Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Friday, 21 November 2008
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
The artist is the one in the white T-shirt.
My daughter and my two grandchildren,
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Blue Oyster Gallery on Tuesday night.
Today we checked out the Chinese Gardens.
***... and then popped into the Blue Oyster Gallery to see how things were progressing ...
Today, washing the dishes
the smell of dish-washing liquid,
the sound of distant conversation,a grey warbler, the neighbour
putting in his vegetable garden;our son hanging
his life's workso far in the balance;
but maybe notof the smell of haymaking
and the bliss of stoppingfor a picnic tea
on a woollen rugand the taste of sun
and time, not lostso much as stoppered.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
And here are two older posts to add to the bottom of this one:
Catherine and I met up and had dinner out at the Circadian Rhythm cafe, taking in a Poetry Reading at the same time.
It was a good chance to show Catherine, who is herself part of the poetry scene in Christchurch, a little of the poetry scene in Dunedin.
By the way, here is a link to Bill Direen's take on the night at Scott Hamilton's very fine blog.
David Karena Holmes
I urge you to drop into Claire Beynon's Antarctic blog, Ice Lines - it's definitely got the WOW! factor. Amazing photos and videos taken with her artist's eye - plus fabtastic (I just made that word up!) writing. Claire is a talented writer and artist.
Plus a link to Reviews of books by Richard Reeve, Jeanne Bernhardt, Martha Morseth and Gary Brecher
And another choice of a link to the reviews c/- Wordpress
I have been neglecting this blog for some months. I think perhaps I should face facts and accept that it is indeed time to retire this blog...
Calling all poets -: Just a reminder about the poetry competition currently running at poems in the Waiting Room - go HERE for details. Clo...
The mild winter that we are experiencing has everyone remarking. I put out sugar water for the birds, but so far it has o...
Waipounamu (Wall Poem) Hoisting history on his back like a sugar-sack, the swagger strides along greenstone trails. All night the crib...