year’s Latin Programme Poetry Prize for ‘the child of khaos makes herself’. I wrote it for all the babies who were never born in Gaza because of weapons our governments sell. I know it’s not an easy read.
#PoetsOfBluesky
#Poetry
#FreePalestine
the child of khaos makes herself ©️Lucy Coats she called on star-shine hidden by clouds of smoke from burning tents, fashioned hair-thin crinkles at her wrists from threads of sunlight sensed through ruined windows, glass all cracked spider webs. she dreamed herself into being through the clamour of bombs falling outside Nyx's womb, felt maternal blood surge with fear, carried on growing until the night her sanctuary ripped open, explosion on explosion investing the flame-blade air with lethal rage, as she faced the baneful light of war for one surprised nanosecond till moonbeam eyes fell shut, all life and growth cut off, cell by cell returning to dust without a name, though half the sky saw her small, broken body and wept stars, knowing they could do nothing. xiv
March 31, 2025 at 9:07 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Happy Spring Equinox to you all. Here’s one of mine that was published in @fracturedlit.bsky.social last year. Inspired by the great Mahmoud Darwish’s ‘Think Of Others’.

#PoetsOfBluesky
#SpringEquinox
Spring Equinox (do not forget) (after Mahmoud Darwish 1941-2008) Yesterday's lambs frisk in pea green fields, a leap of whirling tails, of milky nuzzlings. (do not forget the new born babes, suckling mute at starved-dry mothers' breasts). Lone daffodils sway in a stiff west wind, cherry pink cups nectar-seeking bees. (do not forget the million ancient olive trees, burned & bulldozed to oblivion). In the endless blue above, skylarks sing, invisible black dots, ecstasy-full of music. (do not forget the families, huddled close, praying death drones fly past their silence). Catkins dance on hazel trees, yellow pollen drifting gold-heavy in a still air. (do not forget the mother sprinkling flour on dust, for her just-killed children's iftar). Four roe-deer graze on wildflowers, ears ever alert, ready to leap and run. (do not forget the boy with a car seat, fleeing missiles, all spilt tear eyes & terror). There's a run-over hare on the back lane outside, flattened berry-red on black. (do not forget the blooming teenage lad, his crushed flower flesh, his living blood). As you gaze on spring, fresh life, think of ruined Gaza, her murdered people. (say: "I will not be silent. I will not be silent. I will be a candle." Repeat). Published by Free The Verse edition 11 November 2024 ©️Lucy Coats
March 20, 2025 at 11:27 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Respect the goose who,
seeing eagle on his ice,
defends, pecks, chases.

#haikufeels
Photo by Mervyn Sequeira from Instagram
A Canada Goose with wing raised, defends against a bald eagle, both on snow or ice.
March 8, 2025 at 4:24 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
A little ditty for Valentine’s Day. 💔🖤🤍💚
#ValentinesDay
Violets are purple Let’s all Free Palestine Stop all the jen-o’-cide instead of a Valentine
February 14, 2025 at 3:44 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
In memory of Hind Rajab. Killed by the Occupation on 29 January 2024 by 335 bullets. She was five years old. Remember her. Remember them all. Speak out. Witness.
#PoetsOfBluesky
💙📚
#HindRajab
#FreePalestine
HIND 335 all these months later / i walk among fields of white daisies with yellow sunshine eyes / and see her crowned with flowers and smiling in her pretty lilac dress / listen / among skylarks singing high above / to her small, scared whisper on the hot dry air of summer days / ‘i’m so scared please come’ and know that my heart will hear it in all the seasons that were stolen from her / whenever winds may blow // now she is all of our daughters / we who have wept as her small voice pleaded on the phone / her six beloved dead beside her in the car // those cruel men / those monsters knew / as they sighted / as they fired the first of three hundred and thirty five bullets / that they were killing children // ©️Lucy Coats/@lucywriter
January 29, 2025 at 2:05 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Trace her little lips,
unspeaking, cold, buried now.
Murdered at dinner.

#haikufeels
#dailyhaiku
#PoetsOfBluesky
#FreePalestine
💙📚

Her name was Laila Al-Khatib. She was 2. Art by @inda_binda
Pencil sketch of a little girl’s head by @inda_binda with text reading: LAILA AL-KHATIB, 2 KILLED BY OCCUPATION GUNFIRE TO HER HEAD DURING A RAID ON HER HOME IN THE OCCUPIED WEST BANK SHE WILL NEVER READ BOOKS AGAIN
January 28, 2025 at 12:38 PM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Family & serendipitous connections are important to me. My father was brought up in Burns’ village in Ayrshire. My OH is Burns’ great+++grandson. This quote from 1792 sums up the times we live in, I think. Happy Burns Night—whisky & freedom gang tegither.

#BurnsNight
#PoetsOfBlueSky
📚💙
#Scotland
“Here’s freedom to him that wad read, Here’s freedom to him that wad write, There’s nane ever fear’d that the truth should be heard, But they whom the truth wad indite.” Robert Burns from: Here’s a Health to Them That’s Awa’ (1792)
January 25, 2025 at 11:22 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Today, I’d like to share a quote from @matthaig.bsky.social. Love, not hate, always.
Quote from Matt Haig: It's not right versus left it's empathy versus oligarchy, it's humanity versus tech, it's raising people versus crushing them, it's nuance versus cartoons, it's art and heart versus cage-fighting nihilism
January 21, 2025 at 11:45 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Choose 20 books that have stayed with you or influenced you. One book per day for 20 days, in no particular order. No explanations, no reviews, just covers.

Day 20

Again, the Alt Text might be interesting.

#Books
#BookSky 💙📚👀
#BookChallenge
#Mythology
#LookInTheAltText
#GreekMyths
#UKKidLit
Front cover of The Heroes by Charles Kingsley. Gold and black type on a red background. In the centre is a fold and black line drawing of three men fighting. One lies on the ground, one is on a rearing horse, axe raised, and the other is trying to defend himself with a shield while pulling at the horse’s reins. All are dressed in ancient Greek costumes. The horseman is wearing a Phrygian cap which marks him as Trojan. This is the book which propelled me into a lifelong love of and writing career in Greek mythology, along with Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Tanglewood Tales. It first belonged to my grandmother, who passed it on to me when I was 8.
January 12, 2025 at 10:26 AM
lucycoatswriter.bsky.social
Choose 20 books that have stayed with you or influenced you. One book per day for 20 days, in no particular order. No explanations, no reviews, just covers.

Day 19
Definitely look in the Alt Text today!

#Books
#BookSky 💙📚👀
#BookChallenge
#geography
#LookInTheAltText
#AncientHistory
#maps
CAMBRIDGE LIBRARY COLLECTION A TOPOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY OF ANCIENT ROME SAMUEL BALL PLATNER EDITED BY THOMAS ASHBY CAMBRIDGE Yellow Text within a dark blue box on a yellow background. Below are two sepia tone photos of ancient Roman buildings. One is a stone house-type structure on several levels, the other a temple with typical portico and columns. This is for those, who like me, geek out at ancient geography. Using this huge volume and clues from other ancient history texts to cross-reference, I managed to find out exactly where Cleopatra’s father lived during his Roman exile for my novel ‘Chosen’. Honestly, it’s one of my most treasured books and a storehouse of amazing information.
January 11, 2025 at 9:45 AM