This week I turned my attention to natural phenomenon. I made some seasonal adjustments to suit the weather in my immediate world. I set aside my global concerns for a moment and lavished my attention on autumn's glorious gifts. I returned to a small, leather bound notebook where I gather short form poetry -mainly haiku, tricube and tanka. I wrote in my special notebook across the week inspired by natural phenomena like weather events, seasonal changes and observations related to these mellow days. This haiku harvesting remains contemplative, calming and reflective. It represents a form of limbering up for further writing across my day. Gymnastics for the mind.  Here is a sample of my autumnal harvest. A utmn H aiku   Autumn sings to me Like no other season can Nature’s song, sung sweet.   The leaves change colour Their variegations dazzling Across mellow months.   Crisp mornings abound They usher afternoons lush With gentle sunlight. ...

  So, what is the answer? At present this is probably the most asked question all around the world. We have all been snared in a global conflict that was initially referred to as an excursion, which was actually an incursion which could more accurately be called an act of war. The ripples of this ill-advised miscalculation have had repercussions reverberating far beyond the theatre of war.  So, what's the answer? I certainly didn't hear it yesterday. The address to the American people, and by extension the rest of the world, provided no answers whatsoever. It delivered a bottle of smoke.  I confess to being utterly bewildered and terribly concerned by what has been set in place by two world leaders who take no responsibility for what they have unleashed, and the disruption to global affairs they have set in play. Such actions possess all the hallmarks of moral malnutrition... That's my response, my rant. Even if there is a clear answer to this disturbing situation, those...

 I cordially invite readers to visit UK poet,  Brian Moses' Sssssnake Hotel   and discover some secrets and poetic delights about his guest this month.  Brian Moses is a widely published and renowned, poet. So I am quite delighted to find myself and my poetry journey featured on Brian's wonderful blog.  Brian has recently published a Verse Novel- 'I Am Ray's Imaginary Friend.' Check it out while you are there. I'm currently reading it as a worthy addition to my ever expanding verse novel collection.  Please visit my guest pages at the Ssssnake Hotel here:  https://brian-moses.blogspot.com/2026/03/guest-poet-alan- wright-allow-me-to.html?view=timeslide  

  This week I am responding to a prompt in a news article asking - Are you feeling swamped right now?  That was all I needed to set my writing mind into furious action. Sometimes a simple question can set the mind alight. I'll let you, dear reader determine how I feel...  I would classify the resultant poem -A Rant poem, and a long one at that. I have written Rant poems previously. They provide a wonderful outlet for strong emotions and unsettling feelings. Anyway, sit yourself down, strap in -here is my Rant poem.  The News of the Day- Chronicles of Chaos   The news And the views on the news Are let loose In torrents Cascading into the conscious mind The digital tsunami comes flooding Endlessly dumping headlines With updates layered thickly Delivered by device and design Sensory overload and mind-boggling exhaustion Have another helping of despair and dross And while you're here, juggle this- and this And have a dash of this as well. ...

 The mere mention of Yorkshire Fog Grass in a random conversation elicited a memory of distant childhood recently. Such are the merurial sparks of poetic inspiration. It behoves us to be constantly alert to the stirrings of poetry magic. For more than a week, a poem percolated in my mind before it was sufficiently formed to emerge in my notebook. It has been further revised to reach this moment.  Hope this nostalgic recollection resonates and sparks memories of your own wild imaginings and experiences. Were you a cloud watcher too? The Cloud Watchers The Yorkshire Fog grass grew wildly on the vacant lot next to my grandfather’s cottage Grass, bleached by the summer sun And now the colour of wheat.   Dense grass, so long, Small children could hide in it with ease And watch people passing by -and so, we did.   Robert, Margaret and me Lying on our backs Staring at the sky Watching a slew of clouds Slide across the heavens.   All the while, those nebula were shape-s...

When the reading of poetry is mindfully modeled, young learners are more inclined to read poetry for their own purposes. Here are some tips to assist you to present poetry reading successfully:   • Read the poem aloud to yourself first. Consider the meaning, language, rhythm and other features of the poem that you will highlight in your reading.   • Convey the meaning of the poem with your voice.   • Allow the students to hear the poem first before they see it. Read it a second time, but this time let them see the words.   • Avoid long elaborate introductions. Give them the title and the name of the poet.   • Let the tone of your voice convey the mood.   • Let the language convey the rhythm.   • Each word of the poem is important. Savor each one.   • Use your voice as a tool- whisper where appropriate, Shout if necessary, stretch words for effect!   • Invite short discussion rather than long analysis. Don’t dissect each line, don’t be a lint ...

 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...