Nicola Cayless.
Looking for light in words.

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(A sneaky little snippet from a poem I am working on for my (yet untitled) collection!) x
I might be running a little bit of a cute promotional competition for the title/subtitle of my book. Prizes would include letters and poems and potentially a free copy. Would you guys be interested in partaking in that?


Explore Thistle Magazine’s seventh issue, Summer Wilderness! Discover artist Edie Sunday, writers Nick Lantz and Daniel Stephensen, and fashion bloggers Q2Han. Live vicariously through explorer Jeanne Bare and artist Rosa Bonheur. And don’t forget to read your summer horoscope predicted by Madame Clairvoyant. Our biggest issue yet, you don’t want to miss out! Purchase your print/digital copy here:

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I have this little notebook and I have five little scrawled lines of maybe one day little poems and it’s strange, because I have this very little heart and the words are too big for me to wear, like a baggy old cardigan that’s warm and smells wonderful but is far too big for little old me.

Collection update: I have first drafts of about twenty poems. This is an exhilarating process. x


How much would you be willing to spend for a collection of about 40-60 poems?

If you were to buy my collection, would you want it to be entirely new pieces, or a mixture of poems from my tumblr and unpublished pieces?

I am working on a collection. I’m not sure yet what it will be called but I’m doing this. I’m going to publish a book of my works. I won’t be publishing many poems here in the interim as a result, but I will still be present and updating you all.

Gregory Sherl
song lyrics for the dead

Once I saw a beard-scraggled old man
who tripped on others’ shoelaces, and
signed the cross at street lamps.
I heard him singing a wordless hymn:
the rage of love, the rage of love,
and you are awake and blinding.

Once I was the universe inside of her;
I set her hips aflame. Now you are mine,
demon-child, warborn child, you tear me
apart. And I hear her singing quietly,
the rage of love, the rage of love,
and you are awake and blinding.

Once I was the tomorrow of today,
and you held me close by nightfall.
You trimmed strings with your teeth,
you snapped bones with your eyes, and sung;
the rage of love, the rage of love,
and you are awake and blinding.