Rise to the challenge every day.
Shine every day.
Be the sun daily.
After all, you have a great role model
1. We all love travel
2. We all love Paris & the idea of Paris
3. We love women who listen & attend
4. We love to be educated
5. We love to experience another person’s style
6. We love stories of a day in the life
7. We love someone being a bit riske
8. We love people who are generous towards others
9. We love daybreak & sunset
10. We love people who are reliable
Claire Waddington live streams from Paris on Periscope – every day. Her Twitter name is @clairewad. Right now she is visiting her dad in New Zealand
It would be easy to miss the poets
in the Farmgate Cafe
encased behind glass
as you sip espressoed coffee
on a Saturday afternoon
in the English Market.
Poems slip by without fuss,
prefer to let you pass
until you’re ready to listen
to your breathing heart
– the minute they sense you ache
for a set of fingernails
with which to grip on to fragile life
ticking like a fading metronome.
Poems are used to coffee drinkers
who turn their backs on them.
Poems become taken forgranted
even when handwritten and hung.
Poets never have the last laugh.
Ink fades gradually away.
I wonder whether the spirits stay
hidden among fushia encased in a water jug.
This was composed in the English Market Farmgate Cafe in Cork Ireland in May 2015
Click on this link please – it leads to “The Walt Whitman Show (14 September)
Warning: it’ll take a minute to load up.
I submit for your consideration:
Note: I shall publish my readings of Cantos 1-6 in the next few days. My plan is to read, record & share all 34 cantos of “Inferno” by Dante.
This was a bit of an experiment: to learn how to embed a file from Audioboom.com into a WordPress.com blog.
To write a poem now
To write a poem now
fingers all too stale,
Unused soul went to sleep,
Christ rose from the dead,
threw off sheets drenched in blood,
woke up, pushed the stone –
so light and birdsong dawned,
his dream made flesh,
traces linger instead,
as if painted over.
Jesus wrote his poem
on the road to Emmaus,
recovered from Gethsemane.
The words even ascended into Heaven
and were repeated.
To write a poem now…
the least I could do.
First published 10 November 2011 in “From Bath to Cork with baby Grace (1)”. This was my first effort to write a poem since the lifting of depression. I began it in Ely, near Cambridge UK, & finished the first draft in Cafe Beva, Glanmire, Co Cork.