images

There are times I can see the appeal of Twitter for a writer, particularly for poets. I often ‘find’ an image that I know will probably one day find its way into a poem, but that I don’t have time to think through and connect to other things right away.

So, in 140 characters – or less, to make it easily re-tweetable – I could capture that image in a kind of tweet’ku.

There again, I already spend enough time updating the blog, so perhaps I’m better off posting such things here, particularly as I can include the photo directly. Like this:

Cob nuts in mob caps

hazelnuts

sign language

More photos from my visit to the UK:

Sign: please refrain from discharging litter in the fountain...

The verb ‘discharge’ would surely only apply to liquids or gases – effluent, not ‘litter’ – which doesn’t make much sense for a sign on a small, self-contained pool around an urban fountain. Where’s the Campaign for Plain English when you need them? (And, yes, I know I’ve mixed singulars and plurals there, but I don’t think it makes the sentence difficult to understand.)

That wasn’t the only sign on the fountain:
Continue reading “sign language”

like a lamb

Staying in the UK with no internet connection for a week was a strange experience for someone who spends as many hours on-line as I usually do. Sadly, it didn’t result in vast quantities of poems being written long-hand in notebooks or anything very creative like that.

It did, however leave me a few photos that I intended for the blog and haven’t yet posted. Like this ‘co-operative lamb shank in gravy’.

Packaging label: The co-operative lamb shank in minted gravy
Continue reading “like a lamb”

cultural activities

Back in Spain after what seems to have been a long absence, I find the village half in fiestas.

Miss Camiseta Mojada & Mister Paquete Mojado contest
cultural equality?
I’m not sure if this is actually the annual Fiestas del Veraneante, which end each August in a mess of seaside tat, fairground rides and firecrackers, or if it’s a special weekend of music. Certainly live music has blared through till 5am this weekend, presumably to ensure that no one looks too refreshed when they return to work after their summer holiday.

There appear to be other ‘cultural activities’, too, such as those advertised on the poster in the photo: Miss Camiseta Mojada – ‘Miss Wet Tee-shirt’ – is about the level of finesse I would expect for village fiestas, but I can’t decide whether Mister Paquete Mojado strikes a new low for culture or a new high for equality.

I guess it would probably be better if I don’t start wondering too deeply about the chupitos eróticos or the invitation to “come and ride our mechanical bull”.

welsh leaks

A problem with the overflow at my mother’s house has reminded me of a poem I have never managed to polish to my complete satisfaction. The first stanza seems to have potential, I think, though the line breaks still bother me. It’s probably ‘finished’ enough to post here, and I’ll be glad if anyone wants to criticise or comment:

A heavy storm has made the flat roof leak

and in the small hours, memories drip 

from the bedroom ceiling. 
Unlike the rain
they cannot be absorbed 

by piles of folded towels,
or mopped 
into a bucket, so 

she paddles through them,

barefoot, towards dawn.

The poem was intended to be called something like All Hallows Anniversary and gets quite maudlin, but the fact I’ve thought about it now in August and under very different circumstances may, I hope, shake me out of my affection for the original idea.

All thoughts and commentary appreciated.