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2016 in poems - my top ten!

I wanted to say thank you to all you lovely people who have read my blog over this last year. Since I've made it focus on the poetry my readership has really grown, so I thought I'd take a virtual leaf out of the blogging book of Carol at Virtually All Sorts  and do a top ten of my poems from the year (according to my blog stats, because you've got to use something, right?). I'll link to all the poems, in case you missed one, and repost my favourite here. Hopefully your favourite is here too, let me know in the comments. At number 10 is Mirror Games , a sonnet about looking into the mirror with my daughter, written at a time when it seemed I thought in iambic pentameter! At 9 is May Sun in Scotland , a poem about that wonderful, tenuous moment when the warmth comes back, and how incredibly precious it feels. Pig headed , my post Brexit whingeing poem is at number 8. I've gone right off this since then. There's still a (big) part of me hoping Brexit n

Fear of heights: a poetry post

Way back in 2013 I wrote a blog post about how all the time I lived in Moffat I never managed to get up Grey Mare's Tail (very long waterfall) to the loch at the top of the very big hill. I tried, I really did, but the path was very steep, and the way down was very far, and I have a huge problem with heights. The time I got up the farthest my husband called our mission off because I was holding on to the ground, and passing people was becoming a huge problem. Since I went to Ilkley Literature Festival this year I've been inspired to try out different poetic forms, like list poems , and pantoums. I know that formal poetry and rhyming are not currently fashionable, but I love to work with those restrictions. Occasionally something will burst out and become free verse, but I love the interesting things that can come out of pattern. So, today I'm sharing a pantoum. This is one of my current favourite things, and involves repetition, although I'm not quite repea

The lonely cloud: a poetry post

The prompt over at Mum Turned Mom this week is Lonely, and it got me to thinking about poetry, Wordsworth wandering lonely as a cloud  strikes me as odd, it is rare one seens a single cloud in the lake district, surely if there was one by itself, it would be relishing that moment of freedom? I also thought of Henri's mash up of Wordsworth's poem , and of how things can be taken out of the familiar context to give new meaning, both to the word and to the context. The other thing in my head when I think about 'lonely', is poor Tallulah, who is perhaps the loneliest person at Bugsy Malones when she sings the song about not having to be lonely. But that's what we do. We put our best foot forward, paint on a face and go on with the show. Anyway, I wrote a poem which doesn't want to be very long, about that little cloud. There are lots of clouds in the sky as I write, but I can't see her. I think sometimes we can feel most lonely when we're surroun

Hating what's Right: a poetry post

Oh there has been so much happening in 2016 that I'm not a fan of. Death's guest list has got way out of hand, and then Brexit and now Trump, not to mention the terrible situations that lots of people around the world have found themselves in. Things are changing, and not in the way I had hoped for, but that said, we have made remarkable progress in the last century. I'm hoping that we're like the frog jumping out of the well. For every three feet higher she jumps, she slides back down two feet. It's dispiriting, nobody wants to slide in that nasty goo, but it is still progress. Not long ago I went to a writing workshop in Glasgow where we were asked to write a long list of five things we loved, five things we hated, five things we believed etc. All these things, we were told, could be written about. So today I'm writing about one of the things I hate. The thing I wrote was:  "I hate Tories." But that's not fair. It's not just Tories.

The stream in spate: a poetry post

October was glorious up here on the West Coast of Scotland. A month of pretty good weather, and fantastic colour. Halloween was warm enough to not wear coats, which was brilliant. But now we're in November. The grey month when the cold and the dark come. And it has come. We had our first frost on the 1st, our new tree (a Katsura which has come up from Yorkshire) lost its leaves in horror at its new climate, although I'm hoping this is an Autumn thing.  The colours on the trees are fading to muddy brown and black, and the wind, the rain, and the hail, are becoming more frequent visitors. At home I'm attempting to get my hygge on to see through the winter. I've gone right off gin and tonic, and need something more wintery to sip while I snuggle under a crocheted blanket and watch the Westworld (does anyone else sing this every time it's on?). Any suggestions? Anyway, in order to keep my little mind sunny during these dark days I've taken up two new

Take: a poetry post

Hello! It's November and I'm doing NaNoWriMo, which for those that aren't involved in this crazy world of writing means that I'm trying to write the first draft of a whole novel in one month. Some people have finished already. Somebody allegedly finished in the first 24 hours. Imagine that! I'm hoping that slow and steady wins the race for me. I'm trying to get more than my target words of 1,667 words a day written, and so far, after a glitchy first day, I am doing just grand.  The novel I'm writing is a reworking of my first Chaptershill book which I first wrote a while ago, but then realised it was fatally flawed. If you recall I had a meltdown last year about what was wrong with it - that it was infested with the worms of other fantasy, much of which is uncritical of patriarchal culture, and that I couldn't buy into that in good conscience. Besides which, it didn't work for the story. I tried amending the story but it was so riddled with

The Pennies: a poetry post

I seem to be thinking in iambic pentameter at the moment. I have a poem to write, which must be in well-formed iambic pentameter, and I want it to be perfect, so I'm practicing, although I'm not sure if that's making me better, or just giving me more reason to think I'm rubbish! Anyway, the metre in this one is not right - not enough stresses despite the right number of syllables, but I like it anyway, so I'm sharing it with you lovely people. I wrote it about one of our favourite little acts of kindness, although you might call it littering! The Pennies You know when something is 99p and that pointless penny enters your purse? That penny that must cost more to just be! That penny that makes holes in pockets worse? I save all those pennies up in a box: the ones from coffee, the ones from our tea, the ones from buying emergency socks; all of the pennies that find ways to me. I save them up, then take out a handful to pop in pockets and give to the k

Hope: a poetry post

Yesterday I travelled away by myself for the first time in eleven years! I enjoyed sitting on various trains, secure in the knowledge that the kids were having lots of fun. My lovely mother in law even sent me photos. She knows what I'm like. I arrived in Ilkley and met my mum,  wandering back to her house along familiar streets. Once there she stuck the kettle on, and I called my husband to let him know I had arrived safely. Only we didn't discuss my journey. He had got in from a nice day out with the kids to find Katsuma very unwell. It seemed that he'd thrown another blood clot, and I talked K through how to check, and where I had secreted the supply of cat morphine for just this situation. After that I drank tea with my mum while K took Katsuma to the vet for the last time.  He was a fantastic cat, and I wish he could have stayed longer, but at least we got to love him for a while.  Here's my hope for him now...  Hope I hope

what I'm writing

So the other day I had a poem accepted, but I couldn't yet say where, and now I can! It's in the new magazine 404 Ink, which has now named me along with a host of other "brilliant new writers ". It's so exciting being in at the beginning with an interesting project like this, I'm feeling rather lucky and can't wait to see it in November. You can pre-order, find out more about 404 Ink, and get links to their Patreon page (and also top tips for using Patreon if you're interested), here . I've also been lucky enough to have a poem accepted for a forthcoming edition of Allegro Magazine, which I'll let you know about when it comes out, and I've got two poems coming out in Forward Poetry anthologies, and one in a local writer's group anthology later this year. I'm hoping to add to these little fledgelings flying the nest with more poems getting accepted in more places, so I'm submitting them all over the place. Keep your finger

Mirror Games: A poetry post

Hello all I'm loving October so far, pleasant weather, and I'm getting lots of ideas, and getting the hang of the wobbly days (talking about the good stuff really does help to remember it's there, and there's been lots of good stuff of late. This month I will be going away by myself for the first time since I had Mr 11, and I cannot wait! I'll be going to Ilkley Literature Festival, and taking part in the Open Mic (come and support me, buy your tickets here ), which I'm choosing to see as exciting...  Anyway, I've not taken part in The Prompt in what feels like ages, so I'm putting that to rights today with a poem about playing games in the mirror. It starts off with the statement that I can see myself in the mirror now my hair is brown, and I can! It's great! While my hair was green I seemed to be forever checking if my hair was alright, when I looked at my face it was only to make sure it went with my hair, which sounds ridiculous, but I&#

Messengers: A poetry post for National Poetry Day

I'm in between books at the moment. My Rose book is going out to potential agents (and I know I should expect rejection, but it's nice when they get back to you and you can turn it around and get it out somewhere else, and what if no-one likes it because it's rubbish? I know I've read plenty of rubbish books in my time, so some-one will surely take it anyway? What if it's not rubbish, but no-one wants it anyway?)... BREATHE! And I'm refusing to start rewriting Chaptershill until November, because I have already invested too much effort, time, and LOVE into it to start over (and it needs a start over) without quite deciding what to do. Is the reason why I can't think of another book like the one I'm thinking of writing because it's a terrible idea? Should I attempt to write it as a TV series? Who would want that anyway? If only I could draw I could render it as a series of graphic novels, which would be wonderful. Anyway... In between that I a

five fantastic poems by Hollie McNish

I am going away for a weekend in October, it's going to be my first weekend away since I had my first child. He's just turned eleven. My husband could not believe this could possibly be true. Neither could I. But it is, and it's time. I'm off down to my home town, for the Ilkley Literature Festival, or a bit of it anyway. I'm going to see Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall with my Mum. I may swoon, she's assured me, she won't. I'm going to see some local poets with my Dad. I am going to meet with friends I've known since middle school for lunch at Bettys. And I am going to lots and lots of events. One of the poets I'm going to see is Hollie McNish. I cannot wait. She's chuffing marvellous. You can go see her too, if you're near Ilkley, there are still tickets for sale here . And if you can't make it, if you don't know what all the fuss is about, or if you'd just like to Hollie fix, here are five of my favourites of her poems r