Sketch n’ Haiku Day

On February 4, 2019 By Mick CanningIn editing, Haiku, Painting, poetry15 Comments

We’ve had all sorts in the last week.

We’ve had cold, bright, sunny days. We’ve had cold snowy sleety days. And today we have lashing rain and wind. It’s milder than it was, but as miserable as sin and the wind still cuts through you!

So here is a sketch for the day – cushions on the sofa to remind me of Nepal, since the top one came from there:

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And here is a haiku for the day, to remind me of summer:

Amidst the traffic,

In the still airs above me,

A lark dripping down.

And a thought for the day? Another haiku, to remind me to slow down sometimes:

Obsession with time

Is climbing trees in autumn

To get down the leaves.

And today I begin the first edit for A Good Place – initially reading it through and thinking about the voice, the narration, to see if it works for me. Next, another read to look for flaws in the plot, redundancies, things to add and take out. Finally, try to knock the grammar into shape. If I’m happy with that, then it’s on to the beta readers.

Hope you all have a good day.

Be Kind

On February 2, 2019 By Mick CanningIn kindness, poetry, writing32 Comments

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Be kind.

Achieve wisdom and exercise that skill.

The world has always been filled

With angry greedy people.

You cannot legislate them away,

Or hope that they will die out.

The world has always relied on people

Who are kind and wise,

To act as counterbalances to these others.

Unfortunately, the World supply of angry greedy people

Appears to be limitless,

So there will always be a need for kindness and wisdom.

You might just save the world.

If I Could Just Wave A Wand…

On December 15, 2018December 15, 2018 By Mick CanningIn poetry, writing15 Comments

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Pandering to my Inner Vagabond, here…

If I could just wave a wand,

I would wander the world.

With my notebook in hand,

And a bag on my back.

I would sleep under hedges,

In hotels and haylofts.

Drink beers under trees,

And eat cheese on the moor.

I’d watch clouds over hilltops,

And boats on the ocean.

Shapes and shadows at sunset,

A moon with a view.

And I’d write trivial poems

Of snowfall and sunlight,

Birds singing at dawn

And the sounds of a stream.

There’s the lure of a skyline,

And skylarks above me,

Wine and wood smoke my welcome

At the end of the day.

To travel, to journey,

There’s magic in wandering

Over moorland and downland,

Through woods and through fields.

The world’s full of wonders

All waiting for wanderers.

Let me follow these paths

For as long as I can.

A (Temporary) Farewell

On April 25, 2018 By Mick CanningIn blogging, break, Work in progress, writing83 Comments

I have decided to absent myself from WordPress World for a while.

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I frequently need to take a large step back from the world and give myself some time and space to re-charge my batteries, and also to think deeply about the importance I attach to whatever is going on in my life at the moment.

Those things that cause stress tend to assume a greater importance than they probably deserve to, while the things I do for my own pleasure tend to make me feel unreasonably guilty about giving them the time that others might want.

While there is so much going on, and so little time, I seem able to devote less and less of it to either writing blogs or following others. I have noticed I am leaving far fewer comments, and tending to skim read far more than I used to.

Clearly, I need a break.

But while I am doing that, I mean to write a number of blog posts without feeling under pressure to finish them by some sort of deadline, so that when I reappear I might have something to post that is worth reading.

Hopefully, I will be able to make progress on my book, short stories and poems.

And the odd painting or two.

See you later.

Just Playing…

On March 7, 2018 By Mick CanningIn colour, Haiku, leaves, photographs, poetry29 Comments

Take one photograph, play around with it a little, create 3 new ones, all different.

Add some autumn haiku, since it’s almost spring.

That was fun.

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Yellow maple leaves

Rattling wildly in the wind –

Autumn’s prayer flags

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Obsession with time

Is climbing trees in autumn

To get down the leaves.

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The last yellow leaf

Hovers above the brambles

Waiting for the wind.

The Collector

On January 24, 2018 By Mick CanningIn Fiction, inspiration, novels, poetry, short stories, writing46 Comments

Inspiration, writers’ block, ideas…I could write about all or any of these topics. Instead, I thought I’d simply post another poem – plus, of course, a picture (with far better weather than we’re having here) – and let it do the job instead.

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I’m a collector of images long stored in my memory,

A desert inferno of razor-sharp rocks.

A mountain breeze rippling an icy cold puddle,

Thick mists and thin soups, flowers, trains, and old shoes.

I’m a collector of memories, both mine and ones borrowed,

The harrowing journey, the lovers’ first kiss.

There’s betrayal and loyalty, flatulence, hope,

There’s a child being born, and a wolf at the door.

I’m a collector of stories, the stranger the better,

Believable, odd, and ridiculous too.

Close to home or historical, alien, fanciful,

Some to keep secret and some I can tell.

I’m a collector of moonbeams and of chance reflections,

A collector of sadness and bittersweet pain.

A collector of strangely shaped stones in a circle,

And dreams that tell stories I don’t understand.

An Old One…

On November 21, 2017 By Mick CanningIn poetry, rain20 Comments

I happened on a notebook of poems I’d written some twenty to twenty five years ago.

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My style has changed somewhat in the intervening years, and most of them seem rather poor now. One or two of them I still like, though, and I think I’ll put them up here now and again.

This one is just called Rain.

I hurried down the road before the storm

– this must be six or seven years ago –

Still silhouettes for trees within the mist,

Around ahead behind me dull and grey.

The air was chilled

And in the hills the thunder growled,

A tiger prowled,

In the high forests of the Weald.

A hundred miles away my cottage refuge,

A forlorn hope now far beyond the deluge.

Sharp blue electric yellow split the air,

A crack like washing harried by the wind.

Then came swollen lazy drops of water,

Beachballs of rain exploding all around.

Dull chattering

The pattering of rain on tiles

After the miles

I’d run through forests of the Weald.

The sound of distant gunfire possibly,

I closed my eyes to see where I might be.

Launch of ‘The Happy Bus’ by Louisa Campbell

On November 10, 2017 By Mick CanningIn Louisa Campbell, poetry, Review, The Happy Bus, writing9 Comments

Last night I was lucky enough to attend a great evening of performance poetry at The Java Bean cafe in Tunbridge Wells, for the launch of the new pamphlet by Louisa Campbell, a member of my local writing group.

Supported by published poets Ira Lightman and John McCullough, both of whom gave great performances, Louisa’s was easily the standout set for me.

A natural performer, she read a selection of poems from The Happy Bus, Published by Picaroon Poetry, which is a collection she describes as ‘charting the journey through anxiety and depression and on to peace and joy’.

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This is not to suggest that her poetry is all dark, for that is certainly not the case. Each one bristles with hope and determination, and frequently humour – for Louisa does humour very well – and had the audience frequently chortling (we chortle a lot in Tunbridge Wells. We also chunter about stuff, but there was none of that last night).

And, let’s face it, how often do you get to see a poet declaiming a couple of their poems in a wolf onesie?, or getting an audience in Tunbridge Wells to yell out a chorus of ‘Bugger!’?

Below, an extract from the pamphlet:

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To get your copy, click on either of the links below.

Amazon UK

Lulu

The Praising Purple Prose Poem

On September 30, 2017 By Mick CanningIn poetry, writing21 Comments

My humble, grovelling apologies for my lamentable lack of activity recently. Busy, busy, busy…and so little time. And at my age, too. Shouldn’t be allowed. So I’ll just pop up one of my dubious poems (that’s dubious as in merit, rather than taste) as a peace offering, and I’ll try and catch up with a few of the blogs I follow…tomorrow.

I’m a bit tired now…

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The Praising Purple Prose Poem

Purple prose that nobody wants,

Can find a home

In my poem.

These offcuts and discarded words,

Too rich for others to use,

Are just what I need for my poem.

Here on the dusty floor,

This is Just what I was looking for,

For my poem.

I’m collecting it up,

If you’re throwing it out,

And I’m slotting it into

My poem.

Give it to me,

I can put it just there

Between those two lines,

Of my poem.

Too rich for their taste?

Well, it won’t go to waste,

In my poem.

Since that flowery tone,

Is just like my own,

In my poem.

Alliterative, flowery, rollicking lines,

The sort that Dylan Thomas would write;

I’ll give them a home,

In my poem.