#SayYourPeace

Get Involved

To take part in the campaign, share an original poem, quote, or a piece of writing with the hashtag #SayYourPeace. Check out these top tips below for more information on getting started.

Don’t forget that to make sure we pick it up, tag @stwevents on Twitter, or @spreadthewordwriters on Instagram. Alternatively, please email your poems to [email protected], and let us know if you’re happy for us to share them.

Top tips for writing your poem

Theresa has some top tips for writing your poem:

1. What are you writing about? – It helps to know what you are writing about before putting poem to paper, or fingers to keypads. It is easy to get trapped in our big ideas, the campaign is focusing on sharing the things that bring you calm and peace; decide what those things are for you first. You could capture a moment of stillness, or you could describe why peace is important to you right now. The poem doesn’t have to be a piece of journalism, so feel free to use your imaginations! It does help to have an idea of what you want to share.

2. Create memorable imagery – The poems that will be shared as part of campaign are quite short, try using descriptions that create interesting and memorable images! Think of a different way to describe whats important to you, and the aspects you are highlighting and celebrating. For example, you could describe the peace you find as a stop-off on a journey, or hitting pause on a film, or you can use specific imagery that suits you e.g. space, nature, video games etc.

3. Have fun writing many drafts – Don’t be discouraged if you aren’t pleased with the first poem you write, practice makes you better! Also, sometimes it takes a few drafts to get the real gems for the final poem.

4. Make use of your poetry toolbox – Are you familiar with simile, metaphor, personification, onomatopoeia? The list goes on and on. The poetry toolbox is so exciting! Maybe try writing lines using one of them you like, and if you like the line you could use it in the poem, or that line alone could be the poem!

5. A poem doesn’t always have to rhyme – Whenever I teach in schools the first thing most students ask is ‘Miss does my poem have to rhyme?’ The answer is no, but if you love rhyme then go for it!

6. Read other poems – Follow the hashtag and read other poems for inspiration! The internet provides such a wide resource, you can watch poems being performed on YouTube, or read poems online, or if you have books even better! Sometimes the best inspiration and learning comes from taking in other poems. This is a wonderful opportunity not just to write, but to get to read and hear more poems too.

Mental Health Advice and Resources

The NHS offers tips for dealing with concerns about the Coronavirus situation on their Every Mind Matters project.

If you are struggling with mental ill-health then there are resources and independent advice available from young people’s mental health charity YoungMinds, including their YoungMinds Crisis Messenger.

If you need to speak to someone urgently, then you can call Childline confidentially and for free on 0800 1111.

For parents looking for advice and support, YoungMinds run a free Parents Helpline, available on 0808 802 5544 (Monday to Friday 9.30am – 4pm).

Project Poems

Let Us Play Scrabble Again

by Theresa Lola

Let Us Play Scrabble Again

by Theresa Lola

Let Us Play Scrabble Again

The scrabble board is a neatly cut cape, we touch
the hem of its board and feel a strength return
to us like a prodigal child. My mother smiles
for the first time this week, my father brings
home the sun in his palm, my sister cleaves
from the sticky skin of her phone. I find
tranquillity thick as a towel cover me.
The scrabble board transforms into whatever
is required by the bodies around it. Sometimes
the scrabble board is a plate we eat words from,
our mouths swallowing conversation peacefully
since the breaking news starved us of an appetite.
Sometimes the scrabble board is a classroom board,
we learn life is a continuous anagram, we learn to form
meaning out of nothing. We learn it is a conscious effort
to be linked by words, by language, by love.
becoming kindness

by Monika Radojevic

becoming kindness

by Monika Radojevic

becoming kindness

people who love to pretend kindness is a currency, a do
it-when-you-need-it,
a juicy piece of cheese to lay so seductively on a mouse
trap: i don’t like you. kindness is the sunrise and sunset
of humanity, the defining moment to cleanse ourselves
from all the greedy violence we pound down on
ourselves and everyone else,
kindness is a snake we must keep wrapped around
our necks,
to choke us when we try to misstep, jerk out bodies
awake again —
if that sounds rough,
(fair enough)
i remind you that we have killed millions with our
ability to turn off a screen or vote with our eyes
fixed firmly on our shoes.
kindness isn’t supposed to roll off the tongue: you
work for it, you nourish it, you fall in love and quick-
step with it.
you bury kindness in your chest until its heartbeat
mixes in with yours and you can no longer tell the
difference.
A tail wags against my legs

by Elspeth Wilson

A tail wags against my legs

by Elspeth Wilson

A tail wags against my legs

Your smell precedes you as you 
bounce your joy into the room, your 

tail a blaze, hot with energy, the
thrum of unadulterated happiness.

Your paws are Christmas presents,
scented with beach, mud and forest

sand between your toes, bearing
their precious gift. Your big bald 

tummy is the first day of the summer
holidays, your nose a party 

bag, a wet reminder to tell me to
take a break, to not always live in 

the future. Your tongue is a time
machine, dragging me back to age 

fifteen when your saliva was my
salve, telling me to keep going 

although it spoke no words. Your
eyes are full fat milk – your favourite 

kind – cloudy with age. Yet they still
see me, a goddess with biscuits

the very best version of myself who
hands out love without being asked 

all because you taught me how. 
the paradise of normal

by Millie Wood-Downie

the paradise of normal

by Millie Wood-Downie

Those nights where I close my eyes and fall straight to sleep,
Needing no more than the comfort of my sheets.
For me, in recent weeks, have become obsolete.
It’s not that I can’t sleep. I can.
But every night there is battle between paradise and panic, tainting that limbo when my unconscious makes plans,
Where my brain has been replaced with an over pressurised can.

My paradise is not dreaming of distant lands.
It’s of randomness, serendipity, non distant hands.
Of those taken moments we never knew we would have.
And the nights that take this subject matter and churn them in my mind make for a much kinder sleep than when using the latter.

Last week my friend asked me if I was having nightmares.
And in short the answer is yes.
We’re stuck to the news, the facts and figures causing stress, and then we’re left in our minds picture with this imagined mess.
An overdose of ambiguity playing over, and over and over whilst we rest.
And I read once that in order to overcome stress,
You must test your body further than the original source.
I’d need a mountain to grapple and there doesn’t seem to be one of those within these four walls.
And no matter how many sleep time teas I’d tried, I thought time would help our minds come down from this chaos.
But time is the only thing I have in abundance.

So I’ve given up on falling straight to sleep,
This familiar ritual has become obsolete.
So instead, I am dreaming during the day,
Knowing my paradise might be far away but it is not unimaginable.

It is two weeks on, back staring at this makeshift desk, the days have rolled into one and there is a stiff feeling in my neck, and again, the sun is pouring in through the window.
Last night I dreamt of the most beautiful ocean but it was filled to the brim with so many boats.
I tried to unpick what it meant, something about needing to stay afloat.
I don’t know.
So for now, I will continue daydreaming of those non distant hands,
Of windowless sun soaking and our feet in shared sand.
We were Superheroes

by Roseline Mgbodichinma Anya Okorie

We were Superheroes

by Roseline Mgbodichinma Anya Okorie

We were Superheroes

We will remember the days
We covered our nostrils
To receive fresh air
The times we went on calculated strolls
Because something sinister was
Winning the polls.
We will remember that we were superheroes
how we used our capes
As blankets and bedsheets
How we fought this war with eye bags and keypads.
We will remember that we don’t control the earth
That we are only there as sojourners
That one angry swipe of something viciously malignant
Can send us all in like grounded 2year olds.
We will remember the things that unite us
How we now know that
Our diversities do not divide us
Rather they make us blend
Into different colours
So that we will all together be the
Rainbow that gave hope to generations after us.
We will remember how we survived
How we thrived
How we came out of this fire
With our foreskin intact.
We will stand on the hill
And look at our city
And then will we realize
From whence our help truly came
Saying My Peace

by Idowu Odeyemi

Saying My Peace

by Idowu Odeyemi

Saying My Peace

The low light in my room’s bulb,
the ‘snail-moving like’ dangling of the ceiling fan
contributed immensely to my melancholic face.
Nothing captures human interest
like human tragedy.
So this sadness bought by the
inability to resort being solitude
is because of the tragedy
human race is battling with
-a virus that eats lungs like those dudes
in the horror movie The Walking Dead.
Every time I start counting the ceiling
in my room again,
my brain sprinted towards this thought:
every human being wants the same thing
-survival.
So solitude becomes our ally
while mine is leading to depression.
All I see are printed leaves, saving me
through this impediment period
that quietness now beacons on every street
humans once trailed.

Again, I proclaim that
we cannot help gods
but we can help humanity.

Note: Lines 4&5 is a sentence prompt by Dan Brown.
My Peace

by Chi

My Peace

by Chi

My Peace

Peace…

A tranquil euphoria
Where I am at one
One with my thoughts
No longer divided into fragments
Fragments of destruction and self-sabotage

The motions of life have caused me to swim in a sea of disarray
A constant undulating feeling of uncertainty
Sprinkled with an ounce of doubt
Yet in the midst of this internal chaos
There is a light at the end of the tunnel

The meandering tracks of life
Where I slalom through darkness
In the deepest pit where anxiety holds my stomach ransom
Where the walls of fear can cave in
Yet within the intricate eye of the storm
There is a light at the end of the tunnel

A light where all manners of darkness
No longer have the authority to stay
And have no power to paralyse my mind
Listening to soothing melodies
Inspired by a wholesome muse
Using my hair as a blank canvas
To compose my innermost images
Being surrounded by wholesome love
Without conditions or hidden agendas

Where I can bask freely and no longer be a slave to questioning my purpose

That is my peace.
Little Eyes

by Mawizana

Little Eyes

by Mawizana

Little Eyes

Today I went outside
With shaky hands and weary eyes
The air was crisp with Winter’s touch
But the children still played
Away from the danger of an infected
touch
They ran around and laughed
With happiness in their little eyes
Their bodies knew not of fear
As they climbed on looming trees
And swung high
Til their feet touched the sky
They made mud cakes & mud pies
And played with marbles & rainbow kites
They had lunch breaks which they never
sat through
And ran out of the house with their
mouths full
Today I went outside
and saw happiness in their little eyes.
Leading Ludo

by Peace Akande

Leading Ludo

by Peace Akande

Leading Ludo

with the power
to magnet people together
even those who seem distant.
capable of igniting,
emotions which seem extinct
and bonds which are distraught.
bringing the tranquillity of unity back to the deprived mind.
the click, click of the dice against the glass board
fetches the immerged spirit from reverie.
stripping father and daughter off age
making their odds, even
giving her the chance of beating papa, this once.
all of them, laughing away ‘two weeks more in lockdown’ to
oblivion with ’yeah, I beat dad…’
and all of us, closing eyes in knowing, tick, tick, says the clock.
Dad

by Angela Kent

Dad

by Angela Kent

Dad

Left this earth so long ago
Left with little memories of who you were
Your name never spoken
Your face in a frame within my heart is my token

Left are the photographs of when you held me as I was born
Left is the name that we both share ‘til the end
Your stories I tell to your granddaughters
Your presence will always be my identity

Left but never forgotten
You’re here with me each day our ties unbroken
Solitude

by obinefo ifeanyi

Solitude

by obinefo ifeanyi

Solitude

How do I explain this?
That my aloneness is a being that makes 
the loudest noise.
And my solitude is an animal,
eating all the voices echoing from my silence.
I tried to tell you with my eyes
That my tongue is a bird with broken wings
That my mouth is full of songs that can’t fly.
But nobody wants to listen to the river that 
Flows from my eyes
Nobody cares about a body in darkness.
Is that not why I pitched my tent in the wild?
If you listen carefully, you will hear footsteps
leading me away from the sun.
I looked back and embraced my shadow.
My Poem: the whistle of the breeze

by Temiloluwa Glory

My Poem: the whistle of the breeze

by Temiloluwa Glory

My Poem: the whistle of the breeze

the whistle of the breeze
nature’s silent voice,
the rustle of leaves
a noisy echo in my ears,
the blueness of sky
breathing upon me,
the yawn of sunrise
every gleeful morning,
all envelope me with tranquil
even in the midst of earth’s bleed.
At peace

by Sophia Harari

At peace

by Sophia Harari

At peace

I am beginning to understand 
that peace
is for the peaceful. 

Only in moments of true calm 
meditations on kind words
explorations in prose and verse
in acoustic strums and voices made of silk,
in words of wisdom; some fact, some fiction. 

When I am peaceful,
this is where I find peace. 
nameless body

by Michael Emmanuel

nameless body

by Michael Emmanuel

nameless body

this echo
is a song written into yourself
is the whistle of morning ushering in a
departure – the thirteenth nameless
person/body/human/boy/girl.  

a river burst opens in your corridors
your echo drowns in a deluge of silence,
dawn breaks in the quietness
a boy calls out a prayer.
amin. for the fifteenth person/body/human
trekking into departure.
Peace Found Me

by Anneliese Amoah

Peace Found Me

by Anneliese Amoah

Peace Found Me

1. Peace found me
when I learnt to
dance to my own
song.
My mind found my
feet when it met
peace
and they danced
all
night
long.

2. Peace found me in my handwriting.
It lined pages of myself that I had
yet to open the book of
and revealed the story
of me
and my capabilities.

3. Peace found me
through bodies that
my hands had longed
to take captive of.
My eyes read but my
mind created movies
from those held
hostage by me.

4. Peace
found me in
the small
things.
All humans eat

by Laura Zuwa

All humans eat

by Laura Zuwa

All humans eat

Knives and forks clash into
each other like swords
Allies are made with the
passing of salt
Peace treaties signed with
the scratching of cutlery
against plates
The rhythmic chewing
an anthem for peace.
Heirloom

by Ibrahim Williams

Heirloom

by Ibrahim Williams

Heirloom

These days I wish I could disappear.
Or better, that all of these never happened.
That I was sixteen again, at the airport
wrapped in the embrace of my sweet mother.
And that, that plane crash
Was a bad joke.
Most days I am a mess.
You could tell from the stench I’ve become.
Who knew water could make a beloved a ghost?
She swallowed my best friend and mocked
me with a burp.
No more doctors for now,
the therapist too. I’m low on medication,
and I don’t care.

It’s been six years a routine of box-up fits.
Yesterday, I broke down again.
I crawled into distress and locked up myself.
My hands burst forth in rampage tearing my pains away.
It screamed. Like I was…like I was a wicked host
expelling a guest pest.
Then I saw it, with my teary eyes: my favourite framed picture.
There we were, as a family with big smiles, and dreams, and
memories.
Memories! I traced my finger around the smiling faces
Reliving the summer we sat for the shoot.

Strangely, I feel better today.
Stop

by Maryam Salem

Stop

by Maryam Salem

Stop

The pause of activity
The interlude between acts
The seat on the bus between stops 
No rush

The breath held underwater 
Time has slowed 
Looking into the great blue 
Calm

Sitting at the end of the day
The still of just watching 
Colours and nothing more 
Peace
Locked Down in London

by Rimshah Akhtar

Locked Down in London

by Rimshah Akhtar

Lockdown in London

Stores are emptied, classrooms deserted
This is the new normal, for every individual
No family or friends are to be seen
Oh, how long it has been
The once crowded streets now stand in silence
Everyone is trying to follow the governments guidance
The roads are quiet, no buses bustling or market stalls thriving. This is not the London we know; we are witnessing the unknown and unwanted.
Children sit and study at home, a new way of life for most if not all
Remain unanswered are a lot of questions. When will we be free from all these tensions?
Worrying thoughts rummage through my mind, I am engulfed in darkness -day or night regardless
It feels as if we been imprisoned in our own homes, contact with the outside world is forbidden – inside is where we are all hidden.
Wash your hands is what we hear on repeat … it is as if it is the only rhythmic beat
We are told to stay alert, in order to stay safe from this disease and not be hurt
Many are dying, nobody is easily able to say that they are surviving
The whole world is waiting on this vaccine, how much longer till it will be normal to be seen
We are all hiding behind masks, strangers to nature … this has gone too far. For how much longer? That is what we all wonder.
Silence, Silence

by Olúwádáre Pópóọla

Silence, Silence

by Olúwádáre Pópóọla

Silence, Silence

these days, i’m a wilted columbine, damp with sweat, i don’t split the soil anymore, it just
swallows and i take it’s colour in morsels larger than my throat where my larynx descends
into muffled coughs.
my brother, azalea comes into my room and looks at me, bones painted brown, his eyes
carrying thorns, slime on plastered walls but i won’t look at him.
he tells me absence is sadness so i talk and not even the mirror is unclad, before colourful
birds that nest for holi shriek a language i can’t tell, except that my ears are corked like a
grenade to receive them.
sunlight embitters the stem of a twining weed in my eyes, and i pull it off the walls of the
sliming house and say to myself dying things must be given peace.
wind rustles yellowing things, such as my eye to cry, my receptacle unable to command
anthers anymore.
i just wait to drown myself in silence, the pause of mouths in ha before a hand moves to the
next rosary bead,
the stacaato when i call màámi,
the pause before a preacher who commands life squeezes death into an enfangling angle.
when i can’t mutter amen, silence becomes a drawbridge to ascension.
Drowning

by Tasha Davenport

Drowning

by Tasha Davenport

Drowning

It’s drowning but pretending to be afloat
Pretending that looking at a white ceiling, the way the paint hides the world before it, the damp under it,
Is like looking at the sky.
And I’m laying on my back on a raft they made for us all
Pretending that I’m breathing in air, clean and fresh, deep breaths in and out.
When all I taste is salt and brine.

Pretending the sea is but paper
The dark but ink
And that the bottom is but rock.
Pretending that my flailing arms are but waving and my wails are just smiles at distant sails.
Pretending there are distant sails.
lawnmower

by T.S. Idiot

lawnmower

by T.S. Idiot

lawnmower

i sat outside with hope
between cracked lips
trying to feel positive, searching the skies
for the signs i’d heard
that human impact is lessening;
in the distance, i heard someone
moving the grass
mechanical murmurs
– strangely reassuring
that someone’s tending to their garden
at a time like this.
Pouring Glow

by Theresa Lola

Pouring Glow

by Theresa Lola

Pouring Glow

The world is an unpolished globe
in need of splashes of glow,
patient in its waiting for a renewed face.
The heat of our youth ignites,
curious at the call,
and your mind is a suitcase stuffed with ideas.
But each time it dares to open, fear
tries to padlock it shut.
Calls it too small, or too large,
douses excuses on it makes it too slippery
to be held.
The trees shake their head in disapproval
and ask the wind to whistle a song to soothe you.
On a ripe day look up and watch birds glide
across the sky, stretching their wings,
and learn that there are many
ways to make your own wings for flight,
the lists as endless as the lines on our thumbprint.
You, a suitcase of ideas, unpack them and discover:
you can carve wings into existence, draw wings
into existence, sing wings into existence, code wings
into existence, dance wings into existence, write wings
into existence in a pulsing poem, the words gliding
around the page until it curves
into working wings that flap around the corners of the world
draw pouring glow over rust.