original poem – Page 91 – don't confuse the narrator

nothing new

I haven’t written anything new for a while, but am pleased to have polished some old poems and I actually sent off a competition entry today, which is the first I’ve managed in many months. I’ve also recently applied for a place on a course, and offered a workshop for another course, so it’s not that I’m not thinking about poetry, just that I don’t seem to have any new ideas.

So, I was wondering what I could post, and glancing back over the recent blog entries I saw the one about el conductor que más habla del mundo. Continue reading “nothing new”

bluebirds

I’ve always said I don’t really like birds, but for some reason there are lots of them in my poetry.

We’re fortunate to have pine forest, olive groves, the river and other habitats here that provide homes for a variety of species. The most impressive ones that actually come into the garden include hoopoes and jays, the occasional woodpecker, and one of my favourites, the rabilargo – literally ‘long-tail’ – the azure-winged magpie. Sadly, although these flock in huge numbers – I swear I counted 50 last Tuesday – I’ve never managed to get any kind of adequate picture.
Continue reading “bluebirds”

untitled vignette

In the greystone shadow
of the old jail, three men share
smokes and anecdotes. Two
wear drab and polished black,
the third raises his cigarette
between cupped hands.
Metal glints at his wrists.

different perspectives

Since my current poetical effort is being concentrated on a couple of applications for courses and polishing some old pieces for competition entries, I thought I’d post this, which I wrote years ago when I was first trying to get to grips with sonnets.

Myopia

I’ve lost my glasses, without which I’m blind
as any clichéd pipistrelle. I’ve searched
in all the places that I knew they weren’t –
and I was right: they haven’t dropped behind
the tumble dryer, underneath the bed,
or in the trash; they aren’t perched on my head.
I’ve been through all the coats I never wear,
I even looked in John’s new jacket. There
I found a letter whose calligraphy
I didn’t know. Despite the cataracts,
my sight’s still good enough for me to read
a woman’s signature. So now, the fact
I’ve lost my specs no longer bothers me:
I’m focusing on other things, you see.

There was another reason I thought of that piece in particular – not, I’m glad to say, because I have any reason to suspect my partner of being unfaithful, but because I’ve recently had cause to visit the optician.
Continue reading “different perspectives”

write, write and write again

Having acquired new book cases, I have been sorting out some of the many piles of paper that I have in my studio; while doing so, I came across two versions of a poem laboriously written out for a competition back when I was a child.

The earlier version is just six lines long and starts: