<![CDATA[Pockets of Solitude]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.comhttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!wbCf!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0ed81788-b2f0-44a7-be62-43ec4480eee3_3166x3166.jpegPockets of Solitudehttps://www.pocketsofsolitude.comSubstackWed, 15 Jul 2026 02:28:54 GMT<![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 9 ]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-9https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-9Tue, 14 Jul 2026 11:05:39 GMTThe heatwave continues. This last week was filled with playing outdoors, regular workouts (a reset was much needed), and making good progress on my creative project (top secret). I was consciously more present and slower, trying to avoid multitasking and unnecessary stress. I’m sharing two poems about those glorious, long summer nights. Side note: trying to learn from the closing scenes of one of my favourite films, About Time (highly recommend it).

School Holidays

The weight of those summer days,
while kids are still small and needy,
makes my eyes heavy early in the evenings.
Tired from being fully present,
my heart feels bursting with love,
remembering that everything will pass.
Peaceful 

We started to spend 
our evenings outside,
away from the noise
and house chores.
Sitting on the bench,
playing cards and chatting
until the sun comes down
and the air gets chilly.
I can get used to this,
hoping that we’ll never 
start taking each other
for granted.
 
DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 8 ]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-8https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-8Tue, 07 Jul 2026 08:01:43 GMTTwo short poems (drafted one week apart). I’ve been consuming a lot of interviews with lately, keeping my mind and heart open. 

Going around in circles,
my mind tries to process
as the brush slides on paper,
intuitively mixing gouache,
considering the layers
of heartache and pain.
The Rising Sun

Warm and creamy rays of light on my cheeks.
An unexpected sense of hope and renewal.

Going around in circles left me drained.
I’m restructuring my inner world.

How can I move on? Quietly, without much notice,
shifting my attention to strengths and joys.
 
DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 7]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-7https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-7Tue, 30 Jun 2026 08:01:34 GMTI was away in Italy, visiting my family roots. Milan and Lake Como are so much more spectacular than I expected. The last few weeks also brought more ancestral healing, stories that emerged, and connections that started to blossom. All in the middle of personal heartaches. Most of those poems will stay in my poetry notebook, but here are a few that I’m ok sharing.

Creative Spark

I’m learning to be present,
marinating in the heavy chest,
acknowledging the uncomfortable,
breathing through slowly, no rush.

My creative spark returned.
Did I really have to bounce 
from the bottom 
to pick up the brush?
HerStory

I picked five rings from the velvet box
carrying parts of my history
of love, personal growth and heritage.

Decided to melt and deconstruct,
reshape my narrative into a talisman,
to co-create the story as I move forward.
Grandad

I spoke to you on the phone
always glad when you pick up.
Mortality gets so real with age.
You sounded playful as always,
on the bench, people watching.
I asked about your siblings:
seven children, but two died young.
Five grew up, one passed just yesterday.
You’re burying a son and a brother 
within a month, yet it didn’t show in your voice.
Is it hard to be surprised at 90?

DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 6]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-6https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-6Tue, 23 Jun 2026 08:01:54 GMTA collection of recent short poems, written with a heavy heart and a sense of being lost in my thoughts. 

Woke up at 2
the nightmare I had 
started to dissolve 
into the unfamiliar room

Woke up again at 5
by the sun and my internal clock
still anxious and uncertain 
I washed the doubts away 

Spoke to you - all was well, 
But somehow, the heaviness
in my chest
was there to stay

Bad dreams still spilling 
into my doubtful mind
Things we say with caution…
I wonder, what’s still unsaid?

We live in our heads, no escape.
Nurture the family under one roof.

So much has changed, we’re figuring out
how not to swim in heartache.

Somehow, there is still so much love left between us. 
Learning on the go how to partner in life.
You asked to join my quiet morning. 
We sat together in the cathedral.
I closed my eyes to reconnect  
and wondered for a moment:
What if I could hear your prayers?
Feeling lost in my thoughts,
I hoped for clarity and growth.
It came to me then: 
release and surrender. 
It crossed my mind
how much we live in the future
ahead of time, attached.

Until a sudden shift,
a violent thought (I didn’t see it coming),
forces us to clean the slate and reimagine.

DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 5]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-5https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-and-visuals-no-5Tue, 16 Jun 2026 08:01:27 GMTA heatwave in Ireland influenced my daily writing practice. Oh, the joy of foxgloves growing in multiple spots around the garden (grew them from seeds last summer), peonies opening and hydrangeas not dying despite the heat!

Happy Place

I struggled to imagine ever settling 
on the move with no roots
or sense of belonging.

I began to nurture this garden
build foundations for growth
and enjoy the seasons.

The retreat away from the gaze
amongst the birds and trees
never wanting to leave.
Twilight

Birds woke me up 
before the sun;
inspiration came,
pulled me out of bed 
to listen with awe,
to feel the day unfold.
How many more 
are there left for me
to witness? 
Hoped for the sun
to warm up my face.
The rain arrived instead
and grounded my thoughts.

DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 4]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-4https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-4Tue, 09 Jun 2026 08:01:40 GMTThe loss of a family member, emerging grief and complicated dynamics reopened the gates to tricky inner landscapes. Sticking to a daily writing practice helps (sounds serious, but it is a slot of under 15 minutes in my daily schedule).

Allergic Reactions 

This year, I found myself
while searching for clarity
and a sense of alignment.

On the verge of a burnout,
consumed with visions 
of change and growth.

Lukewarm feelings for digital,
seduced by empty pages 
and a slow shutter.
Inner Landscape

Curiosity follows a thread of light, 
so subtle and hard to notice.

Catching words floating around, 
noticing beauty in the mundane.

Mental overload calls for slowing down:
silence, nature, pen and paper.

Making friends with discomfort.
We’re not promised tomorrow.
I like sitting in empty churches 
silence satisfies the craving.

Stone cold walls locked in time
invite me to go beyond today.

DEE STOPPA

]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 3]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-3https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-3Tue, 02 Jun 2026 12:09:39 GMTThis week’s poems are raw and delicate. It’s a big ask to keep your heart open in a relationship when things get challenging. The three poems below reflect my love, patience and gratitude.

Written in sunny Portugal.

Came out through the door.
When the night felt dark
morning didn’t shift
yesterday’s mood.
Sun, wind, hello.
There is beauty 
in weathered structures.

Solid foundations.
Cracks embraced.
Gradual repairs.
Some days contain both
immense gratitude and heartache.
It turns out that joy and pain
are next door neighbours.
If you want my heart wide open,
come a little closer and stay near.

Even though we’re master builders, 
new walls won’t help us grow.

DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 2]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-2https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-2Tue, 02 Jun 2026 11:58:01 GMTOnce I made the decision to start writing poetry daily, a quiet doubt appeared. I made a trip to my favourite local bookshop in Kilkenny and spent two hours going through every single book on the shelves in the poetry section. Light and Thread by Han Kang connected with me. I was surprised to read her notes on growing her garden; it just resonated. I also picked one of the books from the The Poetry Pharmacy series. I read them both over the next day and realised that I should just follow my instinct when it comes to writing and try not to overthink it.

Poems below.

Emotions locked in my throat 
choosing words carefully

Aware of their power
to burn and build

Carrying locations 
and stories

Releasing
thoughts
Confidential

Some experiences
are ours to keep

no need for validation 
too precious to debate 
Discipline

On my mind _ like a mantra 
I _ can _ do _ hard _ things
Deep breaths _ in _ out

DEE STOPPA
]]><![CDATA[Weekly Poetry & Visuals: No 1]]>https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-1https://www.pocketsofsolitude.com/p/weekly-poetry-visuals-no-1Tue, 02 Jun 2026 11:42:22 GMTWell, hello.

Tired of other social media platforms, and full of excitement, I decided to move my poetry here.

Recently, while I was writing in my most private journal, the memories of a much younger self started to come back. Before I started art school in Gdynia, Poland, at the age of 12, I was obsessed with writing poetry. I was an active member of a local poetry writing group organised by a cultural centre. The vague memories of the seasoned writer/poet who facilitated the group include her long red nails, the deep wrinkles on her kind and smiley face, and eccentric outfits on her rather short body. More importantly, she was a fantastic mentor who managed to encourage my regular writing practice. A few of my poems were printed in a local poetry publication. Those re-emerging memories somehow gave me the quiet permission to write again. Roughly a month ago, I decided to add “writing a short, imperfect poem” to my daily routine, which already includes Duolingo and writing one paragraph a day in my 5-year notebook.

Since I started to write, some days have felt more challenging than others. In May, I experienced heartache, stress, conflict, and the loss of a close family member. I kept showing up for my writing challenge, especially on days when I really didn’t feel like it.

I’ll be keeping some of my poems for future submissions, but most of them will be available here.

As I write this post, my subscriber count is 0. If you want to follow along, feel free to join my journey. I’ll be flattered.

I’m pairing my short poems with photographs I took using my 15-year-old, slow but charming camera. Another practice that revives my creative juices.

Weight of the night approaching
      mental overload
Flowy shapes of maroon and gold
     eyelids shut
Pencil embedding dance on paper
     slow release
Delicate baby green
leaf rolled in a tube
leans towards the light.
I can grow here too.
PMS

A tender base of the monthly hormonal cliff 
intertwined with pressure headache
at the heart of composition
top notes of anger

DEE STOPPA
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