Tag Archives: steve griffin poems

Sorted: a poem for World Poetry Day 2020

I’m posting this poem from The Things We Thought Were Beautiful for World Poetry Day not because it’s a ‘happy’ poem, but because sharing our sadness can also help us to pull through.

Many people think of poetry as a sideline, or even worse, an irrelevance. But for many of us, poems are a source of inspiration and comfort. Losing the possibility to see and hug our close relatives is surely one of the hardest things for us all to deal with at the moment.

This poem, Sorted, heads up the ‘Without Love’ section of The Things We Thought Were Beautiful, and it was written about the frustration and emptiness we often feel when we’re not with a lover. But I think it works just as well in the context of being apart from anyone we love.

Take care and stay safe.

Sorted poem

For the First Time – Poems on Video

Here’s a video of me reading “For the First Time”, a poem about finding love. It comes from my new poetry book, The Things We Thought Were Beautiful – out now on Amazon.


If you enjoyed it, you can purchase a copy here:


Another World: The Things We Thought Were Beautiful

Another World: The Things We Thought Were Beautiful poetry book

I’m currently working on the final draft of my second poetry book, “The Things We Thought Were Beautiful”. Like “Up in the Air”, I’ve divided this one up into sections, the first of which is called “Another World”. The poems  in this section focus on the natural world and our desire to see more deeply into it.

One of my favourite poems is Wordsworth’s “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey”, in which he talks of what the eye and ear ‘half create, and what perceive.’ I’ve always loved that line. It’s as if there really is a transcendent value in nature that we can grasp, or “perceive”.

But when Wordsworth talks about us “creating” it, is that in the sense of making it real – or just us making it up? And how do we know which bits are our own creation, and which bits are real? The true reality behind reality – if there is such a thing – can only ever be understood, or felt, in glimpses. Poetry is one of the best ways of having those glimpses.

To read more about why I love Wordsworth, check out this post.