It is Friday and I am feeling frivolous. Word play on steroids for me.  I am dropping in to drop this playful poem.  I am writing as the mood of the morning suggests. Yesterday was a day of serious contemplation, but today is about having a little light amusement with words.  Poetry allows us that freedom, that latitude- so I'm taking it, right here. right now. Drop what you're doing and read this...   Drop Everything It drops down Drops in Drops by I am in the drop zone A water droplet Followed by a slight drop of rain Merely a drop in the ocean A drop in the bucket But then the penny drops My jaw drops Everything drops into place I can hear a pin drop Today is drop dead gorgeous So, drop the dead donkey! Don't drop off a cliff Drop off a gift Goody-goody gum drops. Alan  j Wright It is Poetry Friday and out host on this occasion is Karen Edmisten who is focusing on the poetry of Arthur Sze. She has welded words from a couple...

  My earliest memory of writing poetry was when I was in Grade 4. I wrote a poem about springtime. That day we all wrote poems about springtime because that was the expectation back then. That was writing as we knew it back. Teachers handed out the topic and the genre and we the young and inexperienced writers, dutifully responded. I recall my classmates liking my written efforts and suggesting I share my poem with our teacher, Mr Manzie. So, I took their advice and Mr Manzie liked my poem too. He invited me to share it with the class. When I read the poem aloud to the class their reaction was to clap in appreciation. This was a totally new experience. All these years later, I cannot recall the actual words of that ancient poem. They have long vanished. However, I have never forgotten the feelings that washed over me knowing other people enjoyed my written composition, my humble poem. The reaction to my poem ignited a spark energizing me to continue writing poetry, to persist...

 The recent snow storms in New York evoked memories of my six years living and working out of the city that nevers sleeps. Until moving to New York snow had been something of a rarity. The nearest snow fields being a three hour drive from my coastal home near Melbourne. To experience snowfall measured in feet was beyond my experience.  The blizzard of 2006 delivered in excess of two feet of snow and my wonder and awe was off the scale. I felt compelled to write about the experience at that time and also took multiple photographs. Poets respond to the world around them. This incredible natural event was not to be denied. My response at that time employed a classic rhyming structure (AABB) with four line stanzas. I only occasionally write in that style these days. I feel compelled to recover the poem and share it before it melts... Snowstorm Scenes in New York The city, wrapped in twilight's quiet glow, Became a blur beneath the falling snow. New York, so loud and restless just ...

  This week I am travelling back to the prose poetry form. I delved into my ever expanding collection of prose poems and booked these four travel themed poems to share.  The benefit of travel is that each time you strike out into the wider world, you are rewarded with stories. Such rich pickings for those of us who poet... Prose Poetry From The Travel Zone Brief Pelican Encounter A woman holidaying in Florida endured a frightening collision with a pelican which flew into the side of her face while she was swimming. The woman’s cheek required 25 stitches. The pelican died. Fox News in their usual sensational reporting style ran a headline declaring 'Pelican Attacks Woman In Florida.' The woman from Ohio thought the pelican may have mistaken her for a fish.Fin. Alan j Wright The Ubiquitous Bob Marley In London they say you are never further than eight feet from a rat at any one time. In the Caribbean you are never more than eight feet from the sound of a Bob Marley song! Bob may...

I readily indulge in wordplay whenever the opportunity presents. I have no shame when it comes to puns, idioms and other word gymnastics. It's all about having fun and I find poetry as a most willing host. On this occasion I'm playing loose with anatomical attributes while indulging in a few monstrous manoeuvres. You could say I'm performing a version of the monster mash! Making Frankenstein’s Monster  Model Number 25 Let’s begin with A head in the clouds And the hair of the dog A few brainwaves Add the eye of the storm  A ton of cheek One sticky nose Ears of corn A stiff upper lip A sharp tongue And a cold shoulder A pat on the back The long arms of the law A little elbow grease The hand of fate A slap on the wrist Fish fingers Butterflies in the stomach The bee’s knees A leg of lamb A leg of ham The foot of the bed Two left feet Turned up toes And finish with a heart of gold.  Alan j Wright It is Poetry Friday and our host this time is  Robyn Hood Black. Robyn pre...

 The new school year is underway across Australia. It returns each year while summer still rages across the breadth of our island continent. That first month is both exciting and challenging for all. In keeping with the topic, here are 3 poems encapsulating the various moods of the school playground. They are part of an extensive collection of school themed poems in search of a publisher...  Whispers From the Playground There was a buzz in the playground at lunchtime today Everyone was huddled in groups Talking in whispers and mumbles Mischa said that Michael and Lynda told her That Siraj and Tony Heard Annabel and Charlene Telling Tiana and Sienna That the story everyone is talking about Involving Arlo and Tyrone and a packet of biscuits Just isn’t true… Someone, They’re not sure who Made it up Just to stir up trouble And make mischief.   Listening to all this I found myself totally confused What’s the story? …and, who the heck is Tony? Alan j Wright ...

Let's give a cheer for the Choka! Across the years I have willingly explored a host of poetry forms from Japan. I appreciate the orderliness and scaffolding of these syllabic forms. They radiate a sense of calm  The Choka is yet another Japanese poetic form with a variable length that follows these guidelines: Five syllables in any odd-numbered lines  Seven syllables in any even-numbered lines  Finishes with two consecutive seven-syllable lines As with other Japanese poetic forms, the choka does not typically rhyme or have rules on length. Spider Webs Strung Along An Old Fence The old wire fence  Festooned with spidery webs All shimmer dancing With the passing morning breeze  Rusted strands unwittingly Host flimsy webs of intrigue. Alan j Wright Australian Garden Orb Weaver Spider. Impressive Web Designers It is Friday and more importantly, it's Poetry Friday and our host this time is Amy Ludwig VanDerwater from the Poem Farm. Amy presents a triolet poem that p...

It probably comes as no surprise that an array of poetry found its way into my new book, 'Notebook Notions-Using a writer's notebook to harvest ideas and transform your teaching.'   The book is hybrid in nature with poetry being a central character in this story of a life-long writing journey in the company of notebooks. Notebooks have inhabited every corner of my writing world. They have been the place i have come to feast on words.  I consciously launched the book with the poem, 'Risky Words.' My intention was  to set the scene for the reading journey unfolding  from that point. Poetry is a flame burning brightly in all my work. Risky Words     I sit at my desk some mornings Confronted by slips of paper Scribbled lists And a head full of loosely connected thoughts Fragments of a dream perhaps I link them tenuously in my morning mind Sorting them Before writing… I must remain courageous I must a risk taker be And write to th...

 This week I am dining out on food poems. A topic quite generously served up within my  world of words.  The first poem is quite old. I wrote it more than forty years ago. The second poem is more recent. In between these poems there are countless other food poems I've dined out on. Bon appetite! SOGGY BEANS IN MY JEANS Auntie Bess I must confess I didn’t eat my greens When you got up to get dessert I hid them in my jeans   I then walked home to my place As quiet as a mouse My pockets full of soggy beans Until I reached my house   Well, that was many years ago And I was just a kid And still, I don’t like soggy beans -I Never Ever Did! © Alan j Wright JUST A SMIDGE   I shall break off a tiny piece of this biscuit A morsel A smidge Enough to tantalize and tease my tastebuds   Something this sweet and delicious Requires delicate nibbles At the very edge Just to make it last a little longer.   This taste tempting treat Must ...