After a month of drought comes a deluge of rain. It’s been like that with my writing: a barren April, followed by a torrent of frantic scribbling in May. This has included 2 very different poems: a commission (a first!) for a silver wedding anniversary (“Camilla Meets her Matt-ch”); and a short reaction to the death of the Moors murderer, Ian Brady, both of which I may share later. In the meantime, on Saturday, Cheshire poet, John Lindley, ran a very successful and stimulating free workshop at the Lion Salt Works near Northwich. A score of enthusiasts came up with an impressive range of reactions to John’s themes. The warm-up took the form of 3 prompts, followed by writing on something which has always puzzled us.
Look out for opportunities to join John in a workshop or a “Poets and Pints” (The next one is at the Red Lion, Goostrey on Wednesday, 7th. June).
River, Wound, Kiss
From the gash, the Life blood flowed,
ebbing away what breath bestowed.
Red river seeping from the wound,
an end to what had been cocooned.
And what was gone no-one would miss
except the one who shared that kiss.
Getting My Act Together
I watch James May dismantle
the turntable with a mixture
of childish wonder and dis-may.
The myriad, intricate entrails
lie exposed in orderly patterns, dismembered,
like with like, ready to reassemble
in a precise, logical way I know is beyond me.
My inner D-I-Y-er “d-i-y-ed”, still born,
miscarried, ectopic, unnourished,
the three ply wires, green and yellow, brown and blue,
an umbilical cord strangling the nascent desire
to get back in the groove,
to see a Phoenix rise,
to hear music rattle the rafters.