Wastelands

 

Canal side moorings and old mills

Stretch their northern roots into the collapsed rubble

Of Industrialised wreckage

Overgrown with harsh grass and weeds

 

An old man sits at the side of the grey water

And dips a hopeful line into its murky depths

There are parts of old bikes and shopping trolleys

Poking from the surface like Leviathan bones

 

Paths ...

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The old man stood, hands on hips, looking around the yard. He saw someone across the yard waving and recognized Remy's bushy gray beard. Remy and Eloise were sat chatting with Steve and Jenny. The old man went over and joined them. He sank down into the white leather sofa. Each of the couples had their own sofas. The sofas, like the awning over them, had all seen better days but oh what luxurious,...

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The old man sat on the terrace his eyes closed. The throbbing purr of the mini-digger sounded like some very large, contented lion. Rob the driver was telling Jake the plumber, who was in the trench, to saw through the large root from the acacia tree that was stopping the digger scooping out more trench. The old man opened his eyes and saw his friend Dave, owner of terrace and trench, holding out ...

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The old man stepped out into the garden and stood in the sunshine. Warm, yes, but not too warm to work. He collected the battered barrow from the shed. In it a kneeler and a bucket containing gloves, a trowel and secateurs.

There had been five weeks without significant rain and at the end temperatures had been up in the mid to high thirties. Now, after some good downpours, the garden was just ...

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Faint call of soaring seabird shadowed against burning midday sun. Hazy white wisps suspended low on horizon. Gentle waves barely disturb cerulean surface as they erase footprints oozing across wet sand. Knotted clumps of drying kelp clutter high water line, its salty tang drifting through shimmering heat. Lolloping labrador leaps in pursuit of slowly fluttering flies. Staccato sounds of spade bea...

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Dim light filters through lightly trembling curtains. Distant moaning, like a keening banshee, disturbs peaceful slumber. Outside, trees bend to resolute force of northerly gale. Barren, straggling limbs send stilted semaphore messages for all to read. Trapped detritus flutters in hedgerow, struggling for freedom to cartwheel like urban tumbleweed along sparsely populated street. Lowering clouds s...

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Sun setting behind sparse, shadowy clouds as workers return home from daily toil. Breath mists chill air ahead of their progress. Birds gather in sweeping, roiling flocks, preparing for departure. Nearly naked trees alongside road claw starkly towards the darkening sky, leaves curling in shades of red and yellow at their feet. Pavement glistens with early evening frost, showing footprints of passi...

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New day dawns over gently rolling sea. Ebbing tide sweeps across glistening shore, eddying and whirling as water retreats beneath rippling waves. Striated sand, scattered with swirling coils of worm-casts, is sparsely strewn with yellowing strands of kelp and wrack. Watery sunlight slowly shortens shadows thrown by looming headland. Far above, smudges of cloud paint shimmering blue sky with wispy ...

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Cold, gloomy clouds of yesterday banished as golden orb slides sluggishly across hazy blue expanse. Scarcely audible drone of traffic masked by desultory calls of lingering birds accompanied by faint counterpoint of rustling shrubbery. Gentle breeze riffles creamy hawthorn blossom, mingling its heavy fragrance with scent of newly mown grass. Errant cuttings drift languidly across green sward, slow...

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WRITING POETRY: the haiku way

http://area17.blogspot.com/2010/02/unique-residential-course-monday-friday.html

Monday - Friday 12th - 16th April 2010

Here is a little taster of what we'll be enjoying during the residential course:

The Haiku Game: great ice-breaker and relaxed way to start the course.
Haiku: its history, techniques, how to keep a haiku journ...

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