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…”
I came across this gorgeous rosebud recently: a vivid splash of colour on an essentially monochrome day. 
Continue reading “temptation”
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”
When I set the blog up, it was deliberately anonymous; now, it’s perfectly possible to connect the dots and find out who does the writing here. Even so, I don’t usually post pictures or other details about myself, so this is an exception. 
Continue reading “on trend”
don't confuse the narrator 