Thirtieth Stone: Poetry Writing Class

I’m strting to enjoy the discipline of having to write a poem each week. I enjoy the refining and editing; rolling the words around; the feeling that an idea that seems just beyond my fingertips, suddenly lands for an instant butterfly-like within reach and leaves the shadow of its wings on the page, where, if I am lucky, something of its touch remains in the words.

Twenty-First Stone: At the Library

At our poetry group in the local library there is new member. She is Italian, and speaks English brokenly. She sits and listens attentively to the poems and discussion but beyond some smiles and nods, says little. She is holding a book. One of the group asks her if she wants to read. She tells us it is her story. We look a little blank I suspect. Gradually we understand that it is her autobiography. She agrees to read us part of it, in Italian. She reads rapidly.
I understand odd words, mad, military, afterwards, house, danger, but not enough to make a cherent guess at what she is saying. Continue reading

Twentieth Stone: Decision Making

The cat’s eagerness to go outside settles into a silent watchfulness in the open front door. He seems unperturbed by snowflakes landing on his whiskers, but unsure about this bright world where passers by crunch along the pavement. The icy draught around my ankles, and the cold cold metal of the door handle I am holding make me less patient with his need for time to make his decision. Continue reading