Thoughts of a Soo

Grateful to the child who shot me with a banana, Jo Bell's 52 Poetry Book and Ink, Sweat and Tears for publishing my poem in December 2018... HIS GUN He shoots. She is falling, staggering, clutching herself. Her hip seems to disappear, she stumbles, hits the floor, stills. He watches so silent he stops the air from moving. Her closed eyes flicker to find him. He searches his words. They both stare at it hanging from his limp hand. He meets her gaze, speaks: It’s just a banana , he tells her. You can listen to 'His Gun' here  

Yesterday Liz Berry delivered a workshop in which we explored tenderness. Whilst there I met up with someone I had been thinking about during the week even though we had not worked together for a number of years. I had been remembering the way he worked with young people and how a leaf folded in a piece of paper quickly became a poem and how it is good to learn from those we admire. Hearing Liz read live for the first time was an absolute joy, I worked with good and gentle people and today I am drafting a poem from my notes. A beautiful weeekend for words and tender moments.

Because it's about being. Because it's about sunrise, sunset and the moments in between. Because it's about the great outdoors and sea air. Because it's about celebrating and being grateful.  Because it's about rembering and making memories.  Because the steepest roads lead to the most beautiful views.

Ever since seeing Parys Mountain on tv and in photos that my brother and his family had taken I had wanted to go. We started Kath's birthday adventure here yesterday and it certainly lived up to my expectations. After lunch and a walk in Llandudno we then went to The Little Orme and were delighted to see so many seals there. A lovely day of landscape and fresh air and another chance to get those cobwebs well and truly blown.

Absolutely delighted that this poem sequence (my first proper sequence) has been published in issue 69 of The Interpreter's House. It started its journey in a workshop with Pascale Petit at Gladstone's library and has now found its place in the world. This makes me smile. You can read it here: I Can't Send You Back Can I?

And we were there amongst good people and there were celeriac steaks and words in speeches that made us glad and pizza and dancing.

On Being Stuck This pencil will not write, I can't create my verse. Perhaps I'm too uptight. This pencil will not write. I try with all my might - I think it's getting worse. This pencil will not write. I can't create my verse.

For those moments in life when a dash of awe and wonder is needed...

It was the kind of weekend that was deliciously full of family time, thoughts of family, friends and food. Talk and time were little gifts for the soul. August has been a good month for sharing time with special people and that makes me happy.

Some drinks in Borough Market caused me to laugh so much I cried and there was a boat in Greenwich.

Yesterday there was a good boat trip all the way round Puffin Island. A day in good company where the dolphins swam and the puffins flew. Cheeks were reddened and cobwebs were blown. And today that ending of that poem got refreshed after waiting some weeks. Sea air and friendship do good things.

Some of my favourite moments from our recent break at 'Over the Rainbow'... Teacakes at the beach Shadow in the grounds of St David's Cathedral! Sunset at Mwnt Devil's Bridge

Yesterday was the kind of day where the snow leopards curled together, the sealions barked and the flamingos padded their feet. At the end of the day the full moon hid behind clouds.

My poem, Llandudno Promenade One January Evening , was commended in this year's Festival Of Firsts Poetry Competition. LLANDUDNO PROMENADE ONE JANUARY EVENING   Somewhere, miles away, sand blows into drifts and ridges. Hot scalloped patterns. So dry.   Right here on the grey width it’s rough balls of hail. They fall first together in blurred lines. Then they’re dust, blown and brushed on and on by the rhythm of the wind.   And here two lovers are kissing. The hail is still hailing to the right drenching the town. To the left, it’s pock-marking the sea. Behind and in front it might also still be happening, but here for a moment is a kiss.   Rain-split rays from a long line of lamps edge the dark of the promenade where the air has echoed so many times with that’s the way to do it .   And right here the kiss continues.

Yesterday something my brother said at his wife's ordination reminded me of this poem: DESCENDANT I am descended from smugglers. I hold the darkness of tunnels inside me; hushed voices, past midnight, alert my ears. I am descended from strong-armed men, the readers of the sea. I am descended from those who roam. I hold the restlessness of wild words; dawn hours tempt me their with offers of peace. I am descended from storied women, the tellers of old tales. I am descended from the unknown. I hold onto sunsets, dark dreams and forests. Reckless whispers ride my thoughts the essence of my being.

Not shot in the Summer, nor at Fermain Bay, which seems a bit strange now... but I like the poem and it adds colour after drafting 'Grey' yesterday.

Deciding to hang around after last night's concert resulted in getting to see Joan Baez before she boarded her tour bus and departed. I loved offering her a handshake and looking her in the eyes to tell her that her work was good. The three of us had good handshakes - she said so. A magical moment shared with good people has me smiling.

I thought it was just my sister that videoed me when I thought she was just taking a photo, but I did love this moment of cow whispering on a sunny walk this afternoon.

I loved having a seaside kind of day on Saturday. It was so sunny I had to buy a t-shirt because I hadn't packed one and then I got to beachcomb and play with this shadowsome one. In the evening it was time to celebrate 40 years of marriage of two lovely friends. A little dancing, a lot of laughter and plenty of good conversation in the room.

Yesterday I learnt how to throw a curve ball and today I threw my first ever excellent curve ball just so I could catch Mew. It made me smile.

Loved a visit to parts of the coast that were new to me. I needed to see the sea and to be at the end of a place because sometimes that's the only kind of place that will clear the mind.

In the still air we heard the buzz of bees. There were probably only three of them following us following the path, but they were certainly loud. It is likely that they were only following the path to dip in and out of the primroses, but they had a definite presence.

I wrote this: She She has the soul of a black jaguar. Death was her idea. She was there when the first baby cried – made its breath from smoke. She created diamonds from dust and spun them into stars. She has swum through your darkest, deepest thoughts to gift you dreams and nightmares. and he wrote loads, but also this:

A SONG OF PRAISE FOR RONNIE, WHO IS IN FACT A CUDDLY RHINOCEROUS For his willingness to pose amongst spring flowers, on new-found clifftops (but not too close to the edge) under the arms of statues, on green-leafed hedges, with plates of food, pints of beer, the odd glass of fine champagne. For endless contributions to journeys and their return, to jobs needing to be done, to new adventures. For his wise greyness, his smile, his serenity, his tiny flirt or wry look, his relied on ears. For being watcher, keeper the soundest sleeper.

Today my MA became real and I love this fact.

Such a lovely evening in Shrewsbury last night with readings by Jean Sprackland and Robert Harper. Loved all the words and having a book signed like this makes me smile. (As of Sunday I have now finished reading the book, and will visit Poetry Please on catch up as the pages held me firmly at the coast.)