What’s there to write about?

“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.

The Sense of Smell

When the sense of smell is lost you can almost get depressed. Anosmia is the clinical term, something I knew nothing about. Sadly, now I do. Four months after my husband and I tested positive for COVID-19 I still can’t smell a thing.

Sometimes for a split second, I think I can smell my perfume or my husband’s aftershave. When I get our beds ready for the night and spray my favorite room spray, which is supposed to help us to relax and sleep well, I seem to catch a short sensation of Eucalyptus and Spearmint but it instantly fades away. My brain playing tricks on me?

How Will This Pandemic Affect Poetry?

Will the lines be six feet apart?

Will these hexameters be heroic like Homer’s?

(Will) (each) (word) (have) (to) (be) (masked) (?)

Will there be poetry insecurity?

The Death of a Poet

R.I.P Sue

Between the Tarmar and the Tarmac

Beneath a tangled sky

I saw the Cornish Poet

Walking by

Am I scared?

Depends

Most definitely not always but often
Too many zones need my attention
Too many problems I cannot fix

Click Like – Don’t read!

The other day, when a blogger posted a picture of her toes, I knew it was time to rethink this blogging thing -again. At a time, when we are stuck at home and I should be wanting to read blogs, I found myself scrolling through my reader, clicking LIKE just because it’s the right thing to do. Three or four bloggers still get comments from me. Only one or two I actually still read. The rest?

Unfry An Egg

Of course, you can’t unfry an egg, but there is no law against thinking about it.

If I had my life to live over, I would try to make more mistakes.
I would relax. I know of very few things that I would take seriously.
I would go more places. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers.
I would eat more ice cream and less bran.

A New Year full of Fuck-ups and a Positive Outlook

I never heard anybody hope for a bad new year -that would be against human nature. Things always have to get better. We want to jump higher and wider, we want to run faster. We want to make more money -not less. We need more happiness, more love, a better job.

More, more, more!

Not Only the Eskimos

We have only one noun
but as many different kinds:

the grainy snow of the Puritans
and snow of soft, fat flakes,

If the World Was Crazy

If the world was crazy, you know what I’d eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies
And that’s what I’d eat if the world was crazy