Category: Poetry
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A summer break . . .
After three years participating in Writers Groups, one learns that the craft of writing is an end in itself. That’s meant, in my case, that I was not prepared, emotionally, to have a submission of my poetic efforts accepted by an editorial team in Cheltenham. At Wildfire Words, my three pieces, text and audio, joined…
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The joy of the resolved query . . .
Without that little stimulating itch, that urge to identify what’s behind the unknown, and indeed, that resolved query, we’d be so much poorer. It’s an urge that must be hard-wired into our mental capacity, the need to know more about something. Engrossed, I have sat through the video recording of this song on YouTube several…
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The lovely names
The lovely names I tell myself my mother would have loved to hear the names of the wild flowers we’ve met: stichwort; snowberry; loosestrife; sea thrift and speedwell; woundwort; red campion meadowsweet; big trefoil; celandine; kippernut; angelica; bugle I really don’t know if she would, if she would have enjoyed the new names rolling around…
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The joy of building on criticism . . .
Let’s face it: nobody really enjoys criticism, but most of us suffer it with a pained expression. That’s to say, how could you not find my most recent contribution supremely edifying, wonderful and a sheer delight? But since you mention it, I shall try to understand what you’re saying. Before discarding your unwelcome contribution to…
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Looking ahead . . .
You never really know what’s ahead, but it’s got to be better to be looking forward than to be becalmed with nothing to be stimulated by. I’ve felt too becalmed these last few days, but today I’ll be listening in on a new Writers Group. Got my assignment ready, looked over the submissions from four…
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But tasks make a joyful punctuation . . .
I have delved deep into the first of the four novels I mean to read over the next few days and weeks. I have begun. It’s lovely, and I’m away with the faeries into another land and another time, but the present also makes a welcome intrusion. Today we’re expecting a delivery of two big…
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Revelation from an old poem
The Top Hat, The Auctioneer, and The Lover It was there at the old village auction A decade ago, perhaps more. Infected I was with the vigour, Vivacity, vim and some ardour In the calm steady hands of the porter A gentleman’s felted top hat! The auctioneer eager for bids from the floor. He caught…
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Late afternoon blessings
The sun’s been shining all day, and the field is drying. In the late afternoon, from the mouldering clothes drying area I cleared a bit of debris left over after an abandoned construction effort (the new generator shelter was finessed better with treated boards and hinges). This simple effort opened the way for me to…
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Fragile, but joy enters
I’ve been spending far too much screen time doing puzzles, and they’re expanding: Wordle started me off; then the family suggested the math teaser Nerdle; Quordle is fiendish but fun; and lately I’ve been playing a Scrabble variant with a robot on Lexulous. Too much, and my brain is getting frazzled. I was going to…
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The painted lady
This month’s visual stimulus at VisualVerse.org (February 2022, or Volume 9 Chapter 4) was very confusing to me, and elicited no response at all from my poetic sensibility, until I remembered a feeling from only a week or so ago. ~So, this short poem is in a classic format: Shakespearean sonnet in iambic pentameter, alternate…
Roads to Joy 