After a fairly miserable weekend weather-wise, Monday dawned bright and sunny and positively spring-like. So I took the opportunity to gather some violets for my desk.
(In the photo they are on the book shelf simply because it’s tidier than the desk.)
Continue reading “penny for them”
I’m pretty sure I’ve read that Wordsworth wrote his poems while out walking, and that the rhythm of his strides helped him work out the metre. (Pause here for a link to Lynn Peters’ Why Dorothy Wordsworth is not as famous as her brother.)
I try and walk every day, even if it’s only down to the post office to check the mail box. I walk in the hope that I’ll get ideas to write about; I walk to iron out the pieces I am working on; and I walk for exercise. Yesterday was the first reasonable day for a while when I was free to take time for a longer walk, so I went round the reservoir.
I didn’t find any inspiration for new poems; I did, however, find a whole anthology of old favourites.
Continue reading “anthological exercise”
In no particular order, and with no revision, a few notes that may find their way into poems later on:
Five days torrential rain, then:
Sparkling sunshine;
the orchard
smells of cider.Mushroom white
figs moulder on the bridle path;
I slip and slime
down to the road.
Continue reading “December images”
Bare branches stretch
through tumbling green;
so many kisses
beyond my reach.
After rain, sunshine:
tomorrow, there will be
mushrooms for breakfast
don't confuse the narrator 