It’s way later than I usually write the blog, but I’ve been out all day at a rehearsal for the local TEDx, which is coming up in a fortnight’s time and at which I’ll be reading – or perhaps performing – some poetry.
I won’t go into the details of what I’ll be doing, as I guess I will write about it all after the event (or not), but all the talks and performances are vaguely connected to and around the theme of the event, which is “home”.
Continue reading “late home”
I’ve been thinking a lot about home recently. Not because I’ve gone all nostalgic, but because it’s the theme of the local TEDx, which is taking place in November.
It’s a great theme, as it offers a huge range of possibilities for talks. My immediate thoughts were quite domestic: houses, family, pets, neighbours…
But of course there are other connotations: home is about being safe. And there’s a definite emotional connection: it’s not just about being out of danger, but being comfortable with the language, the culture, the habits…
Continue reading “home and hearth”
The sunrise streets
are hammered gold
while mundane city bylaws
with transient enlightenment
Not for the first time, I am reminded that much of my poetry is centred on the visual and heavily influenced by the quality of light.
Continue reading “illuminating moments”
Camera in hand
she walks the beach, pauses,
leans agains palm trees,
clambers over breakwaters,
climbs on railings and balances
on benches along the promenade, trying
to get an angle on the sunrise.
Continue reading “angles”
Yesterday was the first day of autumn in the northern hemisphere.
Over the years, I have posted lots of poems here on on the blog marking season changes, solstices, equinoxes, the day we change the clocks, meteor showers and other astronomical and astrological events, but since I’ve been back in the UK this has become increasingly difficult: I’m writing less, and I’m far less tied to the natural rhythms of the planet.
Continue reading “nocturne”
Given the fairly dreadful weather over the last couple of months, I’ve been trying to track down a half-remembered quotation to the effect that the worst winter ever was one summer in England.
In fact, I’ve found that the actual wording is, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” – a quotation often misattributed to Mark Twain – which doesn’t really fit the bill.
Continue reading “seasons in the sun”