Trawling through blogs from the last few years has been no mean task but, given that we're out of the world cup and I'm still down in the dumps about it, I've spent the day cheering myself up with the distraction.
The poem below is made up entirely of lines and phrases taken from the site over the last three years. Lines from past and present contributors join lines from guests including Jamie Field, Jo Bell and Jacob Silkstone and if you're wondering why you haven't made the cut- either you haven't written for us yet or I simply couldn't weave your line in.
Thank you to all of you though, whether a reader or writer of the blog. We couldn't have got here without any of you.
Poets
We work in different rooms,
but we occupy the same house.
A spectrum of waste
Exploding in a million ideas
For all worries form a cloud of plankton
There was the bittersweet Karate
Webs so thick we cannot see
Cross Stitching meant nothing to me
But of all the things I miss in light
The moon's smile showing me the way
There was a ‘bang’. A small, dense state
that expanded rapidly- lulled me into comfort
In the tea-bleached bedroom light
Poets all have Viking blood
We are pirates; travelling across a vast ocean
plundering images, forms, ideas
to find each piece increase in value
simply by the keeping.
Thanks for reading,
S.
S.
1 comments:
Once again, I am envious at the way you have managed to cajole so many disparate ideas into a coherent poem. Very impressive.
I agree with the sentiment too. This blog only survives because many people have contributed either by reading, writing or commenting. It's an entity apart from us now, carried by the strength of sum of our words.
Pretty damned cool.
(sorry about the football)
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