Fuck It

I wrote this poem, with tears in my eyes, for the words are real and raw. I’ve always struggled to believe in myself and especially my writing. But it seems I’ve turned a point in my life now and there’s no going back. I’m realising that I can write. And am going to, no matter what. So ‘fuck it’ can be my mantra. Because I’m moving out of my comfy home and into the wild 😜

Thanks to my dear friend Cassie for the mantra 💗


A Braid Of Blue Horizon

Fragrant scents linger still
on light wind;
across the mill
Speaking to the trees
whispers softly spoke,
Between visions of gold;
lies Calla-Lilies
Trumpet shaped
paper-like bulbs
Painted in oil strokes,
Across Western Isles,
a braid of blue horizon
A hazy day unfolds
The hours between us;
filled with wordless minutes –
seconds slip
through our fingers
No matter how we cling
The silent sea
and the land moans sweetly
Words fail our sensibilities,
Disentangled by the strings that cast
and bind our hearts
Our senses curve above the sun,
The clouds a husky front –
The sound of silence
Speaks to us,
In the garden of our dreams.

@ J.CALVERT 2017

Photography courtesy of Pinterest

Ink and Quill


Incredible photography by Pheasant Fashion Photography. megankelly.org

This is my passion,
The ache and urge,
For my words,
To spill forth,
My sense,
My deepest heartfelt,
My thoughts conveyed,
Quill, a feathery plume,
Etched and engraved,
Ink drips,
Tints and stains the page,
Fragile, erratic and torn,
I breathe and write on.

A Black Hawk and A Dove

Incredible image courtesy of; Brooke Shaden The World Above, 2011

Incredible image courtesy of; Brooke Shaden
The World Above, 2011.

The wind’s body, blustery and bracing,

The breathe of leaves,

Blow across the seas,

Petals of rose buds, to scatter,

Against the storm,


A black hawk and a dove,

A protector of the pharaoh,

A peaceful mediator,

To rise above in sweeping song,

To uncover our souls,

At the bottom of the ocean,

We misplaced our hearts,

Our eyes to see,

The perfection of the deep blue,

The pearls which dawn our day,

Our hands to feel the power of the wave,

The ripple runs through our veins,

Deep rooted in the tiny grains of sand,

Under our feet,

The hourglass flows on.

Writing Is A Part Of You


‘To write, is like going within, to uncover a special part of you, to share not only with the world, but with yourself. A piece of you, you didn’t know existed, until you searched and once discovered never leaves your heart.’ J Calvert.

Why Do You Write?

Why do you write?


I get a lot of mixed reactions when I say I’m a writer and I actually find it really hard to say it. I’m not sure if I find it so hard to say, because I myself don’t really believe that I am a writer or I’m worried about speaking about my manuscript.

When people ask me, ‘What do you do?’

I want to say, ‘A great many things.’ Because it’s true. I don’t feel like I’m limited to one particular thing. I feel like my answer defines me, but I don’t want to be defined by my career or work choices. I am a writer, I am a university student, I am a mum, I am an childhood educator, but yet I am so much more than that.

Are you published and why do you like writing is a question I get all the time.

I’m not published, but I will be and why I write, well, there is a great many reasons why I write.

Bohemian Queen

photography | A Trick of Light sunnymoraine.com-

photography | A Trick of Light

Upon her golden throne,
Hair of silky thread,
Woven and spun,
Around hearts of embroidered sun,
Embellished and dazzling,
Entangled in love,
Unravelled in wanting,
Worshipped Queen of Bohemia,
Wild fig and amber light,
Reflection in glass stained window, Disillusioned, Frayed and forgotten,
Naked on the cathedral stone,
In antiquity, she is grace.

Silver Chalice

Stunning photography by www.darkbeautymag.com

Stunning photography by http://www.darkbeautymag.com

In forgotten place,
In time adrift,
Lost on wings of feathery silk,
Of silver chalice and quill grey,
Engulfed by the darkest day,
Of clouded rain and drizzly sails,
In misty thought,
Hollow basin,
In the deepening shade,
Shadows creep,
Vines entangle and weep,
In nights veil,
She echoes a sad tale.