Skeleton Architecture

And so we're into Autumn, I swear I heard the tyres screeching as the season turned. I'm writing this at my desk in the light of my little lamp and it's almost 9am, but it's gloomy because it's chucking it down. I love Autumn. I spent ages yesterday watching gannets diving for fish in the roiling sea, keeping their places despite the wind. And I love the fog that can wrap us up in a quiet blanket. I used to live in the Isle of Man, where the god Manannan takes care of his drunk little islanders by wrapping his warm cloak around them. So whenever I can't see the islands near us for the fog I wonder if Manannan is wrapping his cloak around us too. It feels like it. Anyway, The Prompt, over on the Mum Turned Mom blog this week is Motion, which just had me thinking of the motion of the ocean, and of the good luck I have to be able to live near the sea again. So I am sharing this poem which I wrote earlier this year, inspired by a line in Andrew McMillan...

It is said that for every poem you write you should read forty. Thinking about it I probably do, although the jewels amongst them can be far between (which is not to say that the rest aren't good, just that some are magnificent).  Here are some of the jewels I've come across lately. This video is Inua Ellam sharing his poem, 'Candy Coated Unicorns And Converse All Stars.' It draws you in to a shared moment, bringing a magical spotlight to bear upon a grubby tale. It is captivating and troubling, and bears repeated exploration. Next up is Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou, who is so often phenomenal. I adore the in-your-face awesome of this poem, which you'll find on Poem Hunter  here  (sorry about the really annoying adverts). Gillian Clarke has served as the National Poet of Wales for eight years and is now stepping down. One of the poems she was commissioned to write was one commemorating the mine disaster at Six Bells. Her response is a woman's ...

I've been thinking about family and our emotional bonds a bit lately. Motherhood is often dressed up in pink bows and seems to be seen as something to be argued over, and taken for granted, but that love that you get when you become a mother is huge and possibly violent and all encompassing. Personally, I've only become a mother through having babies, but there are other ways and I'm sure that magically weird strong relationships develop in those too. Anyway, before I start trying to ensure everyone is included I'll stop, because this is about me and how I feel about my kids. Perhaps there will be things in here you'll recognise. The picture above is of me with my last baby, the one who was born in bloood and flashing lights and drama, as referred to in my last poem, Return . I read this poem out today at my writers group, and thought I'd read it for you too. Click below for the recording. Love There’s a fierceness to it. This gentle, pa...

I've been away for such a long time! My last post was about a month ago, and was written when I thought that Katsuma was going to die. I was so incredibly worried about him, and I'm happy to report that he has pulled through that crisis, although he is still a very sick cat. He is now on lots of medication for his heart disease, and he is no longer capable of living the life he previously lived. But I think he's still content. He gets ever so much love, and I know he wishes he could still go out and kill things, but lying in any possible patch of sun comes a close second. He's never going to be fully better, and at some point another crisis will come, and that is when we will stop, because he's done amazingly well, he's walking again and everything, but I wouldn't want to see him go through such a terrible time again. Anyway, what have I been doing to keep myself away for so long? Lots of poems. I have been writing away, with so many ideas that I'm ...

What can I say? Nothing sensible. My beautiful, massive cat is sick, dangerously sick, and I am beside myself, but writing about it helps. Nothing fits into a poem like the ones I usually write though. I can't make this fit. I can't make the feelings fit. So I'm going a bit freestyle. I don't know if it's good. I don't know if it's worthwhile sharing. But I'd have liked to have read it while I was Googling this stuff recently, and it helps me to write. So this is it... ...this was it (edit 18th June 2017). This was the first terrible thing that happened to Katsuma, in summer last year, and we did our very best for him, and as I mentioned above, I was beside myself.  I miss him. I'm not the same. I'm still scared about leaving my kittens because leaving Katsuma, even though he was well looked after while we were away, was the thing that caused him stress and led to his death. It still doesn't matter that logically I know Katsuma had somet...

I've been poetically absent for a while. I've been reeling in the wake of Brexit, which I did not see coming, and which has left me grieving for the Britain I thought I knew. I know that the leavers reckon we remainers should get over it and move on, but that blase attitude is what allowed them to vote leave in the first place. For me, being part of Europe is an important part of my identity and how I want to live my life. I'd much rather be part of Europe than Britain. Especially this Britain, this one that has shown itself to be racist and nasty and to have no compassion for the rest of humanity. For a while there I was anticipating a second anarchy, and I'm impressed that Theresa May was willing to pick up the poisoned chalice of leadership at this time. So far she's doing it with aplomb (apart from the whole keeping nuclear bombs thing, but that insanity is not only her doing). Still. I would rather leave Britain than leave Europe, and I haven't been able...

I'm clearly having a bit of a Spenserian stanza moment, because here's another one! You have already had The flame so bright  and Clematis dance , but I wanted to try it again for this poem inspired by something the Dalai Lama said: Judge your success on what you had to give up in order to get it. So the thing in my life that I have given up the most for is my children, my family. It's actually staggering how much I've given up when I try to itemise it, although high on the list was watching Columbo, and I guess I can learn to live with that. If you judge success by what you have to give up, then I suppose my children are my greatest success, so far. I'd best keep at it.  Children came I have forsaken acres wide of time. I've given up on sex and sleep and rest. I have quit smoking and I drink less wine. No longer am I someone of interest. I've given up on cosy sofa nests, abandoned spur of moment trips away. No clubbing now, no going dancin...