Do you believe poetry can change the world?
Your immediate response may not support that premise. I’m certainly not a poet, but after stumbling upon the poetry of Daragh Fleming late last year, as I wrote in a column, I changed my position. Recently, I collided with Harry Baker’s poetry, and I was convinced. These two young men of Irish and English descent, respectively, have filled me with the hope that we can change, we can “do it right”. It was their poetry that drew me in, their mastery of words.
Harry Baker blends poetry and humour; his stories brim with sensitivity and emotion. His education first headed him toward Medicine, and later to Mathematics, which informs the mathematical wizardry of his poetry. Harry writes about joy and hope, and the importance of “being unabashedly yourself”.
He is deeply human and therein lies his wisdom. He has published four poetry collections over the last 13 years, the most recent, Tender, in 2026, and is also a champion of spoken-word poetry. His voice is filled to the brim with joy. It has been said of Harry Baker that he is one of the few spoken-word poets “who can make a math lecture feel like a love poem.” What could be more wonderful than that? (Take note Mr. Hickling, every math class with you was pure joy.)
A poem of Harry’s that recently jumped out at me was “Wonderful”, released in 2024, written after his wife became pregnant with their first child. He wrote the poem as advice to his unborn child, but it reads like a blessing, a wish for what his child would have in character. He gives his child permission to be imperfect, that it can be fun to do “something terribly” and it is far more important to experience life than spend a life trying to be perfect.
“May you be powerfully vulnerable,” Harry hopes, and “the coolest thing about you be your warmth”, strength and softness, not opposites. There is joy in ordinary things, but “life is too short to eat celery”, Harry writes, with his signature injection of humour. Humans need not fit into any sort of category. Harry wishes his child to be free to be a contradiction. “Above all, may you know that you are loved,” something to trust in, to lean on, to rest inside of, to gather courage from, as all children should be able to claim.
Daragh Fleming wrote “Waiting for the Good Guys”, and I stumbled upon it on a day when I was feeling glum, trying not to listen to those who have the power while disregarding those who have no power. Daragh reminds us that there is no point in waiting because we need to “be” the good guys.
Heroes tend to arrive at the last possible minute to save the day. I suppose that is what makes them heroes, when all hope is lost. Daragh wonders if perhaps the age of heroes may be over or may have never quite existed in the way we like to imagine. We need to step up, we need to fight the good fight, because “the good guys need to come. And if we can’t see them, then maybe we become.”
Harry Baker and Daragh Fleming are of a similar age, with a gap of three years between them, each with their own brand of poetic magic. Harry’s creations are filled with hope and levity, while Daragh’s poems are honest and vulnerable. Harry lifts you up with joy, and Daragh sits next to you when life is hard, both of which lead us to higher ground. Daragh’s poetry feels conversational, as if you’ve just had a quiet chat with a dear friend.
Harry’s poems are fast and rhythmic, with almost a musical delivery; precision-engineered wordplay as though he can juggle language. Daragh helps you to understand yourself, that you are not alone in your curiosity or confusion, telling you the truth you needed to hear. Both are deeply human poets, illuminating different spectrums of what it means to be human. We benefit as readers and listeners from both poets, these two thoughtful, kind, empathetic men, who spend their time creating something that matters, that may just better someone’s day or someone’s week or someone’s life. One allows us to imagine the infinite possibilities of how to be kind and the other holds us close when we have bumped into difficulties.
So, I’ll pose the question again. Can poetry change the world? It mostly certainly can, and as Harry tell us in “Wonderful”, the promise that “the best is yet to come.”
