The Society of Women Writers enjoyed a festive dayl face to face
(for the first time for months as the meetings have been held by zoom)
A fun workshop on humour in our writing.
Two great speakers including poet and close friend Pip Griffin giving the authors talk as she told us of the three latest publications which I have spoken of before in more detail.
and then 5 poets
including me enterained the group.
Below is the well known poet and Haikuist, Beverley George and I dressed ready ready for our performance
which was a poem about a catch up of two friends reminiscing about by gone days. It was written by Beverley a few years back and won a FAW award. We generated plenty of laughter what we needed today.
Below is a collage of our Christmas celebration. from the Society’s website.
Two of my poems read as part of the performance.
taking wings
if ever there were a summer day so perfect
so romantic under its mild autumn sun
constantly making love to the trees and flowers
that it made you wish to tear at your shackles
rip off your yoke
feel exposed to its sharp pinion
and to give yourself over to brash colour
without an iota of worry
a day that made you pack a sandwich
and with a bottle of water to set out
to walk quiet ways catching the song
of tiny birds brimming in wild blackberry brambles
and for a moment feel your heart sing
with even a quaver of gratitude
well today is just that kind of day
from Fire on Water by Colleen Keating pg.107
Scriptorium
Maybe it is the light
that illuminates jars
of coloured minerals, powders.
Maybe the smell of curing skin,
or sharp tang of vinegar.
It could be the plaited basket
of moss and flower, blue woad dye
or sharp smell of ink
pestled down from bald-oak.
Maybe the sight of scrolls
rolled into alcoves
or shelved parchments,
or the elaborate books of saints
behind the monk Volmar,
enshrined on the cumdach.
Perhaps it’s the copy of Ptolemy’s Astronomy,
or the manuscripts
Volmar points out,
from all over the Christian and Arab world.
Maybe just crossing the threshold
when Hildegard steps through the door,
inhales the air
and feels immediately at home
in a world that sharpens curiosity.
Hildegard knows,
she has found her calling.
She wants to be a maker of books.
from Hildegard of Bingen: A poetic journey
Just for fun this is a photo of Beverley and me . It was taken at our performance of the same poem at the retreat a few years back.
