This was my entry to the National Poetry Competition. I did not win, so you get to read what is, effectively, a loser’s poem. Lucky you.
Category Archives: Writing
Thoughts about writing.
A beautiful history
When I read Horrible Histories author Terry Deary’s thoughts on libraries on Wednesday, I don’t think I’ve been angrier with an author since I tried to read The Lord of the Rings the first time and there was all that shit about Hobbits. Since then I’ve had several conversations online about it, and this is an informal gathering, really, of thoughts I’ve had and thoughts others have expressed to me when I’ve brought the subject up. So, what I’m saying is ‘sorry if I’m just using your ideas, but I wanted to put everything together’.
A fragment
Just something I found myself needing to write as I rode the train home. I suppose if it’s about anyone, it’s about my wife. She’s brunette, but I couldn’t not use the first line.
Continue reading A fragment
Brief thoughts on poetry
Poetry, I told myself this morning, is stained glass. Language is like a sheet of glass, a window. Beautiful, often; functional, it allows us to see the world without being in it, and usually we catch our own reflection as we look, fading ghostlike into the landscape. Hard and unyielding, language can be melted and reformed, though it always comes back to what it is, what it was.
Continue reading Brief thoughts on poetry
A Perfect Place
In the early hours of the morning, or the late hours of the night (depending on how you look at time), the towpath was quiet, still and very dark. No light from the surrounding houses, roads and ill-fated gastropubs filtered through the dense cover of willow. It was a perfect place for a quiet run, or for an accident, a murder.
The black dog
I’m writing a story for Hallowe’en, because I like traditions. Yes, you might argue, the best time for ghost stories is Christmas, but I’ve started doing them at Hallowe’en now and so I’m trapped in a tradition of my own making. And yes, I’ve not done many of them so I might just up and break this.. look, whose blog is this, yours or mine? Thank you.
Anyway. I’m writing it. And I’m circling back to an idea I have had before, but never used. I’m back to it because I think it’s creepy, but I’m not sure exactly where to take it. I’m tempted to take it to fairytale territory, because fairytales are folk tales, and what are folk tales but the raw, crystallised fears of our ancestors?
Flawed
National Poetry Day, yes? Good, here’s my poem. A bit rough and ready, I fear.
The moon rose
in daylight
through hesitant mist,
so we stumbled
beneath closed eyes
into its unheeded light.
Continue reading Flawed
Backing
I tried to resist, but the thoughts struck me, and some of the words, none of which I used in the end. A poem about the Olympics. About watching it, I guess, because what else I can write about?
Continue reading Backing
Strike
Written, partially, on the walk to work during a recent bus drivers’ strike. Tweeted as a short poem on Friday, refined to this on the Monday. I say refined. Elongated.
Popped from my shell;
by action struck
out of a self-made bubble.
Forced to walk ancient paths
made modern, by face alone,
and modern roads burned
by history’s glow.
Continue reading Strike
Present tension.
Everyone is double-income now.
We can’t afford the past.