Now

In a week, everything has changed. Now the sun is out, the sky is blue. The seasons have made a turn. — Today I am reminded of a much loved poem look – really look that was inspired by an evocative interview with an elderly gentleman about his balcony garden in the Barbican (London). The return

It is May, and livelihood is not a golden beast

I do wonder how one of my ancestors, who lived a life centred around tending her cattle, may see my screen-filled days. It would probably baffle her as to how what I do is work.* It was from such a wondering that I imagined the scene in Listen to me, you golden beauty. This poem

The Best Instruction

While looking for some entertaining archival posts, I came across this micro-poem from a year ago: The Best Instruction You might receive an email telling you such ‘n such. Don’t worry! Take no action! May your week include more emails that require less action. — Twitter: @BeadedQuill Facebook: BeadedQuill Books: In the Ocean: a year

Brass badges rust out here

  At Noon Quiet or quick off the mark, it’s your draw now, cowboy! At the trough a whinnow mane shakes desert dust. A shutter creaks and midday wanes. Brass badges rust out here. 2012 — This poem has divided audiences. You can read here about early readers’ objections to and compliments about the uses

The forest birds know not to trust

I proceed on the outside with my daily life, all the while taking mental or handwritten notes. These observations saved ‘for writing’ often echo personal revelations. The regularity of this continues to astound me, especially as I re-post poems from this blog’s archive. It is sometimes said among writers that we are called to write what we are called to

I try to revive a blue whale

I wrote about whales last week in “Ulterior Motives.” It’s odd then that this time last year I posted “In the ocean one night,” a poem about whales that I had transcribed directly from a dream. Yes, I kid you not. This was one of my genuine, vivid sleep-time dreams. The poem inspired the title

The mask of nonsense

“It’s complicated” posted this time last year proposed a point-blank assessment of The Relationship Drama, especially as recounted by heterosexual women (as this encompasses most of my experience). It’s the “He loves me, he loves me not, why doesn’t he love me?” tune. The poet/narrator declares, none of this is complicated. Either it moves forward,

Return of the moonlit sylph

It was yesterday, on the 6th Jan. coincidentally, when I was glancing over the books in a charity shop that I saw a softback copy of “Nemesis” on the shelf above me. (As a Hobbit goddess, I sometimes construct the world in terms of the dimensions of where things are in relation to my immediate

Today, outside, is a new room

An old poem about a new room. ‘To The Valleys‘ offers a similar opening and thwarted journey to domestic encasement. — Twitter: @BeadedQuill Facebook: BeadedQuill Books

All through this lodging there is hardly a clatter

“A quiet night preludes the festivities” nods to the classic “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.” — Twitter: @BeadedQuill Facebook: BeadedQuill Books: In the Ocean: a year of poetry Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012