Having acquired new book cases, I have been sorting out some of the many piles of paper that I have in my studio; while doing so, I came across two versions of a poem laboriously written out for a competition back when I was a child.
The earlier version is just six lines long and starts:
On Tuesday, my first trip to the post office in nearly a week brought me a contributor’s copy of a poetry anthology, Cat Lines, published in aid of the charity El Capitán Animal Project, (the web page is in German), which funds the care of stray cats on the Canary Island of Fuerteventura. 
There were four poems of mine published in the book – possibly there was space for so many as they are all very short!
Continue reading “Archie, Algie, Griss and an un-named tortoiseshell”
From his aerial perch
a starling
chips at the wintering sky
I’m much better at recognising birds when I see them than by their calls, but I’ve started to recognise the jays and the azure winged magpies, though I really only know one from the other by the number of voices heard at once; the hoopoe is quite familiar, too, and I’ve now come to associate a sort of hollow rattling cackle with the starlings. (I was going to describe the noise as a ‘grackle’, but find that that is actually the name of a bird, which is a bit confusing.)
Continue reading “bird on a wire”
There have been a few news pieces recently about the world’s largest spider’s webs. There was one back in September, where the web in question – found in Madagascar – seems to be that of an individual spider and is the circular ‘doily’ type.
Then there was the huge sheet-like web found in Texas recently, that is more likely the work of many spiders.
I have no idea how many spiders there are down in my laundry room, but they have been busy, as is clear from the photo (which really doesn’t do justice to the sun sparkling on the dust motes caught in the filigree of the web).
Continue reading “gossamer thoughts”
When the white clouds lifted, they left behind
a hint of snow along the mountain ridge. The sky
is blue as any summer’s day and I walk to the village
in unbroken sunshine. On the way back, a neighbour
eases his donkey from amble to pause and greets me.
He wants some windfall apples “pa’ el guarro”. I agree,
but would so much prefer to let the patient burro
mumble fruit from my palm, not help to fatten
the squealing pig for Martinmas.
(First draft – which means I’ve only rewritten it half a dozen times and juggled the line breaks back and forth and to and fro, but haven’t added in additional material or stepped back from it very far.)
Continue reading “winter approaches”
don't confuse the narrator 