I recently had a conversation with Will, a former Shannon Trust mentor who has released his own collection of poetry and continues to be an advocate for the power of literacy and reading. I was inspired by his experiences and achievements since his release from prison.
In the early stages of my sentence, I began an Open University degree in English Language and Literature at HMP The Mount. A senior officer on my wing recognised my interest in education and recommended that I become a Shannon Trust mentor.
It was really fulfilling. In a place where you feel stripped of your identity and reduced to a number in prison greys, mentoring gave me back a sense of purpose. I even took pride in wearing the blue t-shirt, because it meant I was helping others and contributing to something positive.
First of all, it deepened my sense of empathy and gave me a greater understanding of the needs of others. Before becoming a mentor, I hadn’t realised just how many people in prison struggle with literacy. It also helped me build confidence. Supporting individuals who genuinely needed my help and seeing them make progress with skills I had once taken for granted, allowed me to grow as a person and gave me the belief that I could make a positive difference in other people’s lives.
The first person I worked with was a very kind and polite Sri Lankan man, and English wasn’t his first language. Because of the language barrier, he struggled to fully understand court proceedings, and other important tasks. I helped him regularly with reading and improving his vocabulary, but the most rewarding moment was helping him write letters, both to his family and to his solicitor. Being able to support him in connecting with his loved ones and navigating his legal situation felt so meaningful.
My poetry collection is called Overgrown, named after the title poem, which began with a personal moment in prison: after an offender manager I had fallen out with went out of his way to remove the tomato plants I had been growing in my cell.
The collection uses natural imagery and metaphors throughout, because during my Master’s degree at the University of Brighton, I discovered research showing that even indirect connections to nature, whether through art, literature, or poetry, can have powerful therapeutic and healing effects. That insight shaped the whole collection, and it felt important to me that the incident of losing my plants ultimately gave life to a book that I now hope can serve as a resource for others. My goal is to get Overgrown into as many prisons as possible, in the hope that it can offer the same sense of growth and reflection that writing it gave me.
My own literacy journey developed directly through prison. I began my Master’s while still serving my sentence, travelling to Brighton on ROTL (release on temporary licence) to attend lectures until my release. For my dissertation, I researched the therapeutic benefits of creative writing in prisons and submitted a number of poems from Overgrown as part of my final project. The collection weaves together pieces written in confinement, from dream fragments to formal complaints I adapted into poetry, alongside the poems that helped me get through my darkest days. In that way, the book is both a record of survival and a testimony to the power of words, and what they can do for us.
Recently, I worked with the National Literacy Trust to deliver a creative writing workshop at HMP Guys Marsh. This was a real moment for me because I first discovered the importance of these workshops when a friend and I started a creative writing group in the library at HMP The Mount. I’d seen then how vital it is to give people in prison a chance to express themselves.
Walking into the workshop room, I wasn’t sure what to expect, whether the men would want to be there or engage. But once we began, the atmosphere shifted. We started with some straightforward word games using prompts, and suddenly everyone was fully absorbed, heads down, writing with real focus. The level of honesty and openness in what they produced was moving.
The feedback I received afterwards reminded me why this work matters so deeply. Men who had carried heavy personal losses, men who had struggled with confidence, and men serving long, uncertain sentences all spoke about how the session had helped them. One man told me that he had never read out loud before, but the exercises I introduced would help give him the confidence he needed to read bedtime stories to his kids when he gets home. I hadn’t anticipated just how much it would resonate, but it confirmed for me that creative writing in prisons isn’t just about literacy and learning, it’s about self-worth, healing, and connection.
Poetry really helped me get through prison. It wasn’t just writing poetry but also reading. W.E. Henley’s Invictus, a short poem with its defiance in the face of adversity, reminded me to be resilient. I also had a poem my grandfather wrote about his experience in a prisoner of war camp during the Second World War, so in a very real sense, early on in my sentence, I can say that poetry gave me strength.
I found myself seeking out nature-themed poems. With access to the natural world so limited in prison, there were a few poems, specifically Wendal Berry’s ‘In the peace of wild things’, that offered momentary reprieve from the sensory deprivation and isolation of prison life. Having grown up close to the countryside, nature had always represented freedom to me, and poetry became my way to reconnect with that.
After three years inside, you’d expect it to get easier, but then the pandemic hit, and the world turned upside down. Between quarantines, transfers, and lockdowns, I spent long stretches in isolation. At times, the anxiety was so severe that I felt I couldn’t catch my breath. Poetry became a lifeline. Sitting and writing freely about things that had troubled me for most of my life, then shaping them into something poetic, helped me process unresolved trauma, bring order to chaos, and quite literally helped me to breathe.
I’ve learnt that being able to read is more than just a skill; it’s freedom. For me, reading enabled my journey to continue. It gave me access to education, to poetry, and to new possibilities for my future. And as a mentor, I’ve seen the same in others: once someone can read with confidence, doors begin to open. It changes how they see themselves and how they see the world.
I’d say go for it. Whether as a learner or a mentor, it’s an opportunity to learn, grow, and make a real difference. As a learner it can open doors, and as a mentor you get the chance to help someone change their life.
I believe that reading and writing gives us the ability to reclaim ourselves and take ownership of our own stories.
Will's poetry collection, Overgrown, is out now and available here.
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