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”
I’ve been feeling a little washed out for much of this week, so was interested to read on the BBC that there is likely to be a lot of ‘flu around this winter.
As it’s only mid September, I seem to be ahead of the game and hope that means I won’t have to go through this again later in the season.
One sentence in the article particularly caught my eye. (I note it has been corrected since I took the screenshot).
When in doubt about what to post, it’s always easy to fall back on flower photography and love poetry.
And as I have a set of photos of love-in-a-mist at different stages of flowering, it seems appropriate to find some poems of the different stages of love.
First kiss
It’s there in the air between them.
As hands sketch fragmented curves,
fingertips graze its surface.They worry it with words,
map points along the borders.Their tongues taste the edges
of possibility until they find its shapein the space where their lips meet.
Although it’s still nearly three weeks until the equinox, the meteorologists say it’s already autumn. Certainly there are plenty of fruits and berries about on trees and bushes.
As I wandered round in the sunshine yesterday, camera in hand, wondering what to take photos of, my eye was caught by the magnolia tree. More specifically, by the seed pods in various stages of development.
Continue reading “gone to seed”
It isn’t just my aged mother who is confused by Windows. I’ve been looking at the other kind and wondering what they are for.
They aren’t usually there to be looked at. But are they there to look out of? Or to look in at?
Presumably it depends on where you are: if you’re outside, you look in, and if you’re inside, you look out.
Continue reading “less than clear”
don't confuse the narrator 