This week, inspired by a new song from The National's lead singer, Matt Berninger, 'Ask For Water,'  I went in search of water themed poems in my poetry vault. I wasn't exactly sure what I would find, not a deluge,  but I was curious. Here is some of what I found... My Dad Was a Rain-man I stood beside my dad one summer afternoon Under the eaves of the back veranda As indigo clouds Blotted out the summer sky And threw our world into warm shadows Dad broke the silence Can you smell the rain?   -It’s only minutes away So we waited Staring skyward Listening to low rumbling of distant thunder As lightning scratched the sky And the clouds sprung leaks Soon large, heavy droplets Slapped the ground Before a downpour drenched the day Stripping dust from the air around us Making everything fireproof  He knew rain my Dad He could read the sky I saw him do it once. Alan j Wright Time Beside the Sassafras Creek Occasionally I stand still Beside the muddy bank of the c...

  'Writing is evidence that we exist.'   Donald Graves This poem regarding notebooks emerged during my recent holdiay in Bali. Since returning home it has undergone some polishing. The poem's title gives a nod to the late actor, Karl Malden who made the phrase famous in an advertisement for American Express some years ago.  My one small regret is that this poem  emerged after the publication of my latest book, 'Notebook Notions.' I opened Notebook Notions with a poem about writing and feel this poem would have neatly closed the book. Afterall, the book is a reflective journey through 43 years of notebook scribing.  Don’t Leave Home Without It Take your notebook with you  When you leave For other lands, Visit other cities, When you wander down streets Of unfamiliar towns. Your notebook Will remind you of exactly who you are And where you are from And matters residing safely in your heart. Years from now, The words you gather will...

  I have just returned from two weeks in Sanur,Bali. My first overseas travel adventure for two years. My stay delivered a most relaxing time, enabling me to read, write and relax, -the Balinese people, friendly and welcoming as ever. This holiday time coincided with the launch of a new writer's notebook, so I had added incentive to fill it with a mass of observations and special moments.  A range of short poems spilled out across my stay in Sanur, a place I have been fortunate to visit several times before. Each time the writing is easy on this tranquil island.  I began gently with the flowers blooming close by... This morning I looked at the flowers And said Thank you.  Alan j Wright Then came some Haiku as I developed a routine of sitting in Patio Cafe mid morning coffee and contemplation, while watching the world buzz by as words swirled in my head. Walk the streets early  As earth's vapours are rising And sunlight is soft. Large green leaves flutter Like sa...

 I regularly launch my writing day with at least one haiku. I write them in a dedicated small notebook with a sturdy leather cover. This morning ritual grounds my thoughts and lubricates my writing mind. It has become part of my process.  Because it is winter in the southern hemisphere, a gathering of wintery haiku is at the forefront of my thinking. I have taken the time to gather a few of them together for you, dear reader to consider... Mornington Pier Winter Haiku Winter morning birds Twitter through the morning gloom Stoic tweeters all.   The shoreline is bleached Under a low frowning sky Rain is imminent. Sky and water meet Where the grainy light hovers The horizon smudged The day, cool and dim The garden stilled and unmoving The wind is elsewhere. Winter's biting air                                                    ...

  Returning to prose poetry this week and nostalgically returning to memories of my time in New York .  I am recounting  one of the many adjustments that were part of living in another country, another culture. Fast Paced City   The first time I visited New York, I realised those stories I had heard about a fast-paced city were accurate. When I stepped out onto the streets it was like viewing a movie where the action had sped up. I found myself on the edge of a fast-flowing stream. I felt a sense of everyone moving somewhat quicker than I was accustomed to. Walking along Broadway, I began dodging and weaving between oncoming walkers. I was navigating the rocks in the stream.  It was simultaneously thrilling and daunting, but I resolved to adjust my stride to the pulse of the city. I garnered a New York state of mind. Stepping out on the city sidewalks. Speed walking. Alive and alert.  I was in the slipstream! Alan j Wright It is Poetry Friday and Michel...

 Winter has settled in to place in the southern hemisphere. Damp and cold days predominate.Winter doesn;t have a large circle of friends, but it does draw lots of attention. If pluviophile is a new words to you, then I hope you are curious enough to check it out. It's a word just perfect for winter.  As the rain fell down into the street, it baptised me in the process and a winter poem rose from the puddles forming on the footpath.  Umbrellas Are Pluviophiles It rained most of today A signature winter day Consistent, soaking rain Made everything sodden, damp and dank The neighbourhood dogs refused to go for a walk The cats, displeased Chose to sit by the window and sulk My old mate, Roger Was seen dodging puddles large and small Because there’s a hole In the sole of his favourite boots By contrast the umbrellas Were most pleased for the outing Rising to the occasion While popping their eye-catching tops. Alan j Wright It is Poetry Friday once more and our host this time ...

Across the six years I was living and working in New York I was most fortunate to harvest a rich vein of  stories. So many stories...  My friend, Linda once shared a story about growing up in the city and enduring the somewhat oppressive summer nights.  That story became the focus of a poem I included in the 2016 anthology, 'I Bet There's No Broccoli On The Moon.'  Writers and poets are storytellers... Summer Night Escape On those long ago Summer evenings, The children of New York Dragged their mattresses Onto the fire escape In search of  A zephyr  Of cool air And a chance to dream. No air con back then, Just a sweat box Apartment. So they crept through  Open windows Buoyed by hope Of finding relief  Slumbering Above the street. Alan j Wright It is yet again, Poetry Friday and our host on this occasion is Linda Mitchell at Another Word Edgewise Linda presents a collection of quotes she hopes might springboard fresh poetic pearls from her readers....

  Stornello Poems A stornello is a traditional form of Italian folk poetry as well as improvisational song. The stornello originated in the rural regions of Tuscany before spreading across central and southern Italy to Lazio and beyond.  In taverns and public squares, stornellanti (singers) would engage in long, improvised musical battles. One singer would throw out a verse, and the opponent had to quickly counter with a witty response using the same structure.  The stornello form requires a tercet (or 3-line stanza) poem with 11 syllables per line and an aaa end rhyme.  No limits exist regarding subject matter, so it’s an open field.  It is as simple as that fellow poet. Stornello on! I'll have mine with a glass of sangiovese... Storm Brewing Across the day we watched the gathering storm The sky from blue to metal grey did transform Leaves and dust so hastened by the wind did swarm. Alan j Wright Chill Pill Our world is truly discombobulated Rising tensions nee...

  This poem emerged from a brief observation while on a supermarket raid last week. A notebook entry percolated into a poem and this is the result. Poets are observers. Much of our inspiration comes from the noting of brief encounters and magic moments. We see something and feel a compelling urge to react with words.  So here is my poem about my special sighting of a cruciverbalist... Crossworder A man sporting a wide brimmed hat Sat in the café Studiously crouched over The Thursday crossword in the newspaper. His pen poised, His brow set to serious.   I further noticed he was seated One down and three across from the café entrance. Beyond that I didn’t have a clue. Although I did wonder if a crossword passed his lips while his puzzle he pondered. Alan j Wright It's Poetry Friday and our host this time is Carol Labuzzetta. Carol uses the metaphor of a ferris wheel to write about life's ups and downs and the ever changing cycle we all encounter.