I am pleased to say that today my poem High Street has been published by Nutshells and Nuggets here: http://nutshellsandnuggets.tumblr.com/
photo Rose Cook
The Chalice and the Heart
He explained as clearly as he could
about the heart inside each vertebrae.
He drew and it was beautiful,
our spinal cord rising through a series of hearts.
One of mine is no longer a heart,
but a chalice, like a cocktail glass.
Algiz, the earth, which is also Z the end.
When his mother died, Seamus Heaney
wrote a poem about folding a sheet with her.
So many days I have lifted sheets
from the line with my own mother.
She taught me the way of folding.
Together we would dance to and fro,
handing the cloth to her as she made
the final fold, a pat and sigh,
that slight smile to meet my eye,
then on to the next.
I never wanted it to end.
poem and photograph Rose Cook
I will be reading my poems at:
Plymouth Central Library, Drake Circus, Plymouth PL4 8AL
on Saturday 20th September 2-3.30 pm, with Ann Alexander, Caroline Carver. A free event from Grey Hen Press.
Also on Sunday September 21st at 7pm at TAAG, 4/5 Northumberland Place, Teignmouth, Devon TQ14 8DD for World Peace Day
and at the Torbay Poetry Festival on Monday Oct. 27th with Moor poets in the function room at Living Coasts, Torquay 10.30am-12
photo by Rose Cook
Originally posted on Anthony Wilson:
I am taking a break from writing brand new blog posts over the summer.
Instead of posting new work I am giving readers the chance to read material from the archives of my blog.
In no particular order, here are twenty of my favourite posts from the last four years.
Rose Cook’s marvellous ‘Poem for someone who is juggling her life’ came into my life a year or two ago through the marvellous aegis of Helena Nelson at HappenStance Press. As a subscriber to the press I receive one of their poem-cards each quarter. This is how ‘Poem for someone who is juggling her life’ came to be on my doormat.
To say I loved it immediately would be an understatement. It spoke into into that place which exists, Frost says, ‘before words were, living in the cave of the mouth’. It sent me back to myself and to silence…
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