The Faint Smell of Jasmine

A short story from some time ago: It is a long climb up the stony mountain, through biting mists and pounding midday sun. From the crevices mountain flowers cheer the weary and tumbling water droplets happily refresh those travellers who whisper of their thirst. The higher the climb, the more the climber’s bones and muscles

The superhero of pre-used words and melon boy spit pips

In the poem “Summermelon” two characters – the super-hero of pre-used words and Watermelon Boy – spit pips. “Summermelon” was another poem from last year that fitted into the set Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys. You can preview the book here. — T: @BeadedQuill F: BeadedQuill Books by BeadedQuill

Proper Poetry

The beam of a true poem balances when each pan hovers with just right the weight. A real poem contains rhyme; Each line leads us to a prediction. — When I was at junior school, it was the end-of-term duty of the girls in the highest class, Standard 5, to gather news from each year.

104 Poems

The 2×52 project developed in April 2013 when I committed to posting two poems a week for a year. I completed my self-made creative challenge this April when I revealed the 104th poem. Next month (June 2014), all the poems will be available in a book at my Blurb bookstore. In the meantime, here are the 104=2×52 poems listed in all their glory! And for your convenience, so

Rooftop Thoughts

From this time last year: an essay about a painting of Covent Garden rooftops. The image triggered a series of personal memories about school art history lessons and my ‘London Granny’.

Behind the Brightness: Poems from a Mystical Decade

Shining in Brightness, my first book of selected poems, documents the hopeful years of 18 to 30. I hold a special affection for this creative scrapbook. It is a nostalgic artefact of a time period I declared ‘a mystical decade‘.

You can give a heart on any day

This handmade heart hangs from a nail above my desk. I don’t remember on which day it was given to me, yet it carries more sentimental meaning than any Valentine’s token I’ve ever received. This heart has shadowed many of my poetry journeys. It has travelled with me from Cape Town to San Diego, to South America, to

It’s complicated

Actually it’s very simple. Either it’s in motion or it is not. This bears the signs of not. That bears the signs of motion. Words to-ing and fro-ing And actions Everything bears the mask of nonsense. 13/1/14 — A liberating revelation in my younger youth was the concept of He’s Just Not That Into You

The Age Show

Roll up! Roll up! To see the hairy Caucasian lady with her mandible chin hairs protruding since she long gave up plucking or pulling or waxing them off. And nobody else cares to do it for her. Hairs and cavernous wrinkles! Roll up! It’s not a wig. That’s naturally grey. Under the chin? A wattle

She’d read it in books

“His father beat him around the head. Only a little bit on Wednesdays, after pay day, or on Friday late, after the races. Clean up your mess, boy!” The teachers preferred her creative writing to include such notable topics. So mature for her age! — In the accompanying essay to yesterday’s posted poem, I wrote