Category Archives: water

old post

windstream whittled

boundary lines surrendered

sculpture on the way

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Tallying

In February I attended an excellent workshop by prima poet Helen Mort called ‘Lines of Ascent’. This was part of this year’s Stanza strand celebrating hills, mountains and high places in poetry. The exercise this poem started from was about experimenting with perspective. Inevitably much subsequent plodding to and fro was required to arrive at my effort below.

Also, n.b. I am very fond of biscuits, including the old fashioned varieties …

Tallying

Tay’s estuary is a custard cream
from thirty two miles
and three thousand feet,
sat on my old friend Mayar.

She’s just a southerly yellow stripe,
currents fickle and ambiguous
smeared to a sweeter layer of light
between Broughty and Tentsmuir.

In February survey square biologists
cookie cut the machar there,
quadrats cast as girdle nets,
griddles tallying growth and life.

From here we’re shrunk invisible,
with my biscuit tea-dunked in hand,
I see us all in plain view vanishing,
sugar granules spilt in distant sand.

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Earthed

Montage

Earthed

Beech pennies tanned rust and ochre,
circles of sky cast in cold pressed leaf,
they do not always look the same,
though Brighty is damp almost all year
the pools are not always present.

I can look above and below,
but not at the same instant.
I must choose one plane,
breathe low and look kindly, and
fix each in focus, turn about.

This short circuit, a balanced cut-log bridge,
needle scent, fern and copper scale contours,
barely fifteen minutes to walk around, but
gently, surely, it all returns to ground.
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Found art

found artA poppy pin.
Fallen, rainwashed,
Rusted, gathered,
Repinned, raindropped.
A tiny lamp relit.

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Sounds of rain

drops

click to listen:

Sounds of rain

     Staccato taps syncopate
           justification on your cautious hood.

Continue reading


Beech pools

Inquisitions of rain discover
Cusps in Brighty’s surface.

Shallow lacunae warmed
By fallen silks of beech.

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Vigiles

visual_verse_logoA short poem at Visual Verse

“Pose set, yet as yet not unbalanced,
A mill swung pivot hinting coy.”

…you can read the whole poem (and others from the same prompt) here…

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