Two poems from workshops.
The first from a Secret Poets meeting last week. Liz asked us to think of a favourite place and to write down words that described it. We than has ten minutes to write an acrostic. This was mine.
adrift from its history
notes the industrial past of this
silent, taken for grantedAs you can see, I was writing about Sants in Barcelona. We have often eaten breakfast near the chimney in the square.
The next poem came from an exercise I set myself, to pick four lines from four different novels and use one as the basis for a poem.
at the insistence of the impresario
he must occupy the seat of honour
and so is seated with due ceremony
ostentatiously the music then begins
a vast brass wind that skirls about the tent
and how the townsfolk stare
read his face for clues
raise palms to cover mouths
speculate on his pedigree
throughout the unfolding entertainment
should his gaze stray from the ring
he sees one or more sets of eyes taking him in
after nuanced farewells he is the first to leave
martial music highlights his exit
the night is starred, hot, still
his white suit crumpled hours before
past midnight he walks the empty streets
the bells muffled by the darkness
call out each passing hourThe poem took its shape from that first line from a book. The line was so unlike anything I would ever write that there was a freedom to take it anywhere.
It does not feel completed and I am of a mind to call it dream, though that may be a cop out.Keeping the Catalunya connection going here's 4 Hiverns.Until next time.