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Showing posts from December, 2017

Words That Come At Night Poem

Words are a poet's oxygen. They present as an essential presence in a poet's existence. Because poets are logophiles(lovers of words), it is therefore unsurprising that we are ever ready to receive them when they come calling. They are the most welcomevisitors. Words with smooth and gentle tones float by, some are mysterious and puzzling,  others drop in, or crash land, jagged, pithy, confronting -all are received with suitable respect. I frequently find myself reflecting in my writing upon the constant joy derived from this sweet connection with written and spoken language. I hope this poem provides some small insight as to my personal relationship with wondrous words...

What do words mean to you?
The Words That Come At Night

Sometimes The words of unwritten poems Slide into bed next to me They nestle on my pillow And whisper in my ear Write me down Write me down -Remember me In tomorrow’s early light
Soft echoes at the edge of sleep Implore me to Commit to memory Sweet refrains and edgy fr…

Poems of the Season

Poems of the season shared with fun and good cheer in mind!

For those who celebrate Christmas and for those who don't, I wish you all safe and happy times with your respective loved ones. 

I wrote this little collection of Christmas inspired verse wearing reindeer antlers just to get into the spirit of things. HO, HO, HO!

Stocking Time

I awoke on Christmas morning
And clambered down the stairs
I saw the Christmas stockings
Bulging with presents to spare
I noticed my sister's stocking
Looked slightly larger than mine
I considered swapping them over
But I didn't cross over that line.

Angel on The Tree

I saw her smiling down at me
The angel on our Christmas Tree
She sits aloft with festive lights
I'm glad it's her, I'm scared of heights

The Christmas Catastrophe

Our cat went mad the other night
And attacked our Christmas tree
All the bells and baubles
Were shattered in the spree
And now she sits in contemplation
Amid the scattered decoration
It is a woeful sight to see
A bit of a cat-astr…

Poetry Friday: Meeting Frank in A Cafe

This poem was prompted by a photograph I unearthed recently. The visit to one of Frank Sinatra's favoured haunts from his Hoboken, New Jersey days, is deeply etched in my memory. I recall two visits during the six amazing years based in New York. For me, as for the late Jim Croce, photographs and memories are forever linked. They are often the essential pairing for new words. I look. I think for quite some time and then I wait for my pen to lead me like a flashlight towards new discoveries. Such is the magic of poetry...

Meeting Frank In A Cafe

Seated in a Brooklyn cafe At a table cloaked in checks of red and white squares. Where tall, silent waiters wearing ties stood by waiting to catch our orders. And pictures of Frank Sinatra splashed black and white memories across the walls. Each frame, trapped a moment. Each image, a slice of a larger life.
We ordered pizzas. 
-Mozzarella and a sprinkle of basil, As Frank hung about watching everyone eat, talk -and drink Chianti. All the while memories…

Chocolate Cake- A Poem Re-Imagined

It is always gives me great delight to share new poetry books. A few days ago I added another one to my ever expanding collection. 

This one has particular significance as it concerns my all time favourite Michael Rosen poem, 'Chocolate Cake.' The poem is presented in Rosen's preferred narrative verse style.

I have lost count of the times I have shared this poem with young poets. I never tire of reading it. When asked about my favourite poem, I never hesitate to respond to eager, young poets, 'That's easy -Chocolate Cake.'

The poem first appeared in Michael Rosen's anthology, 'Quick Let's Get Out Of Here.' published in 1983.

This famous poem has now been re-imagined as a picture book. The poem is full of mischief, forbidden fun and lots of chocolate filled moments. Kids love it; making requests for multiple readings. What better recommendation can a poem receive?

Some modifications have been made to the original poem -additional words and sounds, but…

Life of Leon And Line Breaks

They say it is the line and where it is broken that provides the rhythm of a poem. The longer the line, the more the poem sounds like natural speech. Poets break lines for different reasons. Here are some:
according to their natural breathingto emphasize a particular or wordsto create tensionto change the pace of the poemThe original version of this poem had longer lines and fewer line breaks. I was not completely happy with the outcome. It sounded a bit slow and pedestrian. The theme of my poem is not relaxed along with the focus of the writing, Leon. This made for a mismatch.

In revising the poem, I needed to build more tension and increase the pace for the reader. So, you will notice my poem has quite short lines throughout the entire poem. I did this to create a greater sense of urgency around Leon's story. The poem is loosely based on a childhood memory of a kid I used to know. All our writing is informed by our lives, if we are open to these influences. Writing is just as much…

Poem Of The Day -'Compound Interest.'

Dear Visitor, I invite you to visit Australian Children's Poetry where my poem, 'Compound Interest' has been selected as poem of the day. Hope you enjoy reading it.
Click on the link:

Where Does Your Poetry Hide?

Poetry is an ever inclusive part of my summer writes. It calls out to me to be included. In those lazy, hazy days, I shall seek it out in every corner ...  
In truth, it's with me all year round, wherever I am. So, where is it hiding? Where is it to be found? Let’s investigate…

Where Does My Poetry Hide?

Where does my poetry hide?
It snuggles in snatches of conversations  
floating down the street
It rocks about in my collected treasures
Junky and jumbled

I look for it in lettuce, limes and lemons 
In asparagus, apples, even anchovies
It might be sealed a packet of peppermints
A jar of peanut butter
Escaping with aromatic intensity
Poetry washes up on the shoreline 
in clusters of seashells
Glittering sea glass
Seaweed and wet sand

I seek it out in a song’s refrain
And voices in a playground
I find it nestling in my favourite books
It emerges in isolated words
and fabulous fragments
Angry and otherwise
It swirls in the mumbles and whispers rumbling against the internal walls of houses.
It develops in pho…