Fleeces

'We move from green geese to sheep and grass today in a poem that both disturbs and intrigues. 'Fleeces' from Ruth Stacey on IS&T now.

'Are our lambs at the right school/to get the high results to land/
the correct job to buy the/most grass –'

Helen Ivory


'A dark hallucinatory Poem from Ruth Stacey. 
A poet that always cuts a little deeper. Immerse yourself in it...'   

Chris Guidon

You can read my fleeces poem here, at Ink, Sweat and Tears

a dusting of frost

She lives on love street

Why?

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life

I know you'll be a sun 

in somebody else's sky, but why

why, why can't it be, can't it be mine?

People tell me it's a sin

To know and feel too much within...

I will protect you

good feeling

won't you say stay with me just a little longer
it always seems like your leaving

when I know the other one
just a little too well

oh dear lady

won't you stay with me just a little longer

y'know it always seems like your leaving
when I need you here just a little longer

8 8 I forget what 8 was for...

9 0 0 0’s Flickr photoset titled Plan 9.001.

Violent Femmes

Fox Boy visits Little Venice

I read some poems at the Parole Parlate 2nd Birthday celebration last Thursday. It is held upstairs at Little Venice and always has a good mix of performers. I felt a whole range of emotions whilst listening: one poet called Amanda Bonnick made me cry with her beautiful and evocative poems about her father. Catherine Crosswell and Gary Longden both made me laugh so much I couldn't get my breath. The poems were so witty and performed with perfect comic timing. Andrew Owens captured the fear and anxiety of losing a child in a busy shopping centre in his story. Claire Walker was a delight to listen to read as she has a lovely perceptive view of the world that comes across in her words. Read the whole review of the night on Gary's blog (an excellent blog to visit for poetry news in the West Midlands.) Garyswordz

photo by Geoff Robinson

'Closing the first half was Ruth Stacey who performed a bold and imaginative sequence entitled The Fox Boy. Densely layered , it borrows from the Red Indian of North America tradition of using animal characters that are half animal/half human to explore existence. It is no twee anthropomorphic jaunt. Ambitious in intent, it is an invocation to break out of the restrictions of our own skin to explore beyond. Cleverly, the device of transcending the confines of that skin embraces mixed ethnicity too- “skin is just a covering, to keep the flesh tidy and the heart, in place”. It was very well received and proved that challenging, serious poetry can be performed out loud and succeed.'

Review by Gary Longdon

'The Fox Hunt' by Winslow Homer 1893

Angelica

Vanessa Bell

Duncan Grant

Angelica was born in 1918, on Christmas Day.

Bunny Garnett

Amaryllis

Mindful Writing Day

I have been writing small stones for a while now and really appreciate the way they make me pay attention to the small things in life I might usually miss. Today is Mindful Writing Day: a day to slow down and write some small stones.

Here is my first stone of the day:

Grey air, grey light,
dull drip of descending water;
his eyes flicker open
but no light gleams in them.


Read more here

NaNovWriMo starts very soon

...I am not joining in this year but looking forward to seeing my writing friends taking on the task; I will be cheering them on from the sidelines. 50,000 words in one month. What an epic challenge but I know many of them will succeed.

I am finishing my dissertation instead.  Once it is completed I can then tackle the two novels I have been neglecting for far too long. Also there is a completed poetry collection that needs to be sent out into the world. And a collaboration project with a very talented friend of mine that I am getting rushes of ideas for...

Lots of exciting writing ahead <geek>

my girl, my girl, where will you go?

Lanegan with Kurt singing backing vocals

Thistles by Ted Hughes

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.

The Toll House, Avoncroft

So it goes...

pretty version, so pretty

playing with fire, I must have hit the replay button 10 times

First Aid Kit : Play with the Rolling Stones fire

Oh, but the fire went wild

beautiful voice

Natalie Merchant singing old poems back into life

Avoncroft Museum Poetry Trail

I have been involved with a project that has resulted in two of my poems being included in a poetry trail. All the poems are inspired by the historical buildings at the museum. The poets all went along and got ideas. It was the stable and the toll house that caught my gaze. It was an interesting starting point wandering through the empty buildings, strange having them grouped together as museum pieces; haunting and poignant.

Details about the trail HERE

Stargazing: NPD 2012

If you don't have an iphone
you cannot hold it up to the sky
so that it translates the mystery

of the constellations, but instead
you could learn them off by heart,
view them through iris and sharp

memory, not dependant upon
battery power just the cold night
air sucked deep into your lungs;

Ursa Major, Taurus, Andromeda,
Lupus, Sagittarius and Hydra.

sparkly art and writing

I uploaded my two creative pieces on to the Spark website this morning and browsed some of the others. It has been a really exciting project. I liked how fast I had to work, only 10 days. I liked how I didn't waste time with lots of different ideas but followed my immediate response to each inspiration piece. It felt very honest and satisfying.

Looking at the other work on the website is a delight, such an interesting mix of art and writing. Here is the LINK to my poem

and the link to my picture

Happiness from small things...

like picking the beetroot, courgettes and onions and taking them as a house warming gift to my friend. Or watching the songbirds landing on the bird feeder opposite my window. Folding the washing after it has blown dry in the strong, Autumn breeze and the sun that still warms the garden; summer dawdling and still trying to stick around. Drinking a mug of hot earl grey tea. Stroking the dog after taking her out into the field; I love how much the dog adores running, she is so simple: I like to run! I like to run fast! I like to run fast and pretend to catch rabbits! People should be more like that.

Spark...art from writing: writing from art

I'm involved with this project and I am enjoying working on my pieces, a writing response and an art response. The two inspiration pieces have sent me in a different direction to normal, some unexpected ideas.

I love unusual projects, slanted ways of looking at stuff. If a challenge or theme is given to me I always get enthusiastic and also distracted from other things because I really have to work on the new idea straight away.

If I decide I haven't seen someone in a while and I want to show them I care I think, for example, why don't I draw them a picture of a song thrush and mount it on a leaf from an antique book about music and then I put aside all other things to get on with the creative task until I have exhausted the urge and it is completed.

This is why this Spark project appealed to me and why I am now distracted. Again.



SPARK is a creativity event in which artists, writers, and musicians from around the world use each other's work to inspire new work of their own.

redkite yoga

Been to lots of yoga classes over the years, trying to find the perfect teacher. The first one I went to with my friend Olivia was in the Quaker meeting house in Bath. The teacher was calm, inspiring and taught the class so everyone could learn and improve without feeling left behind or overwhelmed. He was a brilliant teacher.

Since moving back to Worcestershire I have searched for a teacher of that quality. I have endured some comedy yoga classes in sports centres by teachers who have no spiritual connection to the moves they are demonstrating and it felt like I would never find the yoga vibe I was hoping for; where mind and body could both grow and become stronger.

But finally last year I started a class in a local village and straight away I knew this was a great class. Been going to the weekly classes when I can and each time I come away feeling wonderful. My body is getting stronger and it helps to keep negative thoughts away. I feel calm and positive after practicing. A couple of weeks ago I had a one-to-one hour with Kate and it was really helpful. I now have a routine to practice at home that will strengthen specific parts we felt needed to be improved. Everyday I get up and run through my poses and I am so glad to have found a teacher as encouraging and inspiring as Kate Alexander.

The Gypsy Bangles

loving this band today...

The Gypsy Bangles

humanæ

There is NO black or white...


 'Humanae  is a chromatic inventory, a project that reflects on the colors beyond the borders of our codes by referencing the PANTONE® color scheme.
(PANTONE® Guides are one of the main classification systems of colors, which are represented by an alphanumeric code, allowing to accurately recreate any of them in any media. It is a technical industrial standard often called Real Color)
The project development is based on a series of portraits whose background is dyed with the exact Pantone® tone extracted from a sample of 11x11 pixels of the portrayed’s face. The project’s objective is to record and catalog all possible human skin tones.'


what shade are you?

a cup of PoeTea?

Jo Langton's poetic teabags can be purchased here...

Review by Gary Longdon of 'The Vaginellas poetry night in Kidderminster

Myself, Jenny Hope, Gary Longdon, Sarah James, Jo Langton

Vaginella project info here...

All lonely bodies want to join as one,
In dark caves and warm fur - the pain is gone.