Writing

Can I tell you before it’s tarnished? Before the lichen crust absolves me of need to share?

Home WavesTo lie on the line between sand and sea will not be enough will not express my homesick, long-hearted fondness for here.

Back Home Mumbles greets, with pop-to-shop chatter, the ping of welcome, the smell of new, Welsh crafted gifts and the slow-down of browse.Home is in the accent, in the dragon on...

When the bough breaks and my oak tree heart is joined by an echo,

I'm excited to share the news that 'Poetry at Christmas' will take place at Greyfriars Municipal Art Gallery, Waterford on Monday, 23rd December. Come and join the Christmas fun from 5.30 pm.

I've been working on some poetry, lately. I know this isn't a startling revelation, but I'm quite pleased with how these particular poems are shaping up. One was inspired by the memory of my first scan in pregnancy. I was struck by the sonographer's words 'everything you see on the screen is bone . . .' and this led me to my opening line: 'When they tell you, your baby is bone.'

We were off the see the Wizard last Sunday, having bought cinema tickets for Oz the Great and Powerful. The film made my weekend, with its stunning fantasy world and a tug at childhood memories.

Take a leaf, walk its lifelines with your fingers. Make its shape with your hands, its perfect oval an alternate world.

I thoroughly enjoyed teaching a Creative Writing workshop over the weekend. The aim was to write a short story in one day and the attendees rose to the challenge with breathtaking results. I can't reveal too many story secrets but will say that the quality of writing was very high.