Monthly Archives: January 2021

Still Life with Peaches and Avocado, by Mary Gurr

This poem by Mary Gurr was commended in our members’ competition in 2020, and published in Folio #74.

Still Life with Peaches and Avocado

In memoriam Maurice Weidman

Cross-hatching their ripeness,
dimpling the rugged pear rising
like an island, a hardened hill of lava
ominous and black amid the peachy lush.
Remembering Mr Weidman, eyes sharp
for the structure of a curve, the countless
still moments that make up a line.
            I drew him once, engrossed
in someone’s apple, picked out the light
reflected on his arm and on his brow
against the dark white studio wall in shadow,
and his face, eyes fixed forward, hand raised
in full engagement with the fruit,
in his element, harvesting.

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Home Grown

Something special to look forward to!

On January 19th. at 8 o’clock we have our annual poetry feast, celebrating 3 of our own members’ writing. It is always enjoyable to hear a selection of poems by the same writer, as it illuminates their identity as poets so much more than the single workshopped poems, and it’s great to see how some of those poems have changed since we first heard them. There will also be plenty of writing that is new to us.

This month we are inviting into our homes Marian Christie, Sonia Lawrence and Graham Mummery. The evening will be divided into halves, with each poet reading twice. What better way could there be to spend a winter night?

Happy New Year to you all.

Vita Sackville-West, our first patron.

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Poetry after Auschwitz, by Phil Vernon

This poem by our Treasurer, Phil Vernon, was awarded first prize in our members’ competition in 2019, and was published in Folio #73.

Poetry after Auschwitz
‘Poetry is pointless – like kicking a stone’ – overheard at a poetry reading

At the start and the end of this long, straight road:
a silent child, a house in flames,
a leafless tree, an empty town

He kicks a stone to watch it leap
and skitter on the flattened clay,
then slow and stall and go to ground

Along the forest edge stand those
he’s failed to save: he sings his song;
his unknown patrons hear no sound

and yet he feels their silence deep
beneath his feet, and sees beyond
the tree, the child, the house, the town

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