in vino veritas

One of the problems with trying to write a blog or participate on social media is that it’s not always easy to think of anything to say. And even when you do have ideas, it’s all too easy to look at all the noise and start to wonder whether anyone anywhere could possibly be interested.

When the world news is full of death and damnation, a few pretty pictures and a light-hearted comment or two can hardly compete.
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autumnal

If I spent as long writing new poems as I do looking back through old ones to find something to post on the blog, I’d probably end up with a lot more to choose from.

That said, today’s was a relatively easy choice: despite the rich, bright colours, autumn is a melancholy season, so a poem about absence seems appropriate.
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unconkered

I usually manage to post on this blog twice every weekend – once on Saturday and once on Sunday; the actual time at which I make the posts is quite erratic, although recently it has tended to be quite late in the day. Yesterday, though, I was out for most of the day and completely lacking in inspiration and energy by the evening.
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love stories

With today being Valentine’s Day, it was easy to decide what type of poetry to take to the open mike last night. But so much of my poetry comes under the broad scope of love poetry, and it’s a genre that comes in so many shapes, styles and sizes that it was less easy to decide exactly which pieces to read. In the end, I chose a short set, which I hoped told some kind of story.

coral red japonica flowers
For the blog, I’ve made a slightly different selection, grouping together a number of pieces I’ve posted before, a couple that have been published in magazines, and a couple that have never really aspired to do more than just lurk in my files.
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love poetry

Well, it’s Valentine’s Day , so it seems a good day to post some love poetry. That concept always takes me back to something I read back in 2002 in an interview with Jenaro Talens in the El País literary supplement under the headline “Toda poesía es poesía de amor”. Although I don’t have the original newspaper any more, at the time I made a rough translation of the phrase that leapt out at me:

“All poetry is love poetry. But not in the conventional romantic approach; rather as seen in the impulse of desire towards an otherness…”

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