Waking Up – A Writing Workshop for Brigid’s Day

I’ve still got some spaces on my next workshop – join me! It’s a one-off for 2 hours. Friendly, no pressure and lots of opportunities to think, talk and write at your own pace in a supportive environment. I’ve always found this time of year to be a perfect time for getting projects going, germinating those thought seeds stored from the dark Winter months… message me for more info or email (address in the pic below)

Westhafen #Poetry

On the last day of our latest visit to Berlin we changed trains at U-bahn Westhafen and discovered this visual feast. Artists Françoise Schein and Barbara Reiter re-designed the station in 2000, using the 1948 text of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights,  juxtaposed with quotes from Heinrich Heine in German and French. For more  information on the artwork and the project click here.

One more reason to love Berlin.

















































































































broadcast #12

So I took the rule book laying it on what was left of the grass which had not become weeds and moss and chives and then I dragged the lawnmower out of the garage after propping open the door with a large terracotta pot I reeled out the long orange cable and plugged it in to the ancient web covered socket praying any shock would be absorbed by my short wellington boots before wheeling the bladed machine over the patio to the patch and I mowed the rule book and turned it into compost so that at least the words would be put to good use as mulch for another project

Feeling must water the ground of the future

This storm drain needs a break

From all the rain

That keeps falling.

Ce sera sera is wearing thin

“It’s nice to be nice”

Would be welcomed in.

This is a loving waterbutt,

Brim full of feeling,

With nowhere to spill over,

Sensory deprivation for so long means

All I have is memory:

Your hand in mine;

Your kiss on my tongue;

Your whisper in my ear-

Before the water stopped the sound

And bound my eyes.

No scent of you,

No breath to sigh.

But it will spill over after all-

The trees will grow 15 feet over the winter,

And stoop to tell us their secret

Of letting go

Floating free, you and me

Like ducks in the spring flood