The latest addition to my ever expanding collection of Verse Novels. This one titled, 'The Only Branch Of The Family Tree' is written by Australia's Sherryl Clark and deals with the issue of family estrangement.  Estrangement is a surprisingly common phenomenon in families and each story is different. The thing these stories have in common is grief and a sense of loss.  It's a quick read. I read it yesterday over lunch. An engaging read, thoughtfully written.  The story opens with a teacher asking students to share their individual family history and develops from there.  Published in 2025. Suitable for year 3-6.

  I read Andy Jackson's mash up poem 'Unhomely' in his anthology, 'Human Looking.' Andy Jackson chose to alternate lines with Randolph Bourne's 1911 essay 'The Handicapped.'  Flowing on from this focused reading I find myself keen to also explore this poetic approach. I have subsequently chosen Jaan Kaplinski's 'The Washing Never Gets Done' to do a little word weaving of my own.  Each Of Us Is In A State Of Becoming Alternating lines with Jaan Kaplinski’s 'The Washing Never Gets Done' Bob Dylan contends we are never complete Existing in a state of forever becoming, Always becoming Something new, something different All around Hanoi people continually tinker, install and rebuild, continually- The washing never gets done Resolution and completion seemingly less important than action -Action matters more The furnace doesn’t get heated, Books never get read, Incomplete buildings appear everywhere, Construction in an obvious state of flux ...

 Today is The International Day of Light. Today we celebrate light and its role in science culture, art, education and development. Light is critical to our survival on earth and the survival of animals, plants and smaller organisms. For me, the meaning of life is inextricably connected to shining light into dark places, for it is a sanitizer.  ' There is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.' Amanda Gorman And so I shall enlighten  you, dear reader with a poem to celebrate this special day.   Becoming Lighthearted Don’t hide your light under a bushel -Or down the back of the couch for that matter Gather up all the light you can muster And drive away the shadows of darkness Release it willingly Light’s journey Is endless It penetrates the horror of war zones It visits shattered lives Fractured communities Sharing its restorative grace It delivers solace to fractured hearts Offering renewed hope and a hand up  It...

 Tomorrow, the Australian nation goes to the polls. not all of them I might add, because almost 4 million of us have voted early to avoid the long queues. The election cycle, after almost four years of government lasts a rather merciful six weeks. Voting is compulsory for all those 18 years and over.  Politics in the modern era is quite stage managed everywhere across the world, even in democracies. Little is left to chance. Even journalists are tightly managed and kept guessing. Questions often vetted. Campaigns are becoming vanilla.  Spontaneous speeches have largely been confined to the past, but occasionally speakers do stand on the steps or a soapbox and spruik their beliefs, whether constructive or conspiratorial,valid or venal.  The following poem tries to capture such interactions: Standing On The Soapbox Vinegar laced wisecracks fill the air Some mad with young blood Some stained with weariness and age They spill from the mouths of naysayers Poked bears and ...

  Southern Australia is now deep into autumnal days. We are experiencing what John Keats eloquently described as the 'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.'  Our mornings are slightly cooler, the air crisp and clear. Afternoons, warm with gentle sunlight and the absence of wind. Flocks of white cockatoos have returned to feast on parkland grasses and the ever fitful twittering of rainbow lorikeets resounds from surrounding treetops, while lemons and olives ripen slowly in the garden. The ocean's surface at nearby Fisherman's Beach is smooth like freshly ironed sheets.  Over the next week, as we close in on Easter, April will deliver five consecutive days of above average temperatures. More to savour. Autumn is my favourite season as you might well notice.  So here are my autumn offerings. I'll leaf it there... Notes From Inside Autumn   We are sitting inside Autumn's edges The light,less harsh. The sun, Warm for the season, Delivers a block of mellow days. Au...

Today I'm highlighting the poetry of Peter Dixon. Peter Dixon was not just a poet. He was a performer, educationalist and artist.   He grew up in London during WW2, and as a boy his schooling was far from successful. He struggled with spelling and the understanding of word, form and grammar, so he tended to write secretly at home, drawing and writing of things largely ignored by schools.   Despite this difficult phase of his life, Peter eventually became a school teacher and then a senior lecturer in education. It often mystified him as to how all of this came to pass. As a teacher, he strived to be unbiased and did not neglect the children who experienced learning challenges.   Peter Dixon became a full time children’s writer and educational consultant. His first book was published in 1978. Whilst living in Winchester, Hampshire, with his family, he   contributed to over 100 poetry anthologies and had seven collections of his own work published including Grow Your O...

 During Covid when my home state of Victoria entered a protracted lockdown I started some personal poetry projects. One was 'Covid Chronicles,'  a collection of short poems of personal reflection which eventually were submitted to a time capsule intiated by Australia Post.  I also started posting poetry over two week intervals on a tree on the reserve behind our house. The reserve runs for approxiately 400 metres, between houses, before ending at Fisherman's Beach. People, families and dog walkers walk its length each day. I hear them from my writing cave. The poems were initially displayed under the banner- The Poet Tree . This humble project commenced in August 2020 and continued until September 2023, clearly immune to Covid. A huge storm completely blew away one of the posts and I took it as a sign to bring the project to a close. I was also looking at fresh projects to pursue, so it was timely.  Feedback indicated people missed the regular posting of poems, so in...

This week I'm sharing another Ars Poetica poem. The term loosely means the art of poetry.   The resultant poem is essentially a reflection on the writing of poetry. This ancient form goes all the way back to the Roman poet, Horace who first championed the form. These poems involve the writer examining aspects of poetry's purpose, methods and nature.  Ink In The Heart   There is no ink on my body Not a single tattoo I carry my ink in my veins Allowing it to escape through chosen words Laid down in poems   A river of inky thoughts flow forth Line by line Trickles and torrents Across a broad landscape of hungry pages   Thought transcribed Fertile revelations Pure and heartfelt Happy, angry and unharnessed They spill and spread out.   This enduring relationship Reveals to friend and stranger The strength of an inner call To which I willingly respond- Write, And continue to write Let the ink flow Reveal the word...

  I have just received a long awaited copy of the 'Collected Poems- Wendy Cope.' This comprehensive anthology provides an  impressive overview of the much admired U K poet's work, across several decades.  Wendy Cope has long impressed as a witty, insightful poet, whose work is both memorable and full of humourous intent. The human condition is extensively explored in her work.  Her first collection of poems was published in 1986. Eight further anthologies have followed as well as two poetry collections for children. She has further edited six additional anthologies.  I have been immediately inspired by my reading of the lengthy first line index at the back of 'Collected Poems.' It has inspired me to create a Cento poem. The Mystery Of A Poet’s Inspiration  -After Wendy Cope   Where do you get your ideas from? -An English meadow early in the morning A talented young chimpanzee A three letter beginning with f The fat boy in the seat across ...