Silver Branch series
L J Ireton
L.J. Ireton is a poet and a bookseller from London. She has a 1st Class B.A. Honours in English Language and Literature from The University of Liverpool. Her debut poetry collection, Lessons from the Sky, was published by Ellipsis Imprints in 2024, followed by Interlude in February 2025 with Haywood Books. ‘Unclaimed’, her digital micro-chapbook ,was published by Whittle Press in February 2026. Her poetry also featured on the BBC World Service in 2026 in an interview with Philippa Gregory.
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Her poetry features in the printed anthologies Spectrum: Poetry Celebrating Identity by Renard Press, 2022, Building Bridges, Renard Press 2024 and You’re Never Too Much, Macmillan 2025.
@literaryvegan on Twitter, Instagram, Bluesky, TikTok
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A Winter Rise
The sun burns a butter-pearl disc
in the smoke-silk fog,
the trees turn gothic in the veil.
Cold morning, you are
a cathedral marble face
turning upwards to the candles.
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He rises
Fire-fresh, fangs for toes,
the diurnal amber raptor
scatters crow confetti,
pigeon constellations,
with stern, solemn,
brow.
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The Birmingham Bull
The bull stands steampunk
out of a Blake metaphor —
ribcage drip chain,
rose-gold-brown bolt
roaring purple.
Moulded into muscle,
metal becomes
smoke-born —
we search for an
aluminum pulse under hubs,
scorched shoulder blades.
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The Carpenter
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Fine lines, small knife, the skill
Of a carpenter lives in
This wooden nativity set -
Of a baby born amongst trees,
First breaths being stable dust
And fingers soon taught
To carve.
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In the making
The ground is
apple-sauce-snow,
mid-pink and honey-leaf are drying.
The robin; Tudor red armour
spun sugar delicate,
sings of crisped veins and glass water.
He is an unpublished bard,
makes art for another bird, the divine,
for me.
I want to describe the winter too;
lyric the shock of starburst field,
the folding shiver under the moon,
but I hesitate,
question my reader —
which a robin would never do.
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Do the neighbours know?
Night-shrugging the bags from my shoulders,
the worst part walking is the nearly home
but not —
when I turn the street corner
and stranger, I am stilled
by the cascade of electric stars
across your garden trees,
turning my evening gingerbread
and this whole dark December
to dotted lights.
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The shape of words
Write into the silence —
we find ourselves through
paper mirrors.
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On the crest of the palm
Sparrows bank the sun —
a swirl-nest descent of song and embers;
pebble-puff chests mass
on darkening green fingers.
They call their sand sisters and brothers,
each mouth smothering gold;
so wonderfully loud
as the dark downs —
these raucous stars
in skeleton-strong hands.
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Island fly
Blood-red droplets for eyes —
we are both curious;
firm grip on my fingertip.
This whole summer was
one long wading same.
You are new to me,
resting ruby;
four stained-vein glass inlets
to other
and other, closer —
across the sea,
under my breath,
I meet the stillness
of dragon-yoga wings.
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Drying off
Throat-silver ore swallowed,
the cormorant conjures
his coal-elbowed bone cloak
to nightmare-scythe
the pond line,
satisfied.
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Infinity
When the sun sinks,
the sapphire birds come;
circle the water and scoop
one by one,
ascending back on an infinity string
with full beaks.
Who decides the sequence?
Outside of the group,
orders are mysteries,
descending.
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Monday, after rain
Pound coins in coal tit feathers
grip branches
for the very first time.
Courage,
calling orange,
buttercup bellies out in the wind wild —
see these tiny antidotes
to whatever salt you brought
under the tree.
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Flying
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Chocolate powder mountains,
heaped —
I could kick into the clouds.
Yet sky sugar tastes slow —
impatience eats miracles.
What I aim for in my writing...
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Overall, I hope that my writing will lead readers to look and think differently about animals and their place in our lives. I also just want or need to share the beautiful and powerful in what I see or learn. When I write poetry about Tudor queens, I love being able to give them a voice through this lyrical medium.
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I think sound and rhythm comes naturally to me as a musician, but I love the crafting of them through words in poetry. I love the chemistry and effect created by putting particular words together. So I always hope all these devices will combine to halt, inspire and give an experience to the reader. I studied Shakespeare's poetry in depth when I was younger and the power of word placement I learnt from that has never left me.
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I want my writing to be accessible, as many people still find poetry daunting or difficult to read. When readers have told me they understand my poems and want to read more or write more poetry because of them, it is so encouraging to me.
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I want my poetry to be reflective for the reader in positive ways, finding hope through all elements of nature. My favourite poet is Mary Oliver. She makes the wild both sacred and personal. I want to continue doing that through poetry.
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LJ Ireton, September, 2026.
