This week I had the privilege of talking to various groups of young writers as part of the Knox Network Literacy Festival. Their questions were thought provoking and most pertinent.  As we have come to appreciate, each writer’s process is unique. Revealing that process enables the writer sharing aspects of their process (as well as other writers) to better understand the influences on their writing. A young writer asked me, ‘When did you begin to be a poet?’ and while I talked about how the process of becoming a poet was something that grew across many years and a host of experiences and influences, there was perhaps one particular experience way back in my Grade 3 year that may well have been a catalyst for what has become a life source for my writing. I recall clearly how my teacher Mr Manzie, asked the members of our class to each write a poem about Spring-time .  My words that day caught the attention of some of my classmates, who ...

Sometimes poets like to compare things. Often they write about the simple and familiar things of this world in order to alert the reader to new perspectives and possibilities. A thing that is familiar might be used to highlight a connection to something else... And so, as I sat in my favourite Italian cafe, 'Il Piccolo,' writing in my notebook while sipping on a morning coffee, I began to ponder on the connection between the work of my friend, Joshua,  the chef and me, the poet. This is what emerged... A TASTE FOR POETRY A poem for Joshua Noonan The chef and the poet are makers The knife and the pen The tools of their creation Each held deftly in the hand The chef adds a pinch of pepper to season the soup The poet adds a dash of word lightning to end the line Each in their own way, Make splendid use of ingredients -herbs and spices -rhythm and rhyme Metaphor, simile Sage and thyme Flavour and tang Infuse the mix ...

I have been a traveling poet of late. Exploring three islands in the Mediterranean region. Almost six weeks devoted to discovering and gathering on the islands of Capri, Sicily and Salina (part of the Aeolian island group).  With my trusty writer's notebook and camera, I made sure I soaked up as much detail as I could during my time in these special places. Snippets and snapshots were eagerly collected and raw words captured for later polishing... Swimmers on the Malfa Beach, Salina Valley of the Temples, Agrigento,Sicily. Exploring Anacapri, Capri Scala dei Turchi, Realmonte, Sicily Cat in the Piazza, Erice, Sicily The mist covered streets of Erice Here are a few of  the many poems inspired by my time in these beautiful island settings. A Night For Numbers There were ten cats  purring in the piazza this evening Curled up  Small, furry clumps shielded by the shadows of the oleander trees Five Russian sailors sat in...

It has been exceedingly windy in my neck of the woods the last few days. Cold, icy blasts of wind have blown across the bay and bullied those of us dwelling on the shore. The leaves of autumn have been dancing in my garden.The trees bend and cower. So, batten down the hatches and hang onto your hat, because all this windy weather prompts me to share a couple of wind driven poems.  It also provides an opportunity to reintroduce a couple of poets, previously celebrated here- the wonderful of Spike Milligan and the equally amazing Max Fatchen return to blow you away with their words.   WINDS LIGHT TO DISASTROUS As I sipped morning tea A gale (force three) Blew away a slice of toast Then a gale (force four) Blew my wife out the door I wonder which I'll miss the most She was still alive When a gale (force five) Blew her screaming o'er Golders Green When a gale six blew And it took her to A mosque in the Medanine Now I pray to heaven That a gale (force se...

Young poets are always asking, 'Of all the poems you have written, what is your favourite poem?' I have trouble designating a particular poem. For me, it's a bit like being asked, 'Of all your children, who is your favourite?  Among a poet's collection there are poems that receive a good reaction, and poems that receive regular requests. There are also poems that have quite special memories attached to them. This makes them particularly special for me as the writer. Then there are those freshly made poems that as a poet I am keen to share. Those poems bring a new energy. Nestled among my favourite poems are some that are more intentionally thoughtful, because poetry is capable of appealing to every emotion. I like it when my poems make a reader, laugh and smile, giggle and guffaw, but I am equally pleased when my poems make the reader pause to think. I am happy to declare quite openly though, the following poem, written by Brian Moses remains a personal favou...

I am always looking for ways to link poetry to broader pursuits. Mathematics is one such area. Today i get to share a poem that includes numbers. The beauty of poetry is that just like mathematics it involves patterns. Both poetry and mathematics employ symbols and both involve  comparisons.  Mathematics involves precise definitions and specific terminology- and so to poetry. There appears to exist plenty of commonality between the two. I think I need to explore this relationship further.  In the meantime, here is a poem prompted by school memories and mathematical moments... Turning the Tables All through primary school Amanda struggled to remember the answer to six times nine. It remained her times table blackspot. No fast recall at all… Amanda now almost forty years old  Still hesitates when making this demon calculation. The numbers she needs always run and hide  Deep inside her head. The fog of confusion sweeps across her min...

I want to share a poem today from Eve Merriam, titled, 'How to Eat a Poem.' In this short poem, Eve Merriam invites us to embrace an appetite for both food and poetry. I found this poem at the back of a book called 'Eat This Poem- a Literary Feast of Recipes Inspired by Poetry, by Nicole Gulotta. The poem provides a fitting final piece in this in this artful book.  The book, a gift from a friend, celebrates two of life's essential ingredients- food and poetry. My friend knows me extremely well. The book strikes a continuing chord in my personal life.   Connecting food and poetry opens up fresh ways for readers to access poetry as well as adding deeper meaning to the food we cook for family and friends. This book is a wonderful gift for poetry lovers and doubly so for those with a passion for food and cooking. I have no wish to analyse this poem. I merely offer it to you as one would offer a guest a tasty delight. Bon appetit! How To Eat a Poem by Eve ...

I went rummaging through my poet's suitcase and found a gem of a poem from the late Australian poet, Max Fatchen. Max was born on the Adelaide plains in South Australia in 1920. and grew up on a farm among hayfields and huge Clydesdale horses, which he drove in a plough that made quite crooked furrows (Max's assessment). Max died in 2012.  Max later became a journalist working on Adelaide newspapers and worked throughout Australia and overseas. He most enjoyed writing stories about people.  Four decades of writing for children, especially those of primary school age, began in 1966 with 'The River Kings.'  He wrote 20 books; his novels appear in seven countries and his poetry throughout the English-speaking world. As well as novels he  a collection of short stories and several books of verse for young readers.  His verse is frequently included in anthologies. Max had a wry sense of humour and this comes through in a lot of his writing. Since then it has b...

Given the fact that we recently celebrated St Patrick's Day, it seems appropriate that I take this opportunity to continue the Irish focus and recognize one of Ireland's leading literary figures... Seamus Heaney was born in County Derry in Northern Ireland in 1939 and died in 2013. He became a multi award winning poet. His first collection of poems, 'Death of a Naturalist' appeared in 1966 and helped to establish Heaney as one of the major poets of the 20th century. From that first anthology, I have chosen 'Storm On The Island.' This poem tells us about the stoic resistance of people and structures to an incoming storm. The island is not named. Poetic scholars believe this is a poem that can be taken literally, as a monologue on the life and attitude of island people facing a storm, or it can be understood as a  metaphor of political struggle on the island of Ireland. Heaney knew both worlds.  The poems of this first collection are grounded in the soil...

Opportunities to make poetry exist all around us. We must practice being alert to possibility. As a committed traveller, wanderer and explorer, I find ideas in local settings as well as more far flung, some might say, exotic places as well.  This poem found its origins in a morning walk in Ireland a few years back. I rediscovered it this week and have given it a bit of a polish and a dusting off. Please join me, and a wandering we will go... A  W alk  T hrough  A   S easide  V illage Breakfast failed to fire The start of a brand new day Just cindered toast And hard-boiled egg To set me on my way Wandered down the main street The shops were mostly shuttered Birds on rooftops Sat in silent lines A single pigeon fluttered Passed a man With a bristled broom His doorway keenly clearing I offered him my morning smile But he was not for cheering Circled round a tree-lined park As a couple did Tai Chi A lean and hungry mutt took time To bark...