Tag Archives: trees

Out of Office

Follow BQ on instagram (@beadedquillwrites) and Facebook. Sign up for occasional emails from the poet’s desk on the website homepage. Find BQ’s books for sale via Blurb, including Jangle between Jangle, a collection of verse written while jangling to-and-fro during the London commute.

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 returnContinue reading “Now”

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 toContinue reading “The forest birds know not to trust”

A short poem from the wood

They are tall and have green eye-lids. See how they blink at the sun. trees — Being amongst trees makes my soul so happy. There are a number of woods where I live in London and I consider it my commute to work to walk through them when I have time set aside for writing.Continue reading “A short poem from the wood”

Nearing the End

The second-to-last exertion is not the rainbow. It is the to-and-fro flight of a raven clamped in darkness for 150 days. Let there be beats the raven’s wings Let there be beats the raven’s hope No land, raven. No release. Below yap choppy waves, corpses float and catch on broken trees. No release, raven. NoContinue reading “Nearing the End”

St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden

Cold fingers, the volunteer gardeners rake leaves from the flowerbeds that circle tree-trunks. A last green and white hydrangea stares its bath-cap head at me. Cars hoot near Bedford St. There’s a helicopter overhead. Leaves and Tesco receipts blow across the square paving-stones. It’s 1 minute to 10. A cold breeze catches the morning. —Continue reading “St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden”

Two Poems about Grey

On the fringe of grey bring some blue set above white and petal disks. Green is a good addition. Lay down black as tarmac. Square everything in Your life and love and happiness A tree! No less Grey like silver grey like gold grey like suits tales of old grey like hats grey, like pointerContinue reading “Two Poems about Grey”

Philip’s Log: Entries about my moonlit sylph

During the last two months of 2013 I entered a reading glut. It had taken me much of the year to finish the two Orhan Pamuk novel’s Snow (2004) and The Black Book (1994/ 2006). A friend even commented over the summer that perhaps I was deliberately taking my time with Snow because I wasContinue reading “Philip’s Log: Entries about my moonlit sylph”

A New Room

Yonder far o’er vale and glen whereto grooms return and bread is leaven. This is another country. Today, outside, is a new room in which five builders, tiered upon scaffolding, cannot hear All Blues. This is no time for saxophone wails. Stand at the window and look out on the fresh planks. The backdrop: baredContinue reading “A New Room”