Tag Archives: Poetry

Dylan, dogs and the Devil

The gale force wind had calmed a little, though the evidence remained. Everywhere the verges were strewn with debris, as if an automotive bridal procession had just passed by, the bridesmaids strewing branches. Late, as usual, stress kept me company … Continue reading

Posted in Art, jaunts & going out, Britain now & then | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Two booklets and a spiral. Ways of being humankind

Poetry seems to stalk the streets of Liverpool. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration given I’m basing it on a mere two examples, but they are good ones. I’ll start with the most recent. Last year I went to … Continue reading

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Taking morphine with Martin Amis

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. And why, I ask myself, did I knowingly introduce Martin Amis into the nightmare? I can only blame it on the drugs. Martin Amis, in case he hasn’t crossed international boundaries of name … Continue reading

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Nature, contrary to mine

I don’t do poetry. I’ve tried before, look back on it and cringe. So why? Well, it was a challenge – and a form I’d never heard of – Tanka. ‘Does anyone not love Haiku,’ ran the intro. Um, I … Continue reading

Posted in Britain now & then, Lancashire & the golf coast | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The poet-tramp-novelist and the dragonfly

No time to stand and stare. You know the quote, don’t you? Or do you? ‘What is this life if, full of care/ we have not time to stand and stare?’ [A classic example of the importance of commas, btw, … Continue reading

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‘How f—ing useful is that exactly?’ (part of quote from graffiti artist Banksy)

Banksy wasn’t coy, he used the whole f-word, but I won’t: ‘The key to good graffiti is economy. A simple splash of paint in the right place at the right time is all it takes. An old lady with a … Continue reading

Posted in Art, jaunts & going out, Llyn Peninsula, Thinking, or ranting, or both | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Two dog night, no dog morning

Saturday. Under clear blue skies we set sail for Manchester.  (I lie. We drive.) The hotel’s grand. Victoriana at its best. Come six o-clock we head out, past the old town hall, accessorised for fun with helter-skelter, big wheel and … Continue reading

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