original poem – Page 80 – don't confuse the narrator

gender agendas

I’ve mentioned to several people recently that I don’t seem to have many ideas for new writing, and although I know it’s only a small sample, their reactions seem to clearly support the idea that men and women use language for different purposes.

From the women there have been vague sympathetic noises, general clichéd reassurances that the tide’s bound to turn, and reminders that it’s not the first time I’ve complained of lack of ideas.

The men, though, have offered ‘solutions’.
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lovelorn poets

February started on a Wednesday this year, meaning that the second Tuesday was the 14th and the Madrid Stanza meeting was scheduled for Valentine’s Day.

When I realised the date, it occurred to me that perhaps some of the members would have better things to do than sit around discussing poetry. Then again, perhaps poets are most inspired when crossed in love, so it should have come as no surprise that there was the biggest turn out yet for the group.
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a flock of bird thoughts

A fragment of an old poem to start off with:

Under the apple treee, a prattle
of tabby-feathered sparrows anticipates
the flick and snap of chequered tablecloth
that signals their breadcrumb breakfast.

I was reminded of the image because I had a newspaper clipping sent to me the other day – yes, there are still people who read printed newspapers, albethey freebies, and who cut out things other than coupons to send on accompanied by real letters to specific people, rather than glancing superficially at on-line phrases and sending irrelevant links to everyone in their email address book. It was a cutting about the Spanish sparrow who is causing a furore in a coastal village in Hampsire.
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early morning

cherry branches silhouetted; black & white

Skin to skin we lie
as dawn silvers the sky
beyond the cherry branches

angels and devils

Staying with churches, but moving down from the belfries that have featured in the last couple of posts, I’ve been looking through some old notes and came across this fragment:

In the village church,
a noseless angel
spreads his wings
above a skull.

I don’t seem to have a photo of the noseless angel, but I did manage to find the rather fine demon on the right on one of my many unlabelled CDs.

I think the demon is from one of the Cathar sites in southern France, while the angel was almost certainly in Spain. Now I come to think of it, though, it was probably in la Sierra de Francia, so they may be distant cousins.