Joanna Preston: Tasmanaut Poet
I held the art of dying in my hand today. Her hurt wings folded in my loose fist yielding as the fingers of a glove – a swallow that dipped quick trawling insects in the lane clouted by some windscreen out of air and thud, distilled into precision. What flight meant was the pulsing line …
Continue reading "Tuesday poem – “What flight meant”, by Christopher Meredith"
That's two sessions of 2nd-term Reading for Writing. An good group, and interesting – four of the eight present this time were persons of the male persuasion, which is something of a record. I'm not going to draw any conclusions about the effect of the course subtitle (‘American Women’), but … The frustrating thing is …
Continue reading "When Teaching Goes ______ (it goes, it goes, it just goes?)"
The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud, – and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. ’Tis calm indeed! so calm, …
Continue reading "Tuesday Poem – Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight”"
for Sheraq Omar Who stayed, long after his pay stopped, in the zoo with no visitors, just keepers and captives, moth-eaten, growing old together. Who begged for meat in the market-place as times grew hungrier, and cut it up small to feed him, since his teeth were gone. Who could stroke his head, who knew …
Continue reading "Tuesday Poem: The Bereavement of the Lion-Keeper"
Wednesday night is the final session of Poetry in Performance from the Canterbury Poets' Collective. Yes, after this Wednesday night it's back to boring nights around the TV, shivering in the intellectual wasteland that our lives will then become. (Unless of course I manage to get a Wednesday night poetry course up and running, in …
A Dark Feathered Art 