when to stop

I’ve been looking through old files searching for poems that might be suitable to submit to a couple of competitions, as well as for a couple of projects that involve music, about which I will probably write at length at a later date.

Often, I have found numerous versions of the same poem and it isn’t always clear which is the latest, nor which is the best.
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still coasting

The blog tag-line says (mostly) first person poetry, prose & opinion, but for the last few weeks, I seem to have written rather more about travelling in Spain; I hope the followers who have signed up during this period aren’t too disappointed when I get back on track.

No doubt I will return in the future to the many photos I have taken of the Costa da Morte and find inspiration there, but, at least for the moment, I’m expecting this to be the last of these travel blog posts.
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transcreation II

Last week, in the post Coast to Coast, I briefly mentioned transcreation. For those unfamiliar with the term, it’s a portmanteau word derived from translation and creation.

Translation is seldom easy and, depending on your definition of the word, translation of poetry may be considered impossible: should you focus on form or content? on sound, on patterns of metre or rhyme, or on meaning?
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missing days

Although I was alert enough to remember the Chinese New Year a few weeks ago and make a semi-relevant post, my mind has been full of the general rubbish and rubble of life and I seem to have missed a lot of “days” recently: St David’s Day, International Book Day, World Wildlife Day, International Women’s Day, and no doubt at least a handful of others.

So here are some daffodils for St David’s:
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cages

The human race is very fond of enclosures and barriers. We put fences around open spaces and lock other people out.

padlocked gate
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poetry and prayer

In the walled garden by the church, early crocuses are in flower.

[…] Under the trees
a crocus campfire kindles.

Yes, the half-closed flowers remind me of flames. But they also remind me of praying hands, though when they open more fully, it’s more as if the petals were spread wide to receive whatever alms or largess the prayers have prompted.
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ways and means

Sometimes what you want is inaccessible.

They say the sky’s the limit, but it’s way beyond your grasp.

buddleia seed head, bare twigs and construction crane agains blue sky

Things are complicated: you feel you’ll never manage to track down the ends to unravel the different threads.
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