We all know that it’s just about impossible to make a living from being a poet. So poets try and do other poetry-associated activities, such as workshops, readings and talks, to eke out a living.
Sometimes they get to visit schools and talk to the children about poetry and about being a writer.
Continue reading “quis custodiet…?”
caterpillar fat
and packed so tight
the pods won’t pop…
(There has to be a full length poem here, if I can only find it!)
Having worked hard in the garden on Saturday, not realising just how strong the sun was, I was probably fortunate only to feel slightly under the weather yesterday. Sunstroke can be fatal, of course, and is perhaps more likely to be so for those of us who were brought up in colder, wetter, and altogether greyer, northern climes.
So I was interested to read this story about the Brits in Alicante who have worked out what to do if (when?) they die here. Apparently many of the 350,000 who are resident there are donating their bodies to science.
Continue reading “some corner of a foreign hospital research lab”
The Madrid Cow Parade cows were auctioned last night.
I have many pictures of the stampede as they were lined up in the street outside the Westin Palace Hotel, but no time to pick, choose and process, so will settle for this one for the moment:
Mi Sueño (“my dream”) by Carlos A González, sponsored by alimentacion.es.
And a few brief words from Gelett Burgess (1866–1951):
I never saw a purple cow;
I never hope to see one;
but I can tell you anyhow;
I’d rather see than be one!
Half the people in the village this morning were carrying bunches of flowers and greenery, which reminds me that it must be Domingo de Ramos – Palm Sunday.
Ramo and rama are words I can never get straight. Checking today in the on-line Diccionario de la Real Academia, I see that rama is a branch emerging from the tunk or main stem of a plant. Ramo, on the other hand, is a secondary level branch that emerges from the rama madre, or, perhaps, a rama cortada del árbol. If branches change sex the further they get from the trunk or once they’ve been cut from the tree, no wonder I’m confused.
Continue reading “of branches and bunches”
don't confuse the narrator 