original poem – Page 61 – don't confuse the narrator

forbidden favourites

Although most people agree that autumn starts with the equinox, which doesn’t fall for another week, it seems that Christmas is already looming, with cards on sale in the shops, and gift catalogues dropping through the letterbox. I never sign up for printed catalogues, but they arrive unsolicited, and offer temptations in the form of all sorts of trinkets and knick-knacks I never knew I needed.

Of course, once you start to buy gifts, some sort of wrapping is required. The latest catalogue offered this interesting set of gift bags:

Gift bag description: "sprinklied with irredecent glitter"

It’s not a charity I had ever thought of supporting, but if I had more time, I might be tempted to offer my proof-reading skills at a reduced rate.
Continue reading

on the fly

So, it’s Saturday morning and I haven’t much idea about what to post on the blog.

Hmm… Cue for a song? Another Saturday dawns and I ain’t got no blog post/ I got some photos, but I got no words/ How I wish I had something to write about/ I’m in an awful way… Maybe not.

Still, it’s true that I have some photos. This is what I found when I downloaded the last lot from my camera:

So, the theme for the day seems to be flies.
Continue reading “on the fly”

swallows II

Dark blades slice through the air, turn
sideways to the sun, flash silver, turn
into bright fish that glide in endless blue.

There are no swallows in the picture as they move too fast for my limited photography skills. The sky, on the other hand, is never-ending blue and doesn’t pose the same problems.

The post title is “swallows II” because this is not the first poem I have posted about swallows.

permission granted

I had an email early this week asking for permission to include three of my limericks in an English school workbook, which is to be published in September ready for the new academic year. This wasn’t really a surprise as I’d agreed with the author back in February that she could use them. Even so, I had half forgotten our conversation and wasn’t sure when the book was due out or when I might hear.
Continue reading

four-oh-four

Recently, I seem to be waking very early. One morning when I checked the time it was four minutes past four; it occured to me I should be writing a poem with the line “4:04: sleep not found”.

That idea didn’t seem to go anywhere, but here are a few pre-dawn lines:

awake again at 4 am

birdsong weaves around the house;
the chorus swells and fades
in fugal waves of sibilance
to spin a spell that teases out
the softening grey.