Chicken has been turfed out of Noodle’s new bed. She wasn’t happy…
I bought Noodle’s a new bed…..so here’s a couple of photos of Chicken enjoying it……
After failing to dig a comfy hole in my Editor’s Chair, my assistant has moved over and fallen asleep on the job. You just can’t get the staff these days….
Sixty-four poems remain in the folder I’ve confidently sharpie-penned ‘1st Collection’
It has found a title, which I’m keeping under wraps. Five or six poems are hanging on by the skin of their teeth and will probably be weeded out during the next ruthless round of decision making. I have been very ruthless to date: many a ‘favourite’ has been unceremoniously dumped because it isn’t what this particular book is about. Discovering what the book is about is a big step for me, as I’ve not thought about it while writing individual poems. I’ve never looked at them as a group before and wondered what my obsessions are outside the confines of the poem I’ve been working on. I realise that isn’t how it is for many writers: they write to a theme when working towards a collection. But it hadn’t occurred to me I was……..
I’ve been thinking how discovering one tiny thing, one obvious to anyone who has done it all before, can make a huge difference. Yesterday I had several files of poems (the physical kind, in poly-pockets. I like things physical) lurking, filed by date, 2012 to the present. I submit poems quite frequently, so the published ones are all highlighted so I don’t send them elsewhere; I note down where and when published, because that’s useful. But, now I’m getting a collection together, (it already has a home, so it’s a matter of deciding the order, chucking out or grabbing back others if I realise they don’t work together.)
So, the small but mind blowing discovery? Collate the poems like a book. Have them face each other, find where they are happy to partner up with another poem. So damn obvious, but what a difference it’s made 🙂
My beautiful rescue pooch, Noodles was four yesterday. ‘Why not tell us yesterday?’ I hear you cry. Well, I’m a terrible dog-parent and I only realised just now……
At the tidal point where ripples run like dominoes
from sea left to sea right, memory offers up decades
of misunderstandings, trying to make things right,
managing to never be right. Reality pounds in my ears
leaving no room for imagination, the crest before anything
happens is the only time our power seems matched.
There’s no turning back, no gentle retreat to look forward to,
just being plucked like a bruised whelk from its shell.
I learn my lesson over and over again, but every wave
is a little different, shifting grains into distinct patterns,
hitting new rhythms, shuffling another set of broken dreams
to fold in on themselves.
First published on: I am not a Silent Poet, 2017
Kindle is a strange beast; the instant access to endless books for those of us with the technology. It makes me think of those restaurants with an ‘eat as much as you want’ counter. We’re invited to be gluttons, pile our plates high, return to the counter and refill our plates. We invest so little into the experience, shovel everything down, leave as much as we want on our plates. We’re not required to leave a tip for good service, and it’s easy to complain. We expect the same satisfaction as if we’d carefully chosen from a menu that might meet our expectations, where the food was just what we fancied and might hit the spot.