Westward a bunch of flowers adorns the table in the living room upstairs sent by kind neighbours after person(s) unknown threw an empty bottle through a downstairs bedroom window
Northly I sit in the yard garden smiling wearing a new shirt and waistcoat bought by my love finally getting a photo I like for all my online avatars
A Buddha sits on the window sill South view over his shoulder sheltered beneath a tree size avocado final success after countless failures to grow from a pit
A Buddha head sits among plants on a garden shelf, contemplating fossils garnered on English beaches and brought East by our son from Mexico but not from its yellow hills
Clematis blooms pink against the impossible blue of the May sky fluffed with clouds each year the Montana climbs to such height
Photos call us home in a sixth dimension of the heart
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Shari
Each stranger’s name and address is like a mini detective challenge I follow police protocol and locate you on a map so I know you are in Seattle home to the PoPo Fest Beyond that your name gives me nothing but for no better reason than that you are one “O” short of a monsoon I picked this picture of Indian shoes some years past at the Leeds Asian Festival so blinging I couldn’t resist…
Shari was quick out of the blocks, her postcard poem being my fourth to arrive – which means she had no more idea about me than I had about her… Her card was beautiful, her poem short and sweet…
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Amy
Do you believe in coincidence because what are the odd of two Millers at 6 and 7 in the chart? Could you be related even brother and sister, wife and ex just plain friends joined by matching nomenclature calling to remind that sign-up is beckoning for the Poetry Postcard Festival and leaping into un-poet like action – registering almost simultaneously like quantum entangled pairs I choose not to believe in coincidence…
The three poems by dead poets I have chosen to read for last night’s Dead Poets Society challenge by kim881 in Poetics, Uncategorized over at the dVerse Poets Pub are all from poets I studied at school and have continued to love all my life – great teachers have a lot to answer for…
Andrew Marvell’s ‘To His Coy Mistress‘ is surely one of the most famous poems of attempted seduction ever written. I live within a day-out’s journey from Marvell’s birthplace, Hull where the muddy tide of Humber is about as wide as the Ganges and I wonder whether sailor’s tales informed Marvell’s poem. The last time I visited Hull, I met two young lovers sitting on the plinth of Andrew Marvell’s lifesize statue and acquainted them with the poem…
WB Yeats was also a favourite at school and later, when I moved to Sligo in the west of Ireland and Yeats’ home town, I was commissioned to paint a mural of the poet and his work and you can see a much younger me from 1995 being interviewed on television whilst up a ladder painting the mural. Searching for a poem suitable for this challenge, I came across The Mask, an unusual (for Yeats) Question and Response format with an ABABA rhyme scheme
Lastly, I chose ‘A Grin‘ from Ted Hughes’ wonderful collection of poems ‘Crow’ although this is not one of the poems referencing the scurrilous Crow. If I had to keep one volume of poetry it would be this…
Having read these three dead poets, I’m afraid I could not write a poem based on just one of them and so my offering below channels all three, Yeats for the form, Ted Hughes for the title and theme and Marvell for the intimations of mortality and perhaps the poetic shot at immortality…
A Grin
‘Centre stage on the birthing bed Did you grin for your role through the pain?’ ‘I thought how easily I could end up dead And grinned to think you’d never touch me again Don’t fucking touch me! I shouted!
‘Did you grin at the banality of death by car crash You who imagined yourself great and with longevity?’ ‘I thought of my wife who always thought me rash And my secretary always seasoning work with levity Urging me to slow down – but I had to dash…’
‘I watched your grin, my eyes open, yours closed And wondered, coming together, if we really were?’ ‘You were so deep the thought never arose That we were two, a separate him and her I never thought at all as into me you flowed…’
‘Whatever before death caused your rictus grin Will be replaced in time by the skull’s secret smile’ ‘What tales within my skull locked in Now deliquescing, bodily integrity defiled In the game of Life, none of us can win.’
‘Your poetic attempt at seduction Already lived three hundred and fifty years Is poetry the way – immortality to win?’ ‘I never won that girl nor any like her But it makes me grin – the onward admiration…’
P.S. I realise now that we were supposed to write based on one of Kim’s chosen three poems but when I saw the challenge last night, my Covid head was stuffed with cotton wool and it is only this morning that I was feeling better sufficiently to write something and by then, the idea that we choose our own three poems had settled in… Sorry Kim! And so below is a response to one of your poem choices Dylan Thomas’ ‘Once It Was the Colour of Saying’.
Once It Was the Colour of Saying
Once a year at least, I listen to Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas and steep myself in the poetry of his play the play of his poetry as he carries us around the small Welsh town of his imagination borne into the night and through the waking day revisiting the cast of characters until we love their foibled ways and wish like the Reverend Eli Jenkins in his poem within a poem “To stroll among our trees and stray In Goosegog Lane, on Donkey Down, And hear the Dewi sing all day, And never, never leave the town.”
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Christopher
Can you surf in the Gulf on the outer edge of the Keys is there enough fetch to raise waves suitable for surfing and which way does the wind blow or is it calm enough to paddleboard- the latest craze! I took these brightly coloured boards at St. Ives in Cornwall where surf and art mix I thought they were surf boards but looking now I am unsure perhaps kayaks – another way to breast the brine I savoured their beauty in the sun too old to try them out…
Christopher’s poem was a fine metaphor of the various times of data, and night, on the peaks, seen as music – perfectly prompted by his card – Maurice Baquet playing Chamber Music…
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Peggy
To live by a great water is to have a special sense of place and you live in a place of Great Spirit by the Great Water. The moods and music of water change every moment and as well as the water the reflections of great clouds and huge skies dwarf our mortal constructions and remind us of the power of nature. We lived six months in lockdown with this stunning view of mountains and Mediterranean in Crete, winter of 2020 – I for one loved the cloud mountains…
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Cecil
If I were a West Coast biker I would roar into Lincoln City on my Harley hog down the 101 El Camino Real – The Royal Road swooping up and down the hills over bluffs between Pacific beaches. My tattoos might inspire fear by association with terrible tales but if I was like this biker from West Yorkshire hanging out in Hebden Bridge famously home to hippies and lesbians I would have you know my bark is worse than my bite I am a big softie at heart too shy to let people get close…
Cecil may or may not have received my card before writing his postcard (below) – coincidentally, I sent my card on the 17th of July and his was the 17th card I received – on the 25th of August. His poem (which I am not allowed to show you) referenced nothing more frightening than a predatory Robin in a nature documentary – enough to make his wife hide her eyes – I do hope my card did not scare them…
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Rachel
Passing the end of this street I saw these sun-painted shadows depicting the neighbouring houses chiaroscuro – light and shade. Morning sun swinging round is what we notice both creating and destroying shadows but at eventide it is the shadows winning steadily reclaiming surfaces for the night. I started seeing shadowplay everywhere best of all – shadows invaded by reflected sparkles from third-party windows Chiaroscuro…
Rachel fulfilled the PoPo brief perfectly, an epistolary postcard poem that referenced the picture on her card (below), and since she had presumably received my card, also referenced my theme of light and shade – perfect! I only wish I was allowed to show you…
Writing is more popular than ever – on computers, on phones and still some of us do at least some of our writing on paper! Emails and letters, books, blogs, op-eds, texts and the opinions formerly known as Tweets, replies, comments and critiques – many are the forms of the things we write.
I remember when I got my first PC back in 1999 when the internet was young, how my first impression was of wonder and joy at the democracy of it all – thousands of people all over the world were posting stuff about their passions populating the web with information in a thousand silos. Businesses had not yet learned the importance of having a website or how to do that in a really useful and appealing way – but never fear – an army of people was developing to create and fill jobs that had not existed before – coders, web designers, SEO experts, and writing on the web was the same. Writing groups – formerly exclusively in-person, moved online, breaking the limitations of time and geography – I live in Yorkshire, England, but I belong to a writing group on the East Coast of America, five hours difference and an ocean apart and as for cultural differences – well that is an added spice… The army that services writers now includes editors, writing coaches, publishing gurus, writing groups, critique groups and even silent writing groups who write in collective silence in Zoom meetings for the shared and mutual support of conducting an otherwise solitary activity – together!
You may recognise the title of this piece as a reference to the TV series “What We Do in the Shadows” based on a New Zealand film – a mocumentary, comedy-horror drama about vampires living in Staten Island and attempting to match the nature of their lives to the lifestyle of modern America. This seems an apt metaphor for the life of a writer. Recently I have been reading “On Writers and Writing” by Margaret Atwood and one of the early chapters riffs on the dualistic idea of “the writer who writes and the writer who lives”. The difference between the writer in the act or process of writing, and the person who lives, eats, breathes and is seen about town. Atwood then goes on to consider the need to actually make a living if one wants to be a full-time writer, for although the truism is that “A writer is someone who writes!”, many of us are therefore writers but few make a living by writing. Many of us do other jobs – lead other lives and writing is only a part of that life – how big a part depends on our circumstances and our choices, how much time we are prepared to “sacrifice” to the words…
If you aspire to write a book, fiction or non-fiction, then it can take years as a part-timer to pass through the process of, research, writing a first draft, finding critique readers or partners, re-writing second or third drafts and all that before you decide on whatever monumentally difficult path you will select to attempt to get your book published. For a vampire, this might be the equivalent of feasting once in a blue moon, assuming you can even find a suitable victim when the appetite is upon you. Meantime, many people select to write more bite-sized portions – poems or blog posts. Substack is one of the latest forums for trying to make these smaller bites feed the writer sustainably. Launched with great fanfare about how it will make writers, if not rich, then at least not starving, and accompanied by helpful articles aplenty on how to drive readers to your site and convert them to Subscribers – Substack is really just a monetised blog with a subscription rather than an advertising models. And why not – how annoying is it when reading a poem on someone’s blog, to have the flow of poesy interrupted by an ad. for “Unsold Holiday Packages Selling Cheap”! And how much do those bloggers who have succumbed to the temptation in fact make from such monetisation – not much I am guessing?
But to return to the writer – whatever he or she might be writing – what drives them if it is not the elusive pot of gold at the ever-shifting rainbow’s end? Is it as George Mallory, on being asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest, replied “Because it is there!” and, in the event, it was to be the death of him… However, climbing Everest and succeeding as a writer, two things that may feel the same, is not just about attaining the summit, it surely has to be about the travelling hopefully, the moment-by-moment achievement of each stage, step by step, word by word. Summiting might be the dream, but there are rewards along the way and one of those, for all writers other than book authors, one of the rewards is feedback – the comment! Indeed, even aspiring writers of books nowadays reveal their journeys online, one chapter at a time, and like Dickens, who admittedly was getting paid to publish his books in serial form, the feedback obtained from fans, friends and followers of one’s blog, can help to shape and steer the course of one’s writing, or for the strictly amateur, merely be the source of gratification that means one is not writing alone and unheard in the shadows but enjoyed and appreciated – hopefully…
The art of getting more comments does not depend solely on the quality of a person’s writing but on how much work they spend publicising it, in the main by visiting other people’s writing and leaving comments with links back to their own sites and this fosters a sense of community in the wilderness that can be the World Wide Web. On the downside, reading lots of other people’s work can be disheartening as well as inspirational, informative and misleading – you need to have a strong sense of self and direction to find and tune your own voice and little wonder that there is a site called The Insecure Writers Support Group! Sometimes, a blog site itself can be small enough to grow a fellowship of friends – the first site I blogged on with a site called “Ripple”, was called Mo’time – a testbed for the ideas of a man who ran a larger Italian blog site and although thousands were signed up, as people do, like gym memberships, the number who followed through and kept up their writing, was much smaller and so a core of connected writers developed online friendship and appreciation in the comments section. Eventually, tragically, Mo’time, and its parent blog, were sold, and the new owners soon terminated the affair. Some of us tried to create and stay connected with new homes but the magic was gone although I still see some of the Mo’timers on Facebook to this day.
A few years ago, just as the pandemic was getting into its stride, I discovered, on April 1st, the A to Z Challenge in which bloggers post 26 alphabetically named post on whatever subject they care to choose for the month of April. Not having had time to prepare anything in advance, as old hands do, I wrote about aspects of the unfolding Covid crisis and I have now completed the challenge four times on my latest blog incarnation How Would You Know – that is if you disagree with my characterisation of Substack as a Blog… I revived a name that I had briefly tried on Blogger – Of Cabbages and Kings – a line from the Walrus and the Carpenter in Lewis Carrol’s Alice and Wonderland “The time has come” the Walrus said “ to talk of many things – Of cabbages and Kings…” I have to admit, that so far, I have not put the work in to draw readers to this new venture and I am still posting in the parallel world of WordPress and How Would You Know in part because I have hit a certain wall – to borrow a running metaphor. What I like about the A to Z Challenge, is the enormous breadth of writers and subject matter that coalesces each year and to jump into that pool is like an annual swim and sauna from which I emerge refreshed, invigorated and inspired.
If you are writing a novel, you can sit in your garret writing away, the time for reaching out to readers, way off on the horizon, but once you sit down at the Table of Feedback in the Dining Room of Blogs, then your daily output is reduced by the amount of time you spend promoting your posts by reading and commenting on others, just as the published author’s hours are eaten into by promotional tours and there comes a point, which I feel I have reached, where you must pick and choose carefully, which challenges you are going to respond to or else fall into a bubbling vat of writing for comments and commenting for followers and feedback at the cost of your writing enough of your own, of writing spontaneously, prompt-less and fancy-free…
If a person writes something and does not put it out into the world – does that mean that it has no meaning? That it wasn’t worth doing? Is it only when posthumously discovered that it suddenly acquires worth and meaning? Because at the end of the day, a writer must ask themselves “Why do I write?” is it for art’s sake, for the glory of publishing and acclaim and the money that may follow? Be it as humble as a blog post or as grand as a novel, is it to entertain, inform, to fight injustice, to philosophize through non-fiction or fiction – but I say that if you feel the compulsion to write, if you enjoy doing it, you are on the right track wherever it leads…
So if you are reading this on WordPress, you may visit me at Substack here, and if you are on Substack then How Would You Know is here and you can see the edifice I have constructed over the last years – a mind palace with many rooms if you will, and if you like what you find, write a comment in either place and I promise I will respond to it…
The Poetry Postcard Fest is a challenge which encourages poets to write an unedited poem on a postcard and send it to a stranger. Organised by the Cascadia Poetics Lab, who organise the participants into lists of 31 + yourself for you to address your offerings to. This was my first year and hearing about it just in time to register, I was on List 15. The lists are sent out in early July and you have until the end of August to send out your missives – to date I have received 20 of 31 possibles and now that we are into September, it is allowable to share the cards and poems you sent and the cards but not the poems you received. I will share these in the order of sending and I will miss out those which I have not yet received in case they arrive soon… Although the original poem is to be sent as written – crossings out, blots and all, I have typed them out for people who can’t read my writing and I am allowing myself to edit if I feel like it…
Dear Amy
This might seem like sending coals to Newcastle a picture of mighty mountains to a woman who lives on a fiord with her back to mountains of her own but these mountains have never known the touch of glaciation these mountains in Crete where we spent lockdown may be capped with Winter snow but from their tops you could see Africa if only you were young enough to climb and not locked down so every day we just admired from afar
Amy’s card was only my second to arrive from Group 15 which I belonged to – I was the only non-American on the list! Her card was glittery and featured a drunken fairy and the mossy rocks which I imagine abound in the Washington landscape… I only wish I could share her poem!