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...

  I have figured things out this week and find myself focusing on matters mathematical. I could have gone with a Fibonacci Poem again, but I decided to look elsewhere within the fascinating world of mathematics to find my connection.  Here are three little poems owing their existence to various mathematical inspirations. They were quietly nestling in my poetry vault, but I found them when it counted.  Go figure... Figure It Out One stands by itself Two makes a couple Three gives us a crowd Four sends us to the corners Five gives us golden rings Six can be hit out of the park Seven is heavenly Eight comes with easy pieces Nine gives a cat lives Ten likes green bottles I figure that’s enough. Alan j Wright   Zero No beginning or end No tail to descend Like a hole in Swiss Cheese With no corners No one’s lucky number it must be said You unfortunately have amounted to nothing But I like the way you stand Between positive And negative So well roun...

 This is another example of prose poetry. The poem owes its origins to real events that occurred during an Australian summer when I was a teenager. It is strange to be recalling a summertime event in the middle of an Australian winter, but it was an unforgettable time and it often resurfaces, particularly when I revisit my old home town.  During that long ago summer, a string of hot summer days -a heat wave was ours to endure. A summer that left the landscape parched and dry and communities exposed to the potential of devastating bush fires. And so it transpired...  The poem is presented in two stanzas; blocks of texts representing the before and after aspects of the event. A Summer Blaze   During my fourteenth summer a January bushfire tried to erase our small town. It poked its flaming head above the ridge line, consumed a pine plantation then down the slope it raced, hot and voracious. Acrid smoke surrounded our homes, our streets, our every tiny space. Live e...

  Prose poetry is written as prose, without the line breaks associated with poetry. Prose poetry often makes use of devices such as fragmentation, compression, repetition, rhyme, metaphor, and figures of speech. It can express the lyricism and emotion of poetry, and lends itself to exploring a variety of themes. I noted its use in a number of anthologies in my personal library with some interesting variations in structure and presentation. I immediately felt compelled to rummage deeper. I have been experimenting with different formations and in coming weeks will share a few.   I willingly own up to enjoying the exploration of diverse poetry forms and it with this in mind I share this recently 'made' example of prose poetry. A satisfying process to polish and refine my intial raw words. Close Your Eyes And Step Into The Unknown At Essex Street subway interchange I am walking up the stairs when a small girl and her mother approach from the opposite direction. As they desc...

The Dodoitsu, is a Japanese poetic form that doesn't have meter or rhyme constraints but they do have syllable constraints (like many Japanese forms). This 4-line poem has seven syllables in the first three lines and five syllables in the fourth--and final--line.  The Dodoitsu often focuses on love or work with a comical twist. I have featured these poems previously, but I found them seeking more time in the limelight... I am standing at the corner Watching the traffic stream by Willing the red light to change -Any green will do. Alan j Wright Love is a like a red red rose Tangled like a garden hose Flowers help to smooth the rough -But diamonds sparkle.  Alan j Wright It is Poetry Friday and our host this time is Tanita S Davis at 'Fiction Instead Of Lies'  .  Tanita shares news about a July writing challenge involving 'Sedoka' a short form of poetry that follows syllabic rules. 

Tautonyms are  words containing two identical or similar parts that share a rhyme (a segment, syllable, or morpheme).  Tautonyms are also referred to as 'rhyming reduplicatives.'   These wonderful word pairs provide a poet with opportunities to indulge in a little word play. They are everyday utterances that deliver delight. So, without hesitation, I dived straight in for some tautonym tomfoolery. May I be so bold as to advise you to read the poem aloud? It adds to the experience of these tautonyms tripping off the tongue. Focus On The Hocus-Pocus Don’t shilly-shally Not even for an itty bitty. In the hurly burly, Just remember to razzle dazzle. Holy moly, It’s easy-peasy. Jeepers creepers, Use your peepers Don’t boogie woogie Or be arty-farty And all higgledy-piggledy. Forget the mumbo-jumbo Avoid double-trouble Don’t be wishy-washy And everything will be super-duper. Just make sure silly-billy Doesn’t get the heebie-jeebies When it co...

I am grateful to fellow Poetry Friday participant, Ramona Behnke for alerting me to Padraig O'Tuamo's podcast, 'Poetry Unbound.'  I undertook some focused listening and just happened to land on an episode highlighting the poem 'When In Doubt' by Sandra Cisneros. Powerful words from Sandra Cisneros, author of the children's classic, ‘The House On Mango Street.' I first became aware of Sandra's work when living and teaching in New York. I was immediately taken by the writer's ability to capture the voice of a young girl living in Chicago's Latino sector. In a series of stunning vignettes, the young girl's story unfolds. So, it was with this background knowledge I found myself keen to explore this promise of a poem...   The very moment I heard Padraigh read Sandra Cisneros's words I felt a compelling need to share the poem. It presents as a roadmap for living. It further enhances my view of the writer and poet. WHEN IN DOUBT When in doub...