Tomorrow is National Poetry Day in the UK and so this week’s podcast is dropping tomorrow to celebrate and I am surrounded by 4 guest poets from as far as New Zealand and as close as Dublin City centre who share their poems on movement, change, time and loss. Join us tomorrow and meantime- Stay […]
I suckle on the sky – drink it like Kool-Aid, until my belly swells full with the blue of it – the blue that seeps into my fingertips, my lips, my hair, until I piss blue, sigh blue, weep blue, until I float, fade, disappear.
Episode 3 of the Podcast Eat The Storms is on your local platform or coming soon. Definitely on Spotify already and it is packed tight with talent… Thank you to the featured Poets Ankh Spice, Sarah Connor, Ruairí De Barra, Eilín de Paor, Jane Dougherty, Kevin Bateman, Catherine Ann Cullen and Aisling Keogh
Laura’s hosting at dVerse tonight. She always comes up with interesting and challenging prompts – I think of them as architectural. Tonight we’re thinking about nines – nine line poems and nonets. Laura has given us some lines from great poems to use as the basis for our own work. I couldn’t resist having a go at both halves of the prompt.
It seems as though you are still summer clinging to the last pink roses, but the early morning chill lasts a little longer every day. Autumn is so close now, cold fingers sprinkling gold.
And here’s the second, which is based on this line: Those/ pale /flowers /might /still /have/ time/ to /fruit from Karina Borowicz’s ‘September Tomatoes’
Those geese flying overhead pale wings spread out, like flowers on a blue bedspread might fly on. They are so strong, they still have miles to go. It’s time to seek out warmth, to hunker down. Autumn’s brought fruit and frost and morning mist.
The children are brought to her for judgement. As ever, she takes them into her home for a month. As ever, they are a little in awe of her silver hair, her black cane.
By day, she feeds them, teaches them the names and scents of herbs, how to keep silent, to move in the shadows.
Now, these two sleep, huddled together in their dreams. They sleep with the moonlight slanting across their faces. She sits beside them all night, until the first rays of the sun fall across the bedroom floor. There’s no sign of change.
She sighs. They’re obedient, sweet-natured, bright – but no good to the pack. They are merely children, untouched by moonlight. The pack won’t keep them. They’ll be sent to the city, to walk hand in hand on stony pavements and forget the forest.
Merril is hosting at dVerse tonight. It’s prosery night – 144 words of flash fiction, incorporating a quotation chosen by our host. Tonight the quotation is: