Jane's Writing Shed.

Gull Circus. A gull's a gull until underneath the clamour of roustabouts and acrobats wheeling and soaring something looks wrong a fledgling with a trailing wing a damaged pinion hanging awkwardly as it flexes it's wings and forages with other young birds on the industrial roof what of a bird that however hard it tries to flap the not quite perfect wing as it is willed into flight by the gull chavavari * and cajoled with a chorus of lesser black back cries in their dawn to dusk gallus cloud-swinging chivvying the whole raucous circus may one day move on without it * a circus term meaning a gathering of all kinds of acts involved in a circus. A welcome deceit.* Criss-crossing peat and sedge pee - wit, teu - chit, a Flopwing** calls, rolls on velvet wings, sub-divides, flaps and dives above the coastal pasture in Lapwynge** rapture. So common once, how this wandering dancer consoles. Cornchwiglen,** Peewit,** ever go stravaigin.*** *

to Bridget at poetandgeek for plugging my blog during the Blog Tour. Originally I envisaged my blog as a more or less private writing space where I could post some poems and try out some poetry related ideas but gradually the blog has evolved into a medium to connect with other people who write and appreciate poetry from all parts of the country and the world by posting book reviews and poetry miscellany as well as my own poems.  I welcome feedback on everything I write because I think this makes me a better writer and I'm always thinking of ways to improve my blog for readers and for myself.  Here's another blog to recommend written by my poet friend, Sheila Wild - https://www.sheilawildpoetry.blogspot.co.uk/ Very happy blogging.

I've noticed that my blog is read in many parts of the world and recently there have been some readers from Ukraine. This year will be momentous for Scotland given the forthcoming independence referendum in September but whatever happens no-one is likely to die on the streets in Edinburgh or Glasgow fighting for a change of regime and the opportunity to govern ourselves rather than be ruled by an increasingly irrelevant and distant parliament. This is for everyone in Ukraine hoping that peace will return to your streets and your lives very soon together with democracy and freedom. In the words of Michael O'Siadhail in Fallen Angel, My gods of innocence fallen, I clench a fragile self-reliance

Many years ago (when I was still at school) I wrote a poem about my love interest at the time. The poem was published by the Dartington Press and I was chosen along with other young poets to be featured on BBC Spotlight South West to read it out.  I haven't written many romantically inclined poems since but the following one is about the deep affection which flows from a long relationship and the good humour which can be felt even in the midst of reluctantly joining in with a heavy allotment task. I guess that's Love. Moving the shed. This home to spiders and a long abandoned wasps' nest with its potato fork and spades, tins and jars stacked on the old kitchen table has to be moved, you say, six feet across some horizontal struts  and a midden of empty snail shells  which crack and crunch underfoot as we push and push and shove. And as some temporary battens are fixed to the wooden panels to help with the lifting, I can see you thinking how good it will be

...might have loved living in the age of social media. I've always loved Emily Dickinson's uncompromising style and among the selection of her poems in The Penguin Book of American Verse (1983) is the typically short and acutely observed ' The Soul selects her own Society ', the last line of which reads - I've known her -- from an ample nation -- Choose One -- Then -- close the Valves of her attention -- Like Stone -- and in ' There's a certain Slant of light' she writes, There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons -- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes -- and concludes When it comes,the Landscape listens -- Shadows -- hold their breath -- When it goes,'tis like the Distance On the look of Death -- Dickinson made every word count. She may have over-used the 'dash' and her capital letters may look quaint but her voice is distinctive and sings down the years. I can only imagine her formidable succes

It's February, it's cold and I don't know about you but I'm missing my fix of nordic noir.  The Bridge on BBC4 on Saturday nights has just finished and has been brilliant. Sadly, I have a picture of the two troubled main characters , Saga and Martin standing beside Saga's dark mustard Porsche tucked away in my notebook. Roll on Series 3! In the meantime, my partner is currently reading the Inspector Chen series. Inspector Chen is also a poet and one quote of his caught my mood this week and inspired this poem. An old horse resting in the stable still aspires to gallop thousands and thousands of miles. from 'A Loyal Character Dancer'  by Qui Xiaolong (Sceptre) Untitled I never knew how to be young, all those fol de rols and grips, not to mention hips. I do not know how to be old, is it that time already? I only know how to dream of rowing boats.

A Villanelle is a 19 line poem consisting of 5 tercets (3 line verses) and a quatrain ( 4 line verse) with repeating lines. Two great examples of Villanelle's are Dylan Thomas's 'Do not go gentle into that good night' and Elizabeth Bishops's ' One Art'. During a writing course about three years ago I wrote ' Corruption at Play'.  The first line paraphrases a comment from a sports journalist writing about a Premier League Team. Corruption at Play. A team of stars who've forgotten how to shine, their boots should burn across the field of play, young men aspiring to shots sublime. Dark forces chase the spark of headlines, players become exalted and all for money, a team of stars who've forgotten how to shine. Corruption, greed, a story old as time, heroes or villains, the media's appetite will pay, young men aspiring to shots sublime. Betrayal, addiction to money, sex or wine, lives changed forever, golden balls turn to