Beach parasols fray
against a still-blue sky:
the end of summer
looking up
Beach parasols fray
against a still-blue sky:
the end of summer
Tag: poem
too much information
I said yesterday, not for the first time, that I’m not writing as much as I used to. I still jot down notes on scraps of paper or in notebooks, but I don’t seem to sit over them and nag at them like I did.
I used to find train and bus journeys a perfect opportunity to stare out of the window for inspiration, to worry at words, sketching out alternatives, scratching out false starts, mentally running through phonemes trying to find a rhyme or a word or phrase with just the right shape and sound.
Continue reading “too much information”
nocturne
Yesterday was the first day of autumn in the northern hemisphere.
Over the years, I have posted lots of poems here on on the blog marking season changes, solstices, equinoxes, the day we change the clocks, meteor showers and other astronomical and astrological events, but since I’ve been back in the UK this has become increasingly difficult: I’m writing less, and I’m far less tied to the natural rhythms of the planet.
Continue reading “nocturne”
colourless
I’ve been feeling a little washed out for much of this week, so was interested to read on the BBC that there is likely to be a lot of ‘flu around this winter.
As it’s only mid September, I seem to be ahead of the game and hope that means I won’t have to go through this again later in the season.
One sentence in the article particularly caught my eye. (I note it has been corrected since I took the screenshot).
when in doubt
When in doubt about what to post, it’s always easy to fall back on flower photography and love poetry.
And as I have a set of photos of love-in-a-mist at different stages of flowering, it seems appropriate to find some poems of the different stages of love.
First kiss
It’s there in the air between them.
As hands sketch fragmented curves,
fingertips graze its surface.They worry it with words,
map points along the borders.Their tongues taste the edges
of possibility until they find its shapein the space where their lips meet.
don't confuse the narrator 