Today the sky was the colour of ballpark mustard. I decided not to ask the score because maybe this is the apocalypse and I had somehow missed the notice. You know that generic letter from an unnamed source which starts: Dear person of the earth, We regret to inform you that as of July 15, […]
I live this poem often in the evenings when I sit in my garden after dinner and read, listen to music or just marvel at the “inventions of summer.” Right now, I’m reading another walking book “A Time of Gifts.” It’s the first of a trilogy by Patrick Leigh Fermor, who walked in 1933 at
Today was a difficult day. I had to work at being happy. Yesterday I walked 15kms with a group of pilgrims. The Camino has been calling. It starts quietly without pressure. I think March might be a good month. It’s vague; nothing has been formulated. Today I think that maybe I could go for three
Pied Beauty Gerard Manly Hopkins I have just finished reading “Landmarks” by Robert MacFarlane. It is a requiem to lost words. The author has tried to slow the slipping away of words particularly words for nature by listing them in his book. The belief is that once you lose a word, you lose a part
The Windover To Christ Our Lord I caught this morning morning’s minion, king- dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
I came across this poem on FB today. The author is Hanna Shebar. Letters You Will Never Read One lifetime isn’t enoughhow am I to open a cafe´in Paristo make art in Berlinto surf on the coast of Californiato write books in a Scottish cottageto pick wild flowers in the Crimean mountainsto eat pizza in
I bought a book of poetry by Billy Collins at City Lights bookstore in San Francisco in 2017 or thereabouts. I love it. The poet through his poems makes us look at poetry in everyday images bringing the real to the surreal or the surreal to the real. Today I lived a poem on my
I lived through both tragic references in David Wojahn’s poem and I have been to the Madame Tussaud’s gallery in Niagara Falls. I remember exactly where I was when the news flashed at the bottom of the TV screen reporting that John Lennon had been shot and I remember watching the news reels of the
