From the Archives.

A PORTFOLIO BY EMMA J SWAIN.

My candle flickers on a dripping wick,
casting shadows ‘cross pale parchment
as I flex my fingers, purpled,
from the frosty bit of dawn.
The tired nib of quill is quenched
in blackest ink that’s fit to mourn.
And as I set about to stain
my hands of solid, fervent grip,
I pause — and ponder all this is,
the enthralling pride of penmanship.
— Under the Heavens, Emma J Swain

Delve into the Archives.

A row of vintage hardcover books with faded spines and ornate designs on a wooden surface, with a plain light-colored background.
Close-up of a person holding a yellow flower near their eye, with curly hair and a light-colored sweater, outdoors on a cloudy day.

About the Author.

Storytelling has been part of who I am since childhood. As a lifelong reader and writer, I've always found creative expression through words, music, art, and even food—believing that every medium has the power to tell a meaningful story.

I've spent years exploring how stories shape the way we understand ourselves and the world around us. My work is driven by a love of creativity, thoughtful communication, and authentic connection.

I often find that prose is inseparable from poetry is inseparable from the world around us. As Wordsworth once said, poetry is the “spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings”. We are all poets, regardless of how we might regard words because our experiences of the world are different.

At the centre of all my endeavors is my faith. It inspires my creative practice, grounding everything I make in purpose, beauty, and a desire to serve others through meaningful storytelling.

~ Emma J Swain.

Stack of five vintage books with floral and decorative covers, tied with twine, on a wooden surface.
Everywhere, to me, is grey;
sorrow fades into fog.
This is beauty:
what joy it brings
to paint this still-life as mists hover,
alluringly,
until my pen is done.
While sunny days entice the most,
should you wish to catch the poet,
you’ll find them
awing though the bleak,
until the last birdsong is sung.
— How to Catch a Poet.
A foggy outdoor scene with a wooden fence along a grassy pathway and white flowering plants on the right side.