Sophie F Baker: poet, designer, swing dancer, writer, photographer, bicycler, crafter [& horse]


Sophie's work has been published in magazines, anthologies and on the internet. She has written poems about everything from quantum theory to running; from buying new rats to taking a ride on Pegasus.

Most recently her work as appeared in The Rialto and Popshot Magazine, and in two anthologies produced by The Emma Press

Here is a small selection of previously published poems.

The Point

We'll begin this time with the atmosphere—we're too tired
to consider the vastness beyond. But you say no,
you are not pointing at that. I bring the focus closer
and clouds come clear—I see ducks and ice-cream cones.

But no, you say, not that not that. The tree, I think, and exasperate over
which leaf it might be you're asking for – because it is an ask,
it seems to me, though a small one. What would I want with a leaf?
you say. What interest would I have, now, in that?

I seek the answers in surroundings. The window, perhaps,
the glass. The very thing I am taking for granted. No.
Your finger, then, the nail upon it. I set up my laugh as I search your face.
Is it that? I ask. Your head is shaking, your eyes are fading fast.

I am firmly in the room, the walls are puce, the smell a distraction
from the truth of it. My laugh is still waiting.
It must be, then, the cells of you. The failing, flailing cells of you
dividing, slowly slower. Your hand, still pointing,

wavers. Your heart beats on. Take care of the pieces, you say,
look to the future. I follow your point backwards up your arm and on
to your stubbled face. It searches mine for the answers
I am looking to you and your gesture to provide.

Written as part of the Stemistry project and first published in The Rialto 71

Invitation to a thought shower (plus guest)

Three months in and settled, we have found a hidden room.
The walls and floors are empty and we are out of personality and paint.

Please come and help us fill it: all we need is thoughts.
Here are some things to get you going:
the last time you smelt your grandmother; a half-peeled orange; a bicycle ride.

Please allow for detours, though the room is square.

Maybe all you have is time you do not have. We welcome things
you hope for: a leap of faith, ballroom lessons, a full night's sleep.

Please, no physical gifts; we are unable to accept.

Originally published in Smiths Knoll 44

Outdoor swimming

Where we will strip off in public
with only our eyes watching
and you will want me and we will swim,
sucking air in great big shocks
as our bodies lose their heat and find each other
rashed with cold. We will cling together,
drift apart. We will savour our youth
in the moment and not from the shore.
You will trace your hands around my arms
and the Thermos will be waiting
filled with watery hot chocolate
and as we drink it we'll wear hats
I've knitted specially to keep the autumn out.

Originally published in Ferment Zine, issue 1.