Fox on a Boat

In the Victoria Embankment Gardens I set out today with a specific goal in mind - to make some sketches and write some poetry. The sun lured me out of my cave  bedroom, and, as is often the case when it is sunny and I am feeling creative, I headed to Southbank. There, I found myself in the Poetry Library. It is a wonderful place - quiet, with few people, and full of books. One night, in the throes of great emotional turmoil (that I don't fully recall), the children's corner, hidden from sight, was a calming poetic haven. It is a little gem of London. Today, I discovered Ted Kooser's Poetry Manual , full of interesting thoughts and quotes. When I go back, I shall have to finish reading it. One thought which I felt rang very true, and particularly enjoyed, was his idea of how a poem changes you, changes your view of the world. If you were to read a poem with a line about the summer evening sunlight, streaming through a willow tree as a nearby musician played sad son...

I was in a bookshop earlier today and read a bit of a book about writing poetry. The author suggested to write only 50 words , and then turn them into a poem. So I tried this tonight. She hides In a quiet corner of the Poetry Library, gathering Her thoughts As the wind blows across the river And the orchestra plays nearby. People mill about but she is well hidden, Sitting on a red cushion in the corner. Safe and warm Whilst the music washes over her.

During Poetry Parnassus here in London, at Southbank, I went to a poetry workshop run by Poems On The Underground. I joined a small group of people led by an older woman, armed with clipboard, paper and pen. Thanks to London's wonderful transport system, (and admittedly, my own slight lateness), I'd missed about 5 minutes of the workshop, so arrived as the group was completing the first task: Write three lies about yourself. I listened as the group all lied in turn, and we moved to the next task, which was to write three fantasies. I slightly misunderstood and wrote three big lies - but what we had to write was three IMPOSSIBLE things. My statements were all possible, but they still did their job, which was to spark a poem idea. One girl wrote about her pet lion called Jeffrey, which was pretty cool. She'd written it from the perspective of a rejected lover, and the mixing of the two 'plots' was nicely done. Another wrote about a pink unicorn, which was slightly...