Inspiration comes from many quarters. I read Andy Jackson's anthology, 'Human Looking' where his poems speak for the disabled in ways that are illuminating, revealing and tender. Andy Jackson presents poems that speak of surgical procedures and  interventions. Jackson writes from lived experience adding to the emotional impact of his words when speaking of illness, pain and prejudice. He frequently finds his spark in surgical terminology and procedural semantics while also experimenting with form. He writes without any sense of self pity.  I found inspiration in Andy Jackson's honest and at times confronting approach to his lived reality. He addresses his personal vunerability with daring.  This is my response to a recent lived experience. I do not claim to share the same lived experience as Andy Jackson, but have drawn inspiration from the honesty of the work he has shared.   Installing A New Appliance   The incision -is an encore performance The surgeon cuts a

 I recently purchased a copy of Robert Wood Lynn's anthology, 'Mothman Apologia.'  The poems within are narrative poems of love and grief, built from a storytelling tradition. Taken together they encompass the poet's experience of growing up. As well as appreciating the narrative thread,  I found myself noticing the various structures used in the presentation of these poems. The layout of these narrative poems made me keen to try out both structure and form. Robert Wood Lynn provided the reader with a range of  layouts. The turning of each page invited a consciously different layout for his words and I appreciated the visual variety this afforded me as a reader.  I based my narrative poem on a personal experience during my childhood. The layout owes a debt to Robert Wood Lynn 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 slo

I've been reading a lot of articles this week concerning education and the increasing complexity surrounding the role of teachers.  This teacher -feature co-incided with the 85th Aniversary of my old High School. All these occurrences prompted me to think about the teachers I encountered along the course of my particular learning life.  Teacher Feature My teachers, -the best ones Shone the light of learning Upon our young minds They unfolded wonder And shared the power of understanding They taught me that a platypus Is also called an ornithorhynchus  They taught that the Amazon River Is the lungs of the world They taught me how to dissect frogs And the role of subject and predicate They taught me to play the recorder And how to use long division They taught me about the water cycle And how to spell hippopotamus They taught me the power of verbs And where the hypotenuse was located They taught me how to hurdle correctly And to appreciate Australia’s tyranny of distance They taught m

  A lunchtime announcement in a school often floats above the consciousness of its intended audience.  The noise of the playground, conversations among teachers across their often busy lunch break, all diminish the impact of the message. The words become wallpaper. As I sat in a school staff-room on one of my visits, the following announcement was shared over the speakers.  ‘If anyone has seen Ruby Delfonzo’s lunch could they bring it to the office please. The lunchbox is bright red with green tipped corners and a bright green handle.’  I grinned as I listened to this brief announcement. For me, it was brimming with potential. It was gold. My mind whirred into action. What a great name, I thought. Ruby Delfonzo sounds like a character in a novel. Distinctive, unforgettable. It's such a strong name. The lunchbox description built a strong visual image. And clearly this was no ordinary lunchbox with its contrasting colours. Probably hard to lose… RUBY DELFONZO’S LUNCHBOX IS MISSING R

This week, I am hungry for poems about food.  Food is such a universal topic to explore.    I have chosen a couple of poems from an unpublished anthology.  These poems take a deliberatly irreverant look at the menu. We all have food experiences -some wierd, some wonderful. Here are  two poems to nibble on as an entree.  Bon Appetit!  ALL YOU CAN EAT There’s a sign above the door At the Maggoty Cat Café Stating, if you can eat the menu -Then you don’t have to pay. The servings are substantial They make that very clear The waiters guide you to your seat As they grin from ear to ear. They start with tuna eye balls Then bring you chicken feet Bird’s nest soup and frog’s legs A gourmandiser’s treat. Next up, they serve wasp crackers And rattlesnake they’ve fried They finish up with jellied eels With a large serve of Spam on the side. Alan j Wright MAVIS DINES OUT Mavis had a little lamb Then,she ate some cakes Some Shepherd’s Pie, A jug of milk, And a bag of jelly snakes. The people in the

I have found myself provoked into action by fellow Poetry Friday poets and the attention they have been giving to prose poetry.I wanted to go to this same place. It sounded so intriguing.  I quickly settled on a theme -travel experiences. I delved into a vast collection of entries in an unpublished manuscript tentatively called -Inklings, for they all originated from writer's notebook entries across more than forty years. So this is a sample of a new anthology  currently under construction with the draft title -Travel Seen. Economical Exfoliation Young American woman walks to the water's edge on Seminyak Beach. Assuming a Buddha pose she begins scooping handfuls of shoreline sand, covering her entire body with a wet, black, gritty application of a clearly abundant natural resource. With admirable flexibility she covers her entire back, rubbing, rubbing, exfoliating her skin with this plentiful gritty application. She stands, removes her sunglasses and wide brimmed hat before pa

We write with our ears said, Ralph Fletcher -and Ralph is right. Last week, I overheard a cafe conversation- I do this a lot. They provide classic collectables, constantly stimulating and sparking writing ideas. It  went like this... A woman walks into the cafe where her friend is waiting. The friend inquires- 'Where's Keith?' 'Oh, he's at home. I left him to his own devices....' That was all I needed to hear. My mind came alive with possibilities. I rehearsed words and then I opened my notebook and began to trap some words. Keith morphed into Gordon and everything followed on from that point.  Gordon's Love Of Gadgets Gordon loved his telescope His microscope His gyroscope   Gordon loved his electric mower His leaf   blower His seed sower   Gordon loved his Android phone His trombone His grindstone   Madeline, his long suffering spouse of thirty years Eventually ran out of tears So neglected, so alone Flew the coop, departed ho

I am indebted to fellow poet, Janice Scully from Salt City Verse  , who last week posted her 'Holiday Haikus.'  Janice wrote her haiku poems to accompany three  photographs gathered from a recent holiday. Her poems were ekphrastic poems. Janice's post sparked my thinking... I decided to trawl through my extensive collection of travel photographs and choose three from the archives and link them to some poetry. I consciously chose a syllabic sibling of the haiku, -the tanka (5,7,5,7,7).  I have called the resultant poems- 'Travel Tankas.' The world we wander is increasingly visual. Our smartphones make it so accessible. It is increasingly apparent that there is an interconnectedness between photography and writing. We can use the photographic image to enhance our writing experiences. It makes sense to bring these two dynamic crafts together.  Photographs don't over-ride my need for words, they enhance it... So thank you again, Janice, your post helped launch a mo

 Poets respond. They are frequently prompted by events occurring in the world around them. Local and global matters compel a poet to respond.  Therefore,  I find myself needing to write about the conflict once more taking place in the Middle East. I write from the perspective of innocent lives lost on both sides of this hideous, rolling conflict.  Poets have long written in the political sphere. This poem has been swirling around in my head all week. I must respond to this internal tension. These became words I felt compelled to write.  My poem is a triversen poem.  The Continuing Conflict   For the duration of my life this narrow strip of disputed land has been a conflict zone.   Daily atrocities pour forth from news reports, where innocent people fall victim and terror is written on children’s faces.   Wailing sirens duly announce the firestorm of destruction and the sky rains death.   Any thought of a two state solution has been trampled by madmen and

  I have been reading Michael Rosen's powerful poetry anthology, ' On The Move- Poems About Migration.' It is a most affecting collection of poems.  Michael delivers a personal and global perspective that speaks to endurance.  This poetry anthology is interwoven with aspects of memoir. A number of the poems are reproduced from earlier Michael Rosen anthologies. 'Migration isn't just something that happens to other people. If you look into your own family history , no matter where you come from , chances are that you will arrive at the story of your relatives' migration to where you live now.' Michael Rosen Reading these poems prompted me to think about my own migration experiences and the migration story of my ancestors, along with stories learned from those people I have met across my life.  It is frequently in reading that poetry is 'sparked' to life. This reading experience delivered a strong poetic calling.  I have migrated for work and educatio

We all have them. Old landscape photographs that fail to register years later. I am often pondering the locations of such images. U.K. singer/songwriter, Billy Bragg has even written a song about 'Ten Mysterious Photographs That Can't Be Explained.' I certainly have a pile of such photographs among my collection that fit that category. I am sufficiently intriguied by all this photographic mystery to write an ekphrastic poem about.  This is poetry of place, even if the place is currently unknown... Landscape, Somewhere A photographic image Of a somewhat non-descript landscape Nothing in this old black and white snap To readily identify where it might have been taken No distinct memory markers No printed signs To satisfy my geographical curiosity A mysterious photo that can’t be explained As Billy Bragg once lamented. It’s just a bland landscape -a stretch of water ringed by a dark and distant forest Some tonal difference But little else The sky? -a grey unbroken mass. Would

  I've been pondering my digital password problems recently. They need to be consistently inconsistent in order to thwart the evil intent of on-line hackers and assorted ner' do wells out in digital space.   It's become a constant bugbear having to monitor and update these pesky passwords.  I know, full well, I am not alone here... So, this poem could be classified as a Rant poem.  What gets on your wick? What drives you bananas? Do you have a life irritation you need to scratch? Poetry exists in things. This time my thing is-passwords! Please Confirm Your Password   Everywhere I wander in digital space My digital security My password purity Is constantly questioned I feel impudent on the internet I’m too weak Not strong enough Try again, that’s wrong Make it unique Change it regularly like jocks and socks Make it easy to remember Impossible to hack -Go random consider a sprinkling of letters, numbers, symbols Upper case Lower case Just i