Jane Dougherty
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janedougherty47.bsky.social
Jane Dougherty
@janedougherty47.bsky.social
770 followers 600 following 1.9K posts
Writer of fiction and poetry, lives in a green fortress. Not interested in 'communities'. Learn to live together, the rest of the natural world manages to.
Visit my Substack https://substack.com/@janedougherty47 for short fiction and poetry
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Reposted by Jane Dougherty
thebooksocial.bsky.social
Mark your calendars! 🗓️

Our big Black Friday sale is starts at midnight on Thursday November 27th until Sunday November 30th at legendbookshop.com

Get 50% off ALL hardbacks and 25% off ALL paperbacks 📚

#BlackFriday #LegendPress #TheBookSocial #Books #Gifting
November 24, 2025 at 3:16 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
kdsbooks.bsky.social
A shame given how much sheer quality has been produced in a single year across multiple genres. Probably the stand out publisher for 2025

In other words, go to their site and buy some books
northodoxpress.bsky.social Northodox Press 📖 @northodoxpress.bsky.social · 2d
🚨STATEMENT🚨

We know there have been rumours circulating and we've been investigating all avenues to continue in extremely difficult circumstances, both industry-wise and within the team.

The support from our readers and writers means the world to us.
November 24, 2025 at 1:51 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
northodoxpress.bsky.social
We have some amazing authors leaving us at the end of the year. This is the last chance to grab some of these incredible titles and support them for the foreseeable future.

All books in our store are 25% with the code NORTHODOXMAS until the new year
www.northodox.co.uk/bookstore
November 24, 2025 at 5:41 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
britfantasysoc.bsky.social
Every Friday, we meet a member of the BFS and peer deep into their soul (or, at least, a form they filled out). Here's Belarus-born, Sheffield-based sci-fi writer Valeriya Salt, who finds inspiration for her Earth-bound SF in gardens and parks.

britishfantasysociety.org/meet-valeriy...
On a black background with flourishes of red lines and dots is the text: Meet the BFS members! Valeriya Salt. Valeriya is pictured in the centre, standing in front of a cliff side covered with rock and greenery. She is a white woman with orange hair, wearing glasses and a plaid shirt.
November 21, 2025 at 1:32 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
merrildsmith.bsky.social
Good morning! I had trouble with this one--do I write that every week?😂 I wrote two short ones that maybe I'll post later, but then I decided to consult the Oracle for inspiration for this third one. #PoemsAbout #Desire
Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
Poem: Haunted The hard need of the heart, like flower-celebrations, like cloud-bellies opening— soft rain, salt-scent, storms-- you wonder about it later, after life over without a word.
November 14, 2025 at 1:03 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
fiftywords.bsky.social
Roman Emperor Hadrian loved a young man named Antinous. History turned their passion into rumour #PoemsAbout #Desire @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk
A God of Flesh and Marble (Hadrian remembers Antinous) They say we used to canoodle; a word too soft for the solemn silk of your body folded into mine. Too coy for the way your breath halted my empire. They don't say love, not for men like us draped in marble and consequence. Unly rumours, reliefs, a glint in the eye of a broken statue. Only gods dare name it. You, river-born and taken by river, drowned not in current but in the undertow of politics, prophecy, or my own fearful need. I built cities from your absence. They deny our love. But they weren't there when the world slipped from your wet, unbreathing mouth.
November 14, 2025 at 6:00 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
robgalpin.bsky.social
Here's a dream or memory or both for #PoemsAbout #Desire - thanks @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @rotherwrites.bsky.social
write.as/robgalpin/i-...
#poem #poetry
I dreamed of the horse and you again and we were riding up the valley on our bicycles, stopping, skidding on the gravel— you almost ran to its chestnut glow. You—in your worn-out shorts and frayed top, boots untied, long hair filtering the sun— reaching for its glossy flank, its simple face, black mane. And you so poised and pleased as it moved gently, in the heat, under your hand. And at the top—this part, I think, was real— we lay by the corrugated barn and watched the valley spread— the red-brick terraces, blank white warehouses— and heard the clangour of the distant scrapyard. And in that moment, it became the time we got lost in a narrow field with a nervous stamping horse, our bikes a muddy hindrance, time running out on a frozen afternoon. We had gone so far that day but still I was afraid to climb the fence. You only laughed and said nothing: Then crouched—hands cupped, and braced.
November 14, 2025 at 7:08 AM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
For the #PoemsAbout #Desire prompt from @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk
November 14, 2025 at 8:28 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
beautifulsausage.bsky.social
The poetry of
Jane Dougherty
janedougherty47.bsky.social Jane Dougherty @janedougherty47.bsky.social · 19d
A poem about raw grief and trauma, even if they're not mine.
#PoemsAbout #LockedDoors for @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
November 11, 2025 at 7:28 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
davgar51.bsky.social
replies Sunday, I am tied up tomorrow, so in time here is my poem about #ClosedDoors for #PoemsAbout
#Poetry #MyEx
A poem entitled Closed Door I know the night it opened and how life looked up like a Woodpigeon clattering off its nest or a thundercloud's electrons coming home but not one instant so more like a tide racing across the sand with small waders in constant surprise & rush reeling, wheeling around to find peace in the marram grass, comfort in huddle & safety. Yes, that was the night— not much sleep, but deep. But which was the night it shut? I'll never know and you won't say but for sure it was years before the day you crossed a line and I walked out through a closed door, at least a door I thought was closed then I pushed it shut from outside and it was.
November 7, 2025 at 9:47 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
In the echos
Of a violent aftermath
In a wreckage
Of doors forced open

Lies a man
Who still doesn't know
Where he belongs.
Nor how much to give.

Doors beyond doors
hide floors beyond floors
How many keys
Must I make?

#poemsabout #lockeddoors #poetry
thebrokenspine.co.uk The Broken Spine @thebrokenspine.co.uk · 20d
#LockedDoors drops tomorrow.
This isn’t metaphor. This is muscle memory.
Write what you couldn’t say at the time.
Tag it. Use Alt Text. No early posts.
Inbox prompts (for masochists and truth-tellers): shorturl.at/0Xm7A
A black-and-white photo of a sealed, arched iron door set into a brick wall. The shot is taken from ground level, rough cobblestones leading the eye toward the door. Top left: The Broken Spine logo (a black fountain pen nib). Top right: “@thebrokenspine.co.uk” in white. Bottom right: bold white text—“Read Repost Reply #POEMSABOUT #LOCKEDDOORS”.
November 8, 2025 at 12:32 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
dnwritespoetry.bsky.social
What's up my fellow poets! Are we looking behind #LockedDoors! #PoemsAbout
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
@alanparrywriter.co.uk
@karenpgonzalez.bsky.social
Have a most lovely day! #KeepWriting!
November 7, 2025 at 11:04 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
merrildsmith.bsky.social
Good morning! A poem for #PoemsAbout #LockedDoors. This is a revision of an old poem. Thank you, as always to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk for these weekly prompts!
Poem Threshold The massive door has always been locked until now it stands slightly open like parted lips whispering yes. You imagine a turquoise sky, peach sorbet clouds— the opposite of this grey-shrouded world. You touch the weathered wood dotted with knotted eyes, wonder how far eternity is-- how wide? How deep? But there is the latch, undone, there is the handle, so, you inhale, exhale, and pull-- a sea-salt breath brushes your skin as you step over the sill. No more doors. No more locks. This is where your life begins.
November 7, 2025 at 11:59 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
simonestalfieri.bsky.social
Trump e la Russia hanno fatto rinviare la tassa mondiale sulle emissioni delle navi merci, puntando a convincere i paesi favorevoli a votare contro. Sostenuti dalle aziende, stanno rovinando irrimediabilmente il nostro pianeta!

#World #Trump

www.ilpost.it/2025/10/18/t...
La tassa sulle emissioni delle navi da carico sta naufragando - Il Post
Gli Stati Uniti hanno fatto forti pressioni e usato metodi intimidatori per indurre decine di paesi a votare per rinviarla almeno di un anno
www.ilpost.it
October 20, 2025 at 6:10 AM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
A poem about raw grief and trauma, even if they're not mine.
#PoemsAbout #LockedDoors for @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
November 7, 2025 at 10:50 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
drnaturegirl.debbiemross.co.uk
Hello #poetrycommunity @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk This is my slim offering for todays #PoemsAbout #LockedDoors thanks as always to reader and sharers I’ll be popping in and out as time allows. Looking forward to your contributions.

#poetry #poems
A poem by Debbie Ross entitled Shut Out Or Shut In Body text as follows In my dreams there is locked door after locked door, down a never ending corridor. I don't know what it means, I rarely remember dreams, but I remember the feeling of panic, of not being able to get through to get to you.
November 7, 2025 at 9:03 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
clareobrien.bsky.social
Here's my #poem for the #poemsabout #lockeddoors prompt.
It's an #ekphrastic poem this time - at least, I'm not sure it works without my photo? I came across these stone dogs by chance & instantly wanted to write about them.
@thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk
#poetry #poetsofbluesky
Photo of two stone dogs either side of a locked black door in Dublin Street, Edinburgh The Dogs Of Dublin Street Edinburgh, 2025 by Clare O'Brien They’re silent in the warm dark, alert for a word or a whistle from one who remembers. Who made this memory of muscle, bone and fur, warm eager breath, wild energy waiting to spring? The black door’s shut against the lamplit night. Do those inside love these bright faces still? The dogs of Dublin Street wait in stone stillness, steadfast, vigilant, watching for a return.
November 7, 2025 at 10:24 AM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
#BlueSkyPoets #Toussaint #poetry
November 2, 2025 at 9:49 PM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
drnaturegirl.debbiemross.co.uk
Hello there @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk and the #poetrycommunity here’s my rough draft drop for #PoemsAbout #Blood A little fem’ rant for you! Will check in throughout the day for all the #poems. Thanks for reading, sharing, supporting. #poetry #poem
A poem by Debbie Ross entitled Bleeding for Humanity Text as follows: You are drenched in your Mother’s blood. We women bleed our whole lives: monthly menstruation, parturition, the daily cuts, the knife slices to our hearts. Women bleed and men shun us for our impurity, call us cursed, or simply ignore our suffering. Misogyny writ large. Without our blood on the earth life would not exist.
October 31, 2025 at 8:09 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
davidbirch.bsky.social
Many thanks @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk for today's #PoemsAbout prompt #Blood. I look forward to reading everyone's submissions later #BlueSkyPoets #PoetryCommunity
October 31, 2025 at 9:27 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
merrildsmith.bsky.social
Good morning! Happy Halloween! For #PoemsAbout #Blood
This is also for a prompt where the first line comes from a horror movie--this one "The Sixth Sense." We're seeing Macbeth this weekend, so there may be more blood poems! Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk
Poem: Blood and Fiddles I see dead people, rooftop fiddlers and Chagall souls floating like speech balloons waiting for their frame-- artists, musicians, lovers, and practical idealists, they enter my dreams, my mother, my father, a caretaker who talks of her dissertation on Einstein and divorce, it’s relativity, I say— he also being Jewish and dead— like my parents and their parents, my ancestors, their DNA carried with traces of stardust in my cells, giving me curly hair and nearsighted light eyes, a recessive negative blood RH to balance my normal positivity, and through all the blood lost and recreated, blood spilled and regenerated, the bow glides across strings of generations my great greats who traveled continents and oceans so I could live where I do, be who I am, (I hope that’s still true.) I see you hovering. Rest. It’s OK. I’ll be all right. Blood and Fiddles I see dead people, rooftop fiddlers and Chagall souls floating like speech balloons waiting for their frame-- artists, musicians, lovers, and practical idealists, they enter my dreams, my mother, my father, a caretaker who talks of her dissertation on Einstein and divorce, it’s relativity, I say— he also being Jewish and dead— like my parents and their parents, my ancestors, their DNA carried with traces of stardust in my cells, giving me curly hair and nearsighted light eyes, a recessive negative blood RH to balance my normal positivity, and through all the blood lost and recreated, blood spilled and regenerated, the bow glides across strings of generations my great greats who traveled continents and oceans so I could live where I do, be who I am, (I hope that’s still true.) I see you hovering. Rest. It’s OK. I’ll be all right.
October 31, 2025 at 10:31 AM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
I wrote this yesterday, before I hurt my back. I'm posting it and will try to read some of the other submissions today but probably won't be up to doing much.
#PoemsAbout #Blood @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk #PoetsofBluesky
October 31, 2025 at 9:51 AM
Reposted by Jane Dougherty
beyondtheonions.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #Blood #poem #poetry #writing #ancestory #wandering #king 👑
tip of the hat to @alanparrywriter.co.uk & @thebrokenspine.co.uk
~ pilgrimage ~ I am a free man from the headland, with a heart so pulled to wander. Across the hills and heather, my thoughts are drawn to ponder. The whispers of an Irish king, the last, Tadhg mac Diarmata. I swear I hear his whispers sing, as he dances with dear mother. Tis his wine that fills my chalice. His vine entwines my free man’s heart. Urging without malice, I humbly go to where I start; to where the headland stabs the sea, just pack my kit and go; to lay me down on rolling hills where the heather grows. ~Beyond the Onions~ Ross McDermott ~
October 31, 2025 at 9:19 AM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
Rain on dead leaves
rinsing sticky summer
down to the sea.

#haiku
#SkyPoets
October 25, 2025 at 3:03 PM
janedougherty47.bsky.social
The tide is darkest before the dawn
Hope clings longest when the light has died
Love is strongest that has wings to fly.

www.northodox.co.uk/bookstore
#BookSky #fantasy #mythology

Reduced prices for the Samhain period.
October 25, 2025 at 1:32 PM