I have had a most productive week of writing. -Some great publishing news on two projects and a couple of school visits where I got to work with several classes of early years writers who blew me away with their brave writing efforts. I also launched a brand  new website  . These events put me in a bouyant mood, so I decided to have a little fun with words and today I am sharing this cheeky, playful poem... Poets need to indulge in wordplay and this poem  goes to that place.  Hideaway Poem I had intended sharing A poem with you But it lost its nerve And has shut itself away Inside a book of poems Refusing to come out. Maybe it’s hoping William Wordsworth Will offer it some daffodils Maybe it secretly longed to be a sonnet Or part of Tennyson's Light brigade.   There’s no rhyme or reason For this… The stanzas stand up The imagery is intact The alliteration aligned   In the meantime Here’s some white space To cast your ...

Today I'm going wild. Wild animal that is...  T he crocodile and the warthog might not rate highly on a most popular animal list, but they do possess some fascinating traits, and so I am sharing poems about these wild things, these far from mild things.  Crocodiles are large semiaquatic reptiles that live throughout the tropics in Africa, Asia, the Americas and Australia. I have made a point of visiting them in Kakadu National Park, from a safe viewing distance. I wanted to obtain some snaps without getting snapped myself.  The Warthog is  a wild, somewhat unsociable member of the pig family found in grassland, savanna, and woodland in sub-Saharan Africa. The world of poetry is no stranger to poems about animals, but I doubt these two are overly represented. ..    Warthogs Warthog, wide jawboned face With dangerous tusks Struts across the open plain All warty and snorty Its tail pointing up Like an aerial.   Warthog, too lazy to hunt munches on the ...

 Often we celebrate the shape of a poem or the patterns it presents. This poem is all about the sounds of the words, in particular the sounds of a host of towns and suburbs in Australia. These rich and varied places owe their names to our first peoples, our indigenous Australians. The names have meaning attached.  Yackandandah for example, means, ' one boulder on top of another at the junction of two creeks.'  The town I grew up in, Monbulk, means  'hiding place in the hills.' The names of these places possess a musicality  unique to Australia. Proud to say I've visited many of them. Come with me now and get your mouth ready to dance with delight. I’ve Never Been to Tumbarumba Australian towns Have memorable names Some of them astounding They dance upon my tongue Delightful in their sounding I’ve always known in Yarrawonga That I should try to linger longer But should I try to chitter-chatter If I find myself in Cabramatta? All the kind folk ...

 I became aware of the incredible achievements of Charles Blondin watching a  television progam a little while back and was prompted to go in search of more information concerning this fabulously talented funambulist. What an amazing life Charles Blondin lived... As someone who has always struggled with heights I found myself in awe of this man's incredible mastery of tight rope walking, his superb balancing capabilities. He crossed Niagara Falls numerous times. I've been there once. I was happy to view the falls from a safe position.  Anyway, my curiosity was sparked and the subsequent research has resulted in another docupoem. I shall be adding it to my ever expanding collection of these poems.  Docupoems are reliant on realism, written from an observer’s standpoint, and shaped with a desire for revelation. They share truth in collaboration with the poet's voice. Readers, I present The Mighty Blondin!   The Mighty Blondin Famous French funambulist Charle...

It is often said that as writers and poets- 'First we imitate, then we innovate.'  When I first wrote a haibun poem I followed the structure and form without question. Since that time I have written numerous poems in this classic Japanese poetry form.  Among my personal poetry collection I own a copy of Robert Wood Lynn's 'Mothman Apologia'  In this anthology the poet innovates with a variety of layouts for his poems. He writes a series of ten elegies where there is a complete absence of punctuation and adopts layouts with multiple blocks of justified text. He is challenging visual norms. These considered actions focused my reading.  All this brings me to this week's poem. I have presented it as a haibun, but have consciously removed punctuation a la Robert Wood Lynn to make it a hybrid presentation.  My poem tells the story of a coal delivery man in England in the 1920's. 'Alfred, The Coalman Cometh' could also be categorized as docupoetry, or an o...

 It was World Left Handers Day  on Wednesday. The day always causes me to reflect... Amazingly, I learnt to write using my left hand. An achievement against the prevailing beliefs of the day. My very first teacher saw it as her mission in life to ‘fix’ the poor, wretched little boy suffering from what she clearly diagnosed as left handed disease. She must have thought, 'This child must be re-formatted! If he remains left handed he will be forever condemned to writing in a scrawl that no one will be able to read.'  She actually told me this horrifying fact regarding my predicted fate. They took the pencil out of my left hand and placed it in my right hand. It felt unnatural. It felt weird. It was not right. More importantly, it was not left. Watch me I said. I may be a left handed oddball, but I am a determined oddball. I mean how boring would the world be if everyone wrote with their right hand? So I dug my toes in –and my hands too, and steadfastly resisted efforts to ch...

 This week I took a deep dive into the vast catalogue of  7000 images trapped on my Iphone. I then randomly selected four that caught my eye and rescued them from obscurity.  I called on their support to help me launch some Haiku poetry. A collaboration of image and inspiration. Thank you team... Brittle autumn leaves                                                                                                                              Skitter along the footpath                                                        ...

  This poetry presentation is all about keeping secrets with siblings, or  rather the inherent folly of such agreements.  My poem is loosely based on childhood experiences.  It is also about form and structure.   I have consciously off set the couplets to symbolize the unsettling sleep experiences that frequently arise around such matters.   Unsettled Sleep As I stumbled through the forest dark A green witch grabbed my hand   I raced upon an open plain Through soft and shifting sand   I stood upon a craggy bluff While the wind began to scream   Then I awoke in tangled sheets From this disturbing dream   I think I know the reason I got wrapped up in this twister   I’m concerned about a secret shared With my loose-lipped little sister. Alan j Wright. Poetry Friday has rolled around again and our host this time is Jane Whittingham . Jane delivers an ode to the chaos that frequently surround...