– 2018/178 – Poetry Monday

This is how my week began: Mr M, has a rash on his leg.  Nothing serious, probably an allergic reaction to something or other and has been to the doctor and it’s all fine.  BUT when the thing starts to itch he can only find relief by putting ice over it.  So… do you know […]

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– 2018/165 – poetry Monday

As part of one of my modules this semester we’re briefly discussing the Dymock poets, a literary group of poets that in the years before the First World War lived and worked near the village of Dymock, approx 29 miles from my house.  And I had never heard of them. Shame on me.  Not only […]

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– 2018/161 – poetry Monday

Fall, Leaves, Fall  (by Emily Bronte)   Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day.

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– 2018/157 – poetry Monday

Traveling at Home (by Wendell Berry) Even in a country you know by heart it’s hard to go the same way twice. The life of the going changes. The chances change and make a new way. Any tree or stone or bird can be the bud of a new direction.  The  natural correction is to […]

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– 2018/154 – poetry Monday

Phew, that was some weekend… there are certain moments in your life that make you shift your understanding, your direction, your point of view.  And I’m not talking about the really ‘big’ ones, your marriage, the birth of your child… but the quiet moment that sneak up on you when you don’t expect it, the […]

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– 2018/134 – poetry Monday

The Pursuit of Poetry (by Jennifer Compton)   It’s later afternoon.  It’s always later afternoon. Pick up all you want to carry.  Walk out the door. Walk towards the setting sun.  It’s very importan to walk towards the setting sun.  Of course it means turning away from all the people you are leaving with cold […]

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– 2018/124 – poetry Monday

Paris (by Charles Bukowski) never even in calmer times have I ever dreamed of bicycling through that city wearing a beret and Camus always pisse d me off.

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– 2018/118 – poetry Monday

… back to normal posting… last week was bonkers… This world (by Mary Oliver) I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it nothing fancy. But it seems impossible. Whatever the subject, the morning sun glimmers it. The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a […]

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– 2018/116 – poetry Monday

Beneath The Sweater And The Skin (by Jeannette Encinias) How many years of beauty do I have left? she asks me. How many more do you want? Here. Here is 34. Here is 50. When you are 80 years old and your beauty rises in ways your cells cannot even imagine now and your wild […]

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– 2018/110 – poetry Monday

I stumbled upon this poem yesterday whilst flicking through my phone on the way to Ed Sheeran’s concert;  I came across various articles on ‘The New Yorker’ about ‘fathers’ – it was father’s day after all – and I enjoyed one in particular, written by Daniel Mendelssohn, all about his late father and the cruise […]

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