The Josh Lynott Project

Recorded: Monday 30th of March, 2026

Location: Melbourne, Australia / Hoi An, Vietnam

Guest: Tommy Lewis

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Poem:

Somethings are so easily beautiful,

look at your butter,

of course it's easy to love.

So look at the world

around you,

dirty and lacklustre,

you must be sure,

to find something easy

and beautiful there too.

Recorded: Tuesday, 24th of March, 2026

Location: Melbourne, Australia

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Poems:

Isn’t there a place you wish to belong,
Somewhere not here,

Undeniably not there.
A place where the sun tip-toes across your skin,
and where water pauses before the first moment of embrace.
I’m told there are places,

Where the city skyline stands aside for sunrise,
and the parks of the people,
stand taller on lunch break.
I suppose you wish to belong here,
because the clocks are disobedient,
and the clouds are angular but still not sharp,
and cars run off carbon-dioxide, not old bones.
I was told these silk from left over spider-webs
is strong enough to build bridges,

And the water below would never break anyone,
no matter how great the storm.
Even when the fires strike,
ashes band together, like armies of soldiers,
putting the bricks together like kaledioscopic mosaics,
and forming new imaginations.
Isn’t there a place you wish to belong,
where the unimaginable tries to exist,
and the existence of imagination is unbounded?

Recorded: Monday 16th of March, 2026

Location: Garmisch-Parterkirchen, Germany and Manchester, UK.

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Poems:

A feeling that I can’t articulate,
A place that lives between intuition and indecision,
and the knowing, 

That something must change

And be moved,

And maybe displaced,

Until, 

A part of me has churned

And formed

Into something solid

And malleable

Smooth like butter

And spreadable like life
I cannot articulate this feeling,

But I know something must change.

Recorded:

March 10th, Munich, Germany.

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Poem:

“I hope the men I run I with”

I hope the men I run with stop the pack when they hear a wolf whistle,I hope their howls recoil and their tongues tie.I hope the men I run with understand the privilege of running,and the pre dawn darkness reminds them of their duty,to wake earlier,to make the curbside safer,and to wait longer,

Till every member,Every runner,Every body,Every women, feels safe.

I hope the men I run with don’t utter phrases like“Not bad for girl”

Because I have a list things, titled “not bad”:

Not bad;Is keeping your shirt on,

Not bad,Is making sure no-one gets left behind,

Not bad,Is when a man champions a women,For nothing other,Than being a champion.

Perhaps,we should say “not bad for a man”because we’re the ones with,All the time,all the resources,all the protection,all the opportunites,and all the science,

I hope the men I run with, realise how lucky they are.

I hope the men I run with,sit in the discomforts of life,because a courageous man is not one who can run far.A courageous man is one who speaks up,even at the worsening of his own position,at the cost of him,running freely,at the cost of him,not boasting his position.

I hope the men I run with understand the truth of being wild,just as nature grows freely,humans were meant to do the same,We were meant to run wild, not keep each other in cages,Our city streets were made for fruit trees, not predators,they were made for artworks, not judgemental eyes,the trails were made to feel alive,Not to disguise those who dressas walkers,as hikers,as runners.A wild man helps return the wildto the women around him.

I hope the men I run with,tell me that they weren’t worried when their daughter went running.

I hope the men I run with,tell me their girlfriends ran the trails, leaving their phones home.

I hope the men I run with,tell me their mothers were out to run before sunrise.

I hope I find these kind of men,I hope to run with these kind of men.

And I hope most,to never hear the words,”not bad for a girl”ever again.

Recorded:

TOKYO, March 3rd.

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I lug a suitcase, packed with my life, 

Up and down, all around,

The streets of Tokyo.

I crave the cool breeze on my face, 

Yet my body asks politely for warmth,

I find in the seats of fast trains,

And in the crammed corner of a friends car.
Camera bags topple against my head,

My head topples against the window,
my thoughts toppled against my skull,

And I topple into tiredness.

It’s time to wheel the suitcase,

Along stairs that can’t be rolled,

Only to stop at lights that shouldn’t be crossed,

Into elevators best made for one,

But today we’ll fit two.
The streets of Tokyo, 

Ask me who I am today?
Which I have no answer for.

Look in my suitcase,

You’ll find my feelings wrapped in spices,

And unwashed socks from arrival.

I can’t slow down,

So did Tokyo send the rain?

Recorded: Tuesday 24th February, 2026

Location: Melbourne, Airport.

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Poem:

World buzzing, fly screaming

Tv hissing, foreign tongues screeching,

Heavy legs, heavy brain,
Tired eyes, distant rains.
Coffee, matcha,
eggs, and avocado,

Tomorrow,
coffee, matcha

Eggs, and rice.
The world moves 

With lightness

With heaviness

It talks in mumbles
it talks in riddles
it never gives you an answer,

Only an intuition,

It only gives you questions,

And sometimes

A path

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaDate: February 17th, 2025

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Poem:

There is something to be found by going after a dare,
there is something to be found in the place before a scare,

There is something to be found between black and white,
there is something to be found between your left and right.
So
What do you do once you’ve made a dare

What do you do in the seconds after a scare,
What do you do in the grey, between black and white
What do you do balancing between your left and right.
You cannot ask questions of what you might find,
these are not answers, only gifts for the mind.
You cannot ask about the colour grey,
it is a place you must live for the day. 

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaDate: February 3rd, 2025

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Guest: Alina Jaeger

Follow Alina's adventures @clippedinandfree.

Poem:

Some days I wake up with
three months of washing,
a pile of books two months high,
and 28 days of messages I am yet to reply to.
Nothing seems closer than the mountain range
I climbed 3 years ago in the Karakoram,
or the tunnels 2 kilometres long,
or the broken hand and laughter I left on the trails.
So I walk out the door,
coffee in hand,
and it stains my t-shirt for the third day in a row,
and I forget that my card declined twice,
and I introduced myself as John instead of Josh.
But I’m an adult now,
they’ve been telling me that three times a day

Breakfast, lunch, and tea,
and every time I’m out running longer

Than 1 hour - thirty.
Or what about when you have kids,
or what about when you have a mortgage,

Or what about when you need to put 10% away.
Some days I wake up,
with three months of washing,
and think it might just turn into four.
Some days I take one book, and add another two.
Some days I long for a world I once lived in,
because I’m trying to build a world,
that isn’t done yet,
and might take a little too long. 

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaDate: Feb 2nd, 2025

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Poem:

I want to talk to the younger me,

The little me,

That one who once stood at four foot three.
You’re older now,
your eyes are kind
and your heart knows love,
yet some days you move,

Trying to fit someone else’s glove.
Being weird is fun,
Being weird can’t be undone,
knowing who you are now,

Is a gift, they wish they knew how.
You wore yellow shoes today, 

Telling them,
“because I like yellow”
is more than okay.
And some days, you’ll run late.
Breathe in, it’s nothing to hate.
Tomorrow you’ll wear green shoes,
You won’t be embarrassed,

Even if it’s on the news.
I want to talk to the younger me.
The little me,

The one who dreamed of treehouses and long roads,
The one who understood living had different modes.
You’re older now,
and the world is murky, and sometimes grey,

You’re older now,

Here’s a reminder that being you is okay. 

Location: Melbourne, AustraliaDate: January 26th, 2025

Guest: Grayson Hart

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Poems:

On the brink of breakthrough, 

to become something we dream of,

intuition starts to fold,

and the heart becomes cold,

the mind goes black,

and tense muscles turn slack.
On the brink of breakthrough,

to become something we talked about,

our voice crackles in conversation,our hand shakes while making deals,

Our ears turn graceful whispers into cryptic codes,

and goosebumps cover the receptors of our love.
On the brink of breakthrough, We don’t recognise the silhouette in the mirror, on the brink of breakthrough, we must move forward, even with error.