Apparently the summer solstice and the full moon coincide tonight, so here’s a white rose – a rose for summer and white for the moon.
White roses always make me think of this line in Laurie Lee’s Home From Abroad:
The hedges choke with roses fat as cream.
I have a soft spot for dragons. Especially red ones. So naturally I stopped to photograph these flowers when I saw them in the park yesterday.
Then I found something even more dragon-like:
Continue reading “hic sunt dracones”
For reasons not relevant here, I have been reading the sonnets of Shakespeare.
Of course, someone who claims an interest in poetry probably shouldn’t need a particular reason to read poetry, but I’m afraid I do find “the sonnets” uphill work – not all sonnets, but Shakespeare’s in particular.
Continue reading “six sonnets”
En route to the station, I pass by these lovely purple flowers:
The plant must be well over six foot in height – the flowers tumble over a fence too high for me to look over – and I think it must be growing in the garden of a pub that has been “under offer” for at least the last six months.
Continue reading “identification and limitation”
Sometimes, there’s an idea that just never gels satisfactorily into a poem and the only thing to do is forget it and move on.
Continue reading “survival”
don't confuse the narrator 