with your address if you would like a copy
£10 UK / £15 Overseas
Memories chase me down the slippery verdant path,
through the gate with its rusty spring.
I nod to the passion fruit vine
still visiting the neighbours,
leaving crop as payment for their space.
A climbing rose has embraced the Judas tree.
The roofline steeples its hands in prayer
giving thanks for the harvest,
and begging for rain.
The laced veranda and weather-board bodice
hug the red front door.
It swings to my touch.
A waft of lavender and mothballs greets me,
a cobweb strand brushes my cheek.
In my old room, sunlight prisms through bevelled glass
scattering rainbows on the wall.
Dead flies decorate the windowsill
and the smell of mown grass creeps in through a window crack.
I open the cupboard door,
deaf to the screech of its hinges.
My fingers seek the noggin in the dark
finding the soft leather cover still there.
Small pages stuck with damp,
speckled with mould,
encase the scribbled voice of a child.
Reclaimed, held close,
The words echo against the beat of my heart.
Albert and Julia Featherstone-Cox
have a beautiful elegant blue letter box
with wide hanging eaves to keep out the rain
it sits on a cleverly curved welded chain
The Smiths down the road because of their debtors
have set up a cream can to hold all their letters.
Placed on its side with a slot in the lid
through the slot all their letters are carefully slid
At the end of the lane where the Postie won’t go
stand six mismatched mail boxes – all in a row,
odd colours, odd heights, lichen-dressed and rust stained
they appear like a queue of one legged cranes
My mailbox is small, I don’t get much mail
and what I do get is consumed by the snails,
I get emails and texts and junk mail – a few
but what I crave most is a letter from you
One I can read, full of love and your pain,
one I can read and then read again
to put in my pocket, to fondle and muse
on our time spent together on that great ocean cruise
when passion ignited two elderly hearts
an autumn of love – and now we’re apart…
Hi, so great to be here and to talk to you Kate. I live in New Zealand, which with the internet and social media is only a click away from the rest of the world. I write mostly stories with a sci.fi./paranormal/fantasy theme, although I have several contemporary romance novellas in anthologies. I’ve written Y.A. and even a cozy mystery. I like to challenge myself with a different genre occasionally. In between all this I write poetry. Again I like the challenge of different forms and have tried a lot of them. I’m a sucker for haiku. It’s trying to write in the ‘now’ moment and to say as much as possible in as few words as possible. It’s not just a simple 5-7-5 syllable thing. Sometimes the syllable count doesn’t matter that much. It’s deeper than that when you get into it, and a good haiku is a thing of beauty with the image it creates for the reader.
I’ve tried blogs and a website and given up on them. I now stick to twitter and Face book and yes, both eat into my time and I sometimes wonder why I bother. It’s really hard work promoting your work for little feedback and reward. However, the writing bug continues to niggle, so I never really stop creating worlds and characters.
I’m currently writing a romance which involves a wager taken by two guardian angels about their respective charges. It’s a challenge to include the various points of view, plus I’m trying to make this one into a full length novel. I’m a tiger to write novellas, which causes some complaints among my reviewers – who want MORE and get cross when the story finishes.
Poetry makes me happy. It’s the joy of playing with words so that they flow in a beat, although not necessarily in rhyme at the end of each line; perhaps a rhyme midline at times.
Again it’s the challenge of removing every unnecessary word (like editing fiction) yet painting a picture or story with the words you have left. Like fiction poetry can be realistic or fanciful, sad or joyful.
Here are two haiku examples: both have been published.
on an old cracked jug –
my mother’s smile
standing by the water
discussing tides and traffic
a gossip of dinghies