Saturday, January 7, 2017

Posting poems

Those of you who spend a little while with my blog know that, in the past, I've occasionally posted my poems on one of the header pages that is titled A Small Collection of Poems.

This explanation goes on for a bit so by way of light relief I'm posting photos of how the drop in temperature in the last few days has wrought its magic on our garden and the adjacent farmers track.

Just for a change, a winter leaf 

I love how the leaf skeleton is highlighted here 

Usually I kept back poems that I planned, one day, to send to magazines or perhaps and rather grandly, that might have been part of a pamphlet.  In doing this I was following poetry tradition and custom as poetry editors don't want a poem once its been published elsewhere and a personal blog counts in that respect.

Maybe a stitching pattern here

This year I plan to share my poems in a different way by publishing many more on this blog. Once a poem is on one of these general pages I'll add it to the Collection page and  look forward to your comments. I'd love for this to be a way for me to hear what you think, how the poem looked and sounded to you etc., etc.

Yippee, no more hours in the poetry office, more hours to enjoy the writing and rewriting and for reading and commenting on the poems posted on the sharing poems Facebook closed page I'm part of following the 52 project.   Its a  decision that feels a very good one to have made as a new year begins.

Answers in the comments secant please ... 

A slow walk today with my wonderful new camera (thank you, James) and some useful hints from Paul about how to keep still while pressing the shutter resulted in these and many other photos that I hope will be valuable for my new Inspiration to Stitch sketchbook.

Then we all had a fast walk with the dogs, off road, in and out of the sunshine, tracking the changes underfoot between the shady and sunlit verges.

Finally, here is today's poem (not that there will necessarily be one tomorrow). This is draft two, draft one was longer and I have some very good poets friends to thank for pointing out the repetition and the value of this particular poem being short.

 In fog

there are fewer lines to follow,
no place else where
other people live.

The smell of fog is full
of your own breath and
your ears hear you and you.

After a while the blanket
becomes a parcel and people
live in a pared down world.

And to close a glimpse of a scattering of seed stitches ...  a needle, thread and slow fingers   

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