Moon for Our Daughters by Annie Finch
Moon that is linking our daughters’
Choices, and still more beginnings,
Threaded alive with our shadows,
These are our bodies’ own voices,
Powers of each of our bodies,
Threading, unbroken, begetting
Flowers from each of our bodies.
These are our spiraling borders
Carrying on your beginnings,
Chaining through shadows to daughters,
Moving beyond our beginnings,
Moon of our daughters, and mothers.
photo Rose Cook
Come along to the Blue Walnut for another night of performance poetry. Celebrate the new year with some of the finest locally sourced poets and spoken word artists, culminating in a headline set from the sublime Rose Cook.
Rose Cook is a well-known South West poet, who co-founded the popular Devon poetry and performance forum One Night Stanza, as well as poetry performance group Dangerous Cardigans.
To open the new year in a special way, she will be bringing along her latest book Hearth to share poems from it, among others. Expect numinous poems, expect surprise, intimacy, humour, expect a grateful celebration of life.
“Rose Cook’s poetry is a secret dance, a graceful flight as her words lift from the page, light and tender and yet powerful enough to change the way we see the world. Her performances are spellbinding, intimate conversations, private transactions as if reaching right into the soul of the audience.” Robert Garnham
Entry fee £6
I am very pleased to see three of my new poems published today by Clear Poetry. Many thanks.
Do have a look at www.clearpoetry.wordpress.com
Rose Cook is the latest poet to be featured here. Hearth is her newest collection, her fourth and like Notes from a Bright Field is published by the discerning Cultured Llama.
And the poems? Well, I don’t know what to say because they all give me goose pimples and it’s hard to be articulate about something that does that. Rose has a way of writing about personal experiences in a totally unsentimental way, while being characteristically frank. By employing simple but precise language each poem pierces your heart. She writes about motherhood, her son’s fall, her grief for the loss of her own mother presented through everyday actions like folding sheets, seasons, plants and wild creatures (in particular hares) and all are bound together by her distinctively observant eye, her compassion.
I think it’s her acceptance of life’s precariousness and what our bodies know about us that is a strong binding thread.
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