Izzy Robertson

Wife, mother, writer, editor, complementary therapist and crafter, wearing all hats with pride, trying to live lightly and dream deeply in the Dorset wilds. Stories, poems and other lyrical wanderings on the website below.

Website: izzyrobertsonauthor.co.uk
Instagram: @izzydarkpen

Diary 2022

I escape from the grey concrete cityscape to the woods, to reconnect. There, the Wild curls her roots around my feet as she wraps me in blue and green. She anchors me as I sit beneath a great oak, dreaming of holloways and star flowers and the wide open sky. “Trust, sister,” she sings, like a lullaby on the breeze. “I have not abandoned you.” She gifts me an acorn, smooth and shiny, that I hold in my hand like a charm.

Later, as I walk home through the streets, I see her waving at me from window boxes and mossy roof tiles, from ivy clad walls and cracks in the pavement where tiny fearless green plants spring up. I see her in the urban fox slinking by on silent paws and the crows flapping overhead.

I plant the acorn in a pot and stand it on the windowsill. It will remind me that the Wild is always and everywhere.

The Wild © Izzy Robertson 2020


Calendar 2020

The woman stares back from the mirror
She looks familiar
And yet I do not recognise her
For she has leaves tangled in her hair
And her face is smudged with earth
Her eyes are fierce
They hold a thousand stars
The wild night is her backdrop
Not this room
I know that when I turn away
She will run to the dark forest
Follow silver streams and
The whispered call of old gods
Find her path through trees and bracken
To the centre of truth
For that is where her heart lies

Mirror © Izzy Robertson 2018


Diary 2018

Sculpt me in marble, carve me in wood
Play me on strings and drums
Sing me aloud
I am all around
Let me catch you by surprise
Unveil your eyes
Show you wonders in the everyday
I am anywhere, everywhere
In swaying corn and storm clouds
City streets and kindness
The centre of a flower
The edge of the world
I am in moonlight and
The warm touch of the sun
Or one hand in another
You will find me when you learn to see.

Beauty © Izzy Robertson 2015


Diary 2017

We are stardust and clouds
Primeval atoms hurled
Into the cauldron of chance
Ancient in newness,
Fragile as bird bones and glass
Connecting threads in a universal cloth.
Cosmic recycling, we
Have been galaxies, trees,
Other people, otherness
Dark matter, the light
Past, present, future
Part of a greater order
We are everything and
It is us
No more, no less.

Cosmic Recycling © Izzy Robertson