I have been writing poems for many years but only recently started to take their writing more seriously. I love the process of transforming an idea or experience in the way that poetry allows. I am curious about our relatedness to the landscape, including that on our doorsteps, and how features of our attachment to places seep into our awareness and through generations. This is what I write about, as well as anything that takes my notice as I live through these extraordinary times. My poetry has been published by Agenda, Attachment, New Welsh Review and in the Windle/Dempsey anthologies for the 1000 Monkeys in Guildford, where I can regularly be found at their monthly events at The Keep, and at Write Out Loud, Woking. A few pieces are on-line and you can see those below. New poems in new anthologies for 2017/18 include Best of Britain, and The Pocket Poetry Book of Love by Paper Swans, the Stanley Spencer Anthology published by Two Rivers Press, Curlew Calling edited by Karen Lloyd, and Poems for Keeps published by Dempsey & Windle. A review of the poetry reading I gave with Joe Cullen at the Tavistock Institute Festival, is here:https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=71312 and I will be taking up the role of Poet-in-Residence in April 18 at http://www.psychosocial-studies-association.org/event/annual-conference-psychosocial-reflections-on-a-half-century-of-cultural-revolution You can find poems of mine here: https://abegailmorley.wordpress.com/2016/09/05/8226/ https://www.newwelshreview.com/article.php?id=1046 Combustion https://karnacology.com/art-and-therapy/karen-izod/ Behind every fighting man are 15 more and A poem in which I learn what it is like to be my mother in the war
Send in the Clown (thank you Stephen Sondheim) or Why do their names all begin with B? I was never one for slap-stick. Brian Rix with his trousers down, rushing out one way just as the husband comes in another. Or Basil Fawlty, dishes in hand, making a quick U-turn 'twixt kitchen and table. Now we have Boris, caught in his revolving door, trying to make an entrance or could be an exit. Who knows? Though I know what it is I don’t like: the high speed trickery, apparent lack of foresight, and all with perfect timing. The pure farce of it all.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Viewed 780 times since 21 Jul 2016
Do you want to be featured here? Submit your profile.