Today I’m posting another old poem, this time prompted by a cat – triste y azul** – who seemed to think he was in a cage:
Workspace
How can I write,
caged in by walls,
smothered by cushions
and draped curtains?
Even my balcony is barred
like a prison cell.
Continue reading “caged”
When I moved to Spain in the late Eighties, I still thought of the UK as my home. Having now, at least temporarily, ceased to have a permanent base in Spain, I seem to be in the opposite position. I don’t think I’ve ever really suffered with home-sickness, but there is always a hint of greener grass elsewhere. (Or, more realistically, greener grass in the UK and bluer skies in Spain, I suppose.)
I don’t know if the leaves in the picture are actually olive leaves – there were certainly no olives visible on the trees – but even set against the grey English sky they reminded me of the olivar I used to walk through to get to the pueblo and I had to stop to take a photo.
Continue reading “you don’t know what you’ve got…”
Two months ago, the rolling green of Middle England was covered in purple and I wrote on the blog that the rosebay willow herb is one of my favourite summer flowers. 
Nothing is left but a dried up scribble of empty seed pods, which perfectly matches the barren tangle of my mind at the moment.
Continue reading “a poem for every occasion”
I don’t know how many words I have written this week, but I know I took over 200 photographs. There aren’t any poems, anecdotes or other ponderings in my notebook that I want to post, so I guess I’ll have to settle for pictures instead. Out of the 200, these three are my favourites:
Continue reading “pictures, but no words”
Yesterday I was busy choosing poems to read at an event at the local bookshop, so didn’t get round to updating the blog. I had a reading slot of between 15 and 20 minutes and spent all afternoon trying to create some kind of coherent ‘set’.
Continue reading “memories”
don't confuse the narrator 