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Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

530 followers 680 following 740 posts

I’m a library assistant and poet with work published in The Dirigible Balloon, Disabled Tales, Dreambeast Poems, and featured on Brian Moses’s blog. My poems are forthcoming in Scaryness Express.

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Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

Snow, I call you
clouds scattering,
colour tamer,
sound silencer,
greenery concealer,
frost buttered,
white sequin wearer,
cold spell farer,
postcard dream scene sharer,
day-to-evening blur. #poetry #poem #kennings

November 26, 2025 at 9:24 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Tiny Tree Books 📕

@tinytreebooks.bsky.social

🎄✨ It's one month until Christmas! 🎄✨

Celebrate early with A Welly Full of Christmas by @attielime 🎁

A poetry collection full of festive fun for all the family! Get your copy 👉 amzn.to/4f64NLj

#Christmas

Cover of A Welly Full of Christmas on a green background.

November 25, 2025 at 4:31 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Malachy Moran

@malformed-poetry.bsky.social

Today's prompt is working for me. It will take a few days to finish but here is the intro:

#Poetry

November 25, 2025 at 5:04 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem #poetry

When a ticket arrives in exam season,
on a Sunday home from school,
you know it’s an it’s‑getting‑closer‑to‑your‑dreams kind of day.

No one can be disappointed in you,
you carry a visit‑us‑in‑Toronto invitation.

When a ticket arrives in exam season,
on a Sunday home from school,
you know it’s an it’s‑getting‑closer‑to‑your‑dreams kind of day.

No one can be disappointed in you,
you carry a visit‑us‑in‑Toronto invitation.

A blue velour tracksuit waits for the journey,
and the photo booth for your passport.

Mum tells you: wear her cross,
solid gold on its chain,
to guard your travels.

Your first evenings there, you open your luggage:
shampoos, magazines, CDs,
lined on the dresser in white‑floral condo rooms,
giant windows spilling views
where your family now lives.

The hosts of Canadian morning news
speak as you plan your sightseeing:
boats, cinemas, towers, restaurants, shops,
villages, downtown malls.

At night you look up at the building
and wonder if this is a feeling
as close to being famous as you will get.
It lifts your worries,
those quiet feelings of being inferior.

Later you will realise
how hard it is to uproot to Canada.
For now, reality stays distant,
a dream still shining in the window.

November 25, 2025 at 3:33 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem #poetry
When a ticket arrived in exam season,
on a Sunday when home from school,
you knew it was an it’s‑getting‑closer‑to‑your‑dreams kind of day.

No one can be disappointed in you
who offers a visit‑us‑in‑Toronto invitation.

When a ticket arrived in exam season,
on a Sunday when home from school,
you knew it was an it’s‑getting‑closer‑to‑your‑dreams kind of day.

No one can be disappointed in you
who offers a visit‑us‑in‑Toronto invitation.

A blue velour tracksuit you will wear there too,
and in the photo booth for your passport.

Mum tells you to wear her cross
on its solid gold chain
for your journeys.

Your first evenings there, you open your luggage:
shampoos, magazines, CDs,
on the dresser in the pretty white floral condo rooms,
with the giant’s windows of views
where your family now lives.

The hosts of the Canadian morning news
as you plan your sightseeing:
boats, cinemas, towers, restaurants, shops, villages, downtown malls.

At night you look up to the building
and wonder if this is a feeling
as close to being famous as you will get.
It takes your mind off your worries,
your sometimes feelings of being inferior.

When you are older you will realise
how hard it is to uproot to Canada.
For now, the distance of reality
remains far away,
a dream still shining in the window.

November 25, 2025 at 9:59 AM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

Going Through Old Photos @michaelrosenyes.bsky.social Poetry Workshop.

I wonder if that is why Granddad organised the variety of entertainment for the veterans club, and why my sister taught herself to sing too.

#poetry #poem

Me, my sister, my brother‑in‑law, and Granddad
were going through the old photos in The Headlands pub.
That is Pap’s photo, once in the museum exhibition,
as the founder of the Northampton Veterans Social Club.
The sign beside it mentions Nan,
Betty Waterfield, married in the 1950s,
as well as Granddad’s varied career throughout his life:
railway engine cleaner, window cleaner.

After Betty died, when he was in the garden once,
he said a white butterfly would not leave him alone,
hovering around his face.
Betty was a singer, I already knew.
“Can you sing?” he asked me.
“A bit,” I replied.
“It is all right to say if you cannot.”
“I cannot, and I say it,” said my brother‑in‑law.

I wonder if that is why Granddad
organised the variety of entertainment for the veterans club,
and why my sister taught herself to sing too.

by Kay Medway

November 24, 2025 at 11:28 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poetry #poem

I have been thinking
how often, before someone sings,
there will be an observation aloud that says,
“You know, the person before you is a professional singer.”

Well, I have put on my trier’s hat.
You cannot fault the give‑it‑a‑go,
the see‑how‑it‑goes momentum,
the parcel of courage in wearing it.

Do not worry about me.
My experience is in lobster quatrains,
as Gryphon in Alice in Wonderland,
red face paint heavy, glitter waistcoat more shimmery than space,
playing before the senior years at school.

You never know when you will need
to approach something in life
with the same willingness
to not take yourself too seriously.

But do not worry about me.
Either way, the songs must be sung.
I love the chance, really.

November 24, 2025 at 7:49 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Pinhole Poetry

@pinholepoetry.bsky.social

We’re missing pieces for our next issue!
We’re still looking for a few more poems and pinhole photography submissions.
Check out our guidelines on our website and send in work by Nov 28 to be considered for the Jan 2026 issue.

pinholepoetry.ca

November 24, 2025 at 6:16 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Helen Laycock

@helenlaycock.bsky.social

Thanks, Paul, for the #promptcombo #OnRoofs
@thewombwellrainbow.bsky.social

Here's my contribution.

#poetry #poetsofbluesky #blueskypoets #skypoets #winter

November 24, 2025 at 12:06 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem #poetry

The most important poem I've wrote.

Dear Kay,

When you feel like everything is not going as well as it could of late, remember
the mornings, three times a week, when you began,
the commitment you had already shown,
even if some might have thought it was less than others,
the responsibility you carried.

You did not do it for praise or rewards.
After long volunteer morning shifts,
you treated yourself to a hot sausage roll from Greggs
underneath the office, before the walk home,
dreaming volunteering would grow your C.V.,
enough for employment,
and it did.

Because as years passed,
seeming similar to the one before and without positive change,
you got better, and you still remember.

In one of a series of interviews
that changed your life at age twenty‑five,
they asked you to give an example
of when you had provided
an excellent level of customer service.

As an adult volunteer in a bureau, you had interviewed to discover
who needed an appointment for full advice,
who needed signposting,
and who could be helped
with self‑help materials.

A bureau of every solution,
where you learned to write reports
of what had been asked, told, looked up, explained, advised,
a satisfying arc of conclusion and achievement.

Yours faithfully,
A voice who began as a volunteer.

November 24, 2025 at 11:43 AM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Caroline Clark

@cclarklewes.bsky.social

Early start interpreting at the eye hospital. Reading Ned Denny’s envigorating versions in @pnreview.bsky.social while two old chaps discuss how ‘brown bread turns you out nicely. Surprisingly quickly actually.’

Ned Denny after Verlaine

November Dusk
Autumn and the departing sun, and I am wild with joy! Corpse hues drenched in blood, a five-alarm sky, death possessing a world of mud, torpid ponds, and man the sick child!
This is, poet, your hour and your season, all illusions gone, your heart laid bare,
that tender heart which the rats' feet of passion tear, your looking-glass, your festival!
Let academics, dupes, and noted authors fawn over the springtime and the dawn, those two foxy virgins even costlier than
their frocks; I choose you, autumn, prefer your dark grace to any little darling's face, you my implacable and strange-eyed courtesan.

November 21, 2025 at 8:41 AM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Jumping Jules Poetry

@jumpingjulespoetry.bsky.social

So pleased to have 3 poems on The Poetry Express, one in the Haunted ticket and 2 in Cobweb-zines (September). Thank you! www.scaryness.com 👻

November 24, 2025 at 9:32 AM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poetry

What if the moon were a compact mirror,
resting in a pearly case?

At its snapping shut upon all the spirits,
it locks the gremlins’ powers,
and keeps on shattering across the skies,
scattering silver shards
and stones of light.

What if the sun were a shield,
engulfed in flames?

It guards the one who stands behind,
holding it high as protection.

A fire rises from a fearsome hearth,
blazing with untamed strength.

What if the clouds were soft,
fluffy arm rests
on giant’s chairs?

Giant-sounding dins
of stomping boots overhead,
until in the chairs
giants rest.

What if the tree were a person,
tall and from an ancient land,
its chin tilted high
beneath the brim of a sun hat,
an all-around crown
of emerald leaves?

Yet when it speaks,
it drowns out
in muffled rounds.

What if the bee were sun colour,
and night-sky colour beads
in a stripey painting?

Its yellow stripes,
the only lights.

What if the flower were a bright serviette,
with folds and creases of beauty,
arranged in a thin green glass
on a fairy’s dinner table,

where ghostly guests,
uninvited,
reappear.

November 24, 2025 at 8:45 AM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

brian-moses.blogspot.com?m=1
#poem #poetry

What if the flower were a bright serviette,
with folds and creases of beauty,
arranged in a thin green glass
on a fairy’s dinner table?

What if the moon were a compact mirror,
resting in a pearly case
that snapped shut?

What if the sun were a shield,
engulfed in flames,
guarding the one who stands behind
and holding it high?

What if the clouds were soft,
fluffy arm rests
on giant’s chairs?

What if the tree were a person,
tall and from an ancient land,
its chin tilted high beneath the brim of a sun hat,
an all-around crown of emerald leaves?

What if the bee were sun colour
and night‑sky colour beads
in a stripey painting?

What if the flower were a bright serviette,
with folds and creases of beauty,
arranged in a thin green glass
on a fairy’s dinner table?

November 23, 2025 at 12:53 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Rachel Burrows

@rburrows.bsky.social

Another tiny tale from my grandmother’s childhood for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social

November 23, 2025 at 11:16 AM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem #poetry #poetrycommunity

November 23, 2025 at 12:46 AM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Nikita Gill

@nikitagill.bsky.social

Lord, I beg you to take every woman's imposter syndrome and give it to the mediocre men being horrible to her instead.

November 22, 2025 at 4:07 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Shaun Jex

@shaunjexauthor.bsky.social

I've never really written a rondeau before, but it felt perfect for this theme. It's a poem inspired by the story Faithful Johannes by the Brothers Grimm, as well as @adamgidwitz.bsky.social re-telling of it in his amazing book "A Tale Dark and Grimm"

#poetry #poetrycommunity #fairytales

Faithful Johannes

He remained true until the end
This trusted servant and dear friend
Who saved our king, although the deed
Forced him to slay a royal steed

A wedding shirt he had to rend
While knowing none would comprehend
To cure the queen, he made her bleed
He remained true

But poor Johannes had no friend
Who came to aid him or defend
When, in his rage, the king decreed
That he should be hanged with all speed
But in the Book of Life, they penned
“He remained true.”

© Shaun Jex

November 20, 2025 at 9:37 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Cosmic Daffodil Journal

@cosmicdaffodil.bsky.social

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!
THEME: TIDAL LIGHT🌊✨️

Submit on Duosuma - Check out our website for more information.

Also, please vote for CDJ if you have a moment for Chill Subs annual BEST LIT MAGS:
www.chillsubs.com/best-lit-mag...

November 22, 2025 at 8:54 PM

Reposted by Kay Medway

Carmella de Keyser

@carmellapoetry.bsky.social

Thank you so much for sharing. 💛 @dustpoetry.bsky.social @tarawheeler.bsky.social @wordweave.bsky.social @kaymedway.bsky.social @rburrows.bsky.social @owlnsquirrels1111.bsky.social @ianbeckett.bsky.social @bethosmond.bsky.social @carolynthomas.bsky.social 💛

November 22, 2025 at 6:03 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem #poetry

We called her Jaffa.
My first friend and Granddad’s neighbour added Foxy,
because she said her parents thought they heard a fox outside
but it was her.

Fern was her name,
and Medway River was added last.
We shared the caring of her,
but oh, for her to be a cat
in that farm wood sized garden,
in the holly acre cottage,
with violets and bells.

I would not want her brought away,
as I would not, if in a cottage,
I lived there.

November 22, 2025 at 6:03 PM

Kay Medway

@kaymedway.bsky.social

#poem

In 1994, my sister was brought home,
her pram a fun colour blue,
with well‑suited squiggles
in orange and mauves.

Walking over the bridge,
I would watch the navy blue wheels,
till Mum sat, holding her,
in my room,
as the door downstairs
was knocked by the neighbour.