I Fall Asleep

Jessica Lochan-Jenkinson is a 21 year old poet from London. You can follow Jessica’s blog here, or keep up to date via instagram. Accompanying image is Johan August Malmström, Dancing Fairies (Älvalek) (1866).

“I started building up a small collection of poems from the age of 17, and I've continued writing them ever since (often as a form of procrastination and also creative journaling). Writing poetry has been such a beneficial ritual for me, whether that be for documenting golden moments, or beautifying the bleak and confusing. Through this medium I have discovered how to weave magic and beauty and vulnerability into everyday life, the latter being something that I often struggle to express in person. Borrowing themes from romantic poetry, my work uses imagery and metaphors that centre around nature and supernaturalism, to make sense of abstract thoughts of existentialism and fear, and navigate them in a way that is more tangible to me. I'm also a big fan of using stream of consciousness as a writing technique (Virginia Woolf's works were a major influence) as I find I like what I write best when I let the poem itself guide me from one thought to another, in a way that interlinks my anecdotes, moods and musings fluidly.

Many pieces were written during lockdown, inspired by feelings of fear and anxiety as time began to feel distorted in between isolations. 'Stepping Through Time' is based around this, and how I lent into nostalgic memories from my childhood and past romances to cope with the brain fog of everyday life. 'Goodnight in Gossamer' has a special place in my heart because I wrote it just before a break up so I poured my heart and soul into it haha, it talks about feelings of existentialism, and also the desire to preserve the golden memories of a relationship, to avoid tainting all the beautiful moments with a past love. 'I Fall Asleep' is the oldest poem. It talks about making sense of abstract feelings by creating something even more abstract in the form of riddles and poetry. I often feel like I'm in a perpetual state of confusion when it comes to making sense of my own thoughts and motivations, so whilst this poem doesn't really make sense of anything, it was still a form of release, which I really enjoyed writing, (and hopefully is enjoyable to read too!)”

Stepping Through Time

I can’t help but feel like I am walking through time, Stepping into seconds, days, weeks and years,
Only to wade through this continuum,
Memories encapsulated in delicate film

As moments in droplets upon my skin,
Drip back into the Void,
Losing themselves in the soup of life,
Until something obscure prompts them back to the surface, Reversing gravity until they breakthrough

Upon my chest, my neck, my forehead, Orbs of nothing and everything,
My childlike reflections peering back at me, In innocence and naivety.

And I lament the past,
Not remembering enough,
And admiring the art of storytelling
From those who weave words from thin air, Spouting fairytales and romance
From flushed lips and hard eyes,
Tongues a-wag with wonder,
Bathed in the honey of
What Once Was.

Goodnight in Gossamer

I say goodnight wrapped tight In gossamer snared,
On the jagged flower
And hopeless tree,

— The stooped plight Preserved in shimmer film,

Gossamer!
Instead cling film the last light, Before the sun sets
On this planetary doom,
Oh
Sunshine filament
I beg you stay longer
Why would you fade so soon?

Soon the stars will materialise —
Gossamer!
Cling film the last of the light
Before this too vanishes from the sky eternally Like the dewdrops and the insects

That are consumed

In all your intricacies, Veiling the momento mori Of all that is captured
In the allure of your threads.

Goodnight Gossamer,
My soul will travel light years away, Reassured that all earthly light
Will exist embalmed forever
In the gauze of your spider cloak.

I fall asleep

I like to write when I’m nonsensical, Balancing on
The Edge
Of a deep slumber,

Until I fall
And tumble
Into something slippery —
Far beyond sleep,
Typing Through Treacherous Terrain I lose my place:
Hard to stay still
And distill
The same thoughts
I like to chase,
Away
Like the mouse in my kitchen, Fleeing sound and light,
Like I flee imagined catastrophe, Writing in riddles
I skip the light,
Favouring the dusty lens
To reject ‘Peaceful Clarity.’