Jane's Writing Shed.

Out of the mountains three skuas came plumage the colour of menace bodies heavy with purpose head turning from side to side one bird knew its way across the kelp-lined shore and lazy beds where small birds nested another took its chances by following a fishing boat pursuing the gannets and gulls until they disgorged the offal biding its time the third hitched a ride on a corkscrew thermal found itself soaring higher than the eagles as if casting off the earth

in association with Northwords Now, Moniack Mhor and Cuillin FM has recently announced the results of the 2013 competition on the theme of 'Homecoming' and I was delighted to hear that my poem Goodbye Voyager 1 was Highly Commended. Here's the poem. Goodbye Voyager 1. I heard you made it to interstellar space past the kiss-me-quick hats lost balloons stratus and noctilucent clouds satellites and meteorites the ever-orbiting bits of junk like me Telstar 1963 all the way through the heliosphere beyond the outer planets if only I could have been programmed to be as brave as you do you remember you played Stavinsky and Chuck Berry when we almost collided all those years ago now look where your heart's desire has got you to travelling on a one way ticket through thickets of universes black holes and dying stars to immortality where you belong over and out so long

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 ...

...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...