Hello once again. The writing is actually going better right now than it was same time last year. Work is flat out and things are afoot personally that keep me busy (the joy of wearing more than one hat).

I’ve found a collection of poetic prompts that I’m slowly working my way through, in the absence of original ideas, I’m into week 2 at the moment (writing when time allows doesn’t allow me to write one poem a day). But my usual annual challenger of getting out 12 poems a year looks like it will be knocked over rather soon. Anyhow, this was from Day 4 of the prompts. Write a ‘containment’ poem. I started with being in a bookstore and went from there.

Here is the place I lost myself
and the reference section
that atlased me back home
 
Here is the poetry section with
its small and empty shelf telling me
the books aren’t going to write themselves.
 
Here is the where I fell to pieces
and the architecture guide
that blueprinted me again
 
Here is the sci-fi shelves who say
this is the future if you please
If not, who are you to the future anyway?
 
Here are the books written about music
and all the songs about writing.

Reading: “The Michael Palin Diaries: The Python Years”
Listening: “Ramona Was A Waitress” – Paul Dempsey

New mini-moleskine notebook

…or I need to spend more time waiting for her to arrive from her travels. On Sunday Nicole, my wife, returned from Sydney after visiting the Sydney Vintage Fair. Being the nervous sort, I usually turn up to collect her from the airport far earlier than is necessary, preferring to be too early than too late.

In this instance, I was two and a half hours too early which then became three when her flight was delayed.

It’s National Poetry Month in the US and Robert Brewer has been attempting a Poem-A-Day challenge, publishing the results on his blog, Poetic Asides. Taking a look at the prompts he’s been posting, and armed with a large amount of time to kill, an internet accessible phone and a notebook, I had a shot at writing some poetry while I waited.

Total poems written to date in 2010: 2.
Total poems written in two hours: 5.

I can’t vouch for their quality. Yet. It’s five rough drafts, but I don’t recall ever being quite so productive in such a small amount of time. I’ll be posting them as they get a suitable amount of polish to them.

Reading: “Infinite City” – Alex Skovron
Listening: “Ramona Was A Waitress” – Paul Dempsey

Hello and welcome to the first post of the new decade, I hope you had a lovely end-of-year festival and that you Melbournian readers didn’t suffer too horribly in the recent heat.

Thanks to Peter Bakowski and the marvellous poetry course her ran last year, my new year resolution last year to write at least one poem a month ended up somewhere close to 20! Thanks Peter!

So here is the first for this year, a Martian poem.

This species unique for
their Bowie coloured eyes
one for dark, one for light.
Shiny black carapace,
fragility increasing
as they mature and grow.
 
The human holds her charge
with reverence, stroking
and grooming its arcane
circular plumages.
 
It’s back pressed to her face
They observe, in ritual,
some distant mock-prey.
It clicks in excitement
with an explosion from
it’s bright eye, it’s dark eye
fluttering in response.
 
Satisfied, the human
shows the marsupial
nature of this creature;
returning it to a
black spongy pouch
around her neck before
they continue to stalk
more eye-catching quarry.

Reading: “The collected poetry of Czeslaw Milosz”
Listening: “Legions (War)” – Zoë Keating

I’m pleased to announce that Concise Delight have selected three of my poems for publication in their inaugural issue!

Specifically two haiku and a recent rework of one of the first poems I wrote.

Check out the Concise Delight website. Looking forward to ordering a copy or three!

I’m in the same journal as Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz. Happy? Pleased? Thrilled? Am I what?

Another year, another winter train with a box of black pencils.

Tired, hypnotised by perfect circles stirred into my morning coffee.

Beside a silent stereo the speakers stand,
humming to themselves.

Friday afternoon carhorn shouts “What a magnificent traffic jam!”

Mad at itself, brooding Winter walks about in circles, muttering.

In the shopping mall microclimate, noticing a lack of kigo.