memory of summer

It’s been another nasty day, with no sunshine. The rain started early, then turned to sleet and then wet white feathers of snow that whispered against my umbrella and turned immediately to slush under my feet when I walked to the supermarket to get milk.

Despite a brief attempt at settling, the snow was soon superseded by more rain, and now it’s reduced to a mizzling dampness, which is expected to fade to mist or fog later on.
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new every morning

I’ve said before that I dislike poetry readings and author appearances where the writers spend more time explaining than reading their works, so I should probably avoid giving any explanation of the where, the what, and the why of this piece except, perhaps, to label it as a first draft of creative non-fiction.

Since it is a draft and I expect the finished piece may end up being something quite different, I’d be particularly pleased if anyone wants to make comments.

New every morning

Anne lies with her eyes shut.

She is awake, but the world is not yet ready.
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autumn memories

Despite the glorious flowers still to be found in window boxes and tubs around the town, summer is officially over: the days have been getting shorter and Thursday was the Autumn Equinox.

I think all the local churches have either had their harvest festival or have it scheduled for tomorrow and the thought of harvest has reminded me once more of Spain. We didn’t pay much attention to the garden but even untended trees produce blossom and fruit as the year turns.
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cosas de caza

Further to my last post here about the crooning that woke me in the middle of the night – which turned out to be a cat defending its prey, rather than one of the locals serenading me outside my window – I’ve been watching one of the semi-ferals play with a rat in the wet grass this afternoon. He was keen on bringing it up to the verandah for me to have my part, but I assured him I wasn’t hungry, so he shared it with one of his brothers instead.
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what a cow (notes for a poem)

cow

Yesterday I paid a short visit to Madrid to get some paperwork done. It involved more hours on the bus than I actually spent in the capital, but I enjoy travelling as it – usually – allows me time to read, write or listen to audio books. Not yesterday morning, though.

The driver on the way into town was el conductor que más habla del mundo and we were regaled with tales of the cow – over 200 kilos – that ran out in front of the bus that morning…
 
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that time of year

The fact that it’s almost Christmas doesn’t mean I am any less busy, so, having no time to write, here’s a festive photo:

shepherd boy nativity figure

And an old, but seasonal, poem, slightly tinkered with. Well, it was a poem with line breaks, but the page format splits the long lines so awkardly I’ve given up and pretended it’s just prose:
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prose poetry II

I said yesterday that I might post something I’d written at the American Poetry workshops in Nottingham, and then it seemed presumptuous to include what is no more than an initial workshop draft in a post where I mention so many recognised and respected poets, so I didn’t.

Here, though, is a piece from the prose poetry workshop that I may come back to and try and see where it leads. The words in italics are from a piece by Charles Simic.
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