As poets, we take pride in our capacity for close and considered observation. It is a skill we must consciously practice and hone. The senses must also be alert and alive when we venture into our worlds. We do get better with regular practice. All this is tied up in the idea of living life twice, where one experiences a moment, an experience, or an event, and then relives it through writing. The following poem owes its origins to my regular practice of morning walks. An everyday experience that delivered me words I could not deny... Reflections On A Brisk Morning Walk My brisk morning walk Came with some minor revelations Not life changing, Nor, earth-shattering, Merely noteworthy. There was a singular encounter with a lone jogger A woman, small in stature Who passed with a laboured gait And a strained face Reminiscent of a failed  bowel movement. Two young women  Passed by jauntily Resplendent in active wear And incongruously vaping smoke signals -to track their location,...

In  this post I am sharing a poem that focuses on the sense of sound. For the last few days I have wandered into different rooms of our house, at different times of the day. I consciously sat still and listened to the sounds around me. I recorded them in my notebook. In writing my poem I took those notes and shuffled, shaved, chopped and polished them in order to achieve my desired line order.  You might consider finding an alternative quiet place for yourself-a park, a garden or green space, a riverbank, a  valley, a shoreline and sit undisturbed for a while and listen...   It is often said ideas surround us and if we sit still for a while they will reveal themselves. My poem is quite obviously a list poem but it is also an exercise of observance. Poets need to invoke the senses, either individually, or in concert. It sharpens your observational skills. Hope you enjoy the 'sound' of my poem... Heard Around The House Sit still, Listen, Can you hear them? The sharp sl...

Image Poem This poem owes its existence to Georgia Heard's idea of the six room image poem where six elements are addressed in the writing that follows: Image Light Sound Questions Feelings Repetition The challenge is to expand our vision of selected images by attending to each element when writing. The idea is to spend time considering each of the six elements by thinking about them as rooms we must enter in order to think more deeply about our word choice. The Grandfather Clock The Grandfather clock Stood tall like a palace guard Marking time in Nana's lounge-room Against the wall Avoiding the sunlight streaming through lace curtained windows Tick-tocking as the pendulum swung in its unerring arc Brass and chains and moving arms  Encased behind a long glass face The clock announced the passing of each hour With blare and boom The rowdy ringing out Chased the silence from the room Why so loud? the small ones asked Why so tall? the small ones wond...

Sometimes a poet can be inspired by a smell, an aroma. That smell can be sweet and cloying or it can be putrefying and decaying, like stinky shoes. The poet may have a nose attuned to noticing particular smells. Our senses are a wonderful thing to call upon when writing. This poem is dedicated to all those stinkers who think it's cool to torture our nostrils with their foul smelling  fishies  in tins. If it smells that bad, surely it doesn't deserve to be eaten. SANDRA'S LUNCH Just what lurks in Sandra's lunch? Munch and crunch! Munch and crunch! Just what lurks in Sandra's lunch? Do you want to know? I think I have certain hunch Just what lurks in Sandra's lunch I think I have a certain hunch Do you want to know? Well, yesterday was curried egg Curried egg Curried egg Yesterday was curried egg The day before salami The things you find in Sandra's lunch Are enough to drive you barmy! One day, her lunch I tell yo...