Guest Features on Patricia’s Pen – January 2022 – March 2022

Over the next couple of weeks why not revisit some of the guest features on Patricia’s Pen during 2022?

January kicked off with crime fiction author Val Penny – you can read her blog HERE

Author, Mary Schmidt, followed with her children’s book Davy’s Dragon Castle – you can read what Mary had to say HERE

Next up was one of my favourite poets –

Damien B Donnellywho joined forces with the lovely Eilín de Paorto write their poetry conversationIn the Jitterfritz of Neon

If you missed it – you can catch up HERE

Romantic Author, Liz Martinson, started us off in February – you can read what Liz had to say HERE

Author, Camilla Downs followed, blogging about how her walks proved inspirational in writing – read how inspiration helps Camilla HERE

Last week’s poetry form was the extremely tricky Welsh form, awdll gywydd. It took a lot of fiddling with, but I’m satisfied it gave something pleasant to listen to. And a chance to repost Kerfe’s owl painting. You can read the other poems on Paul Brookes’ site here.

This dark night

I heard owl call this dark night,
When the light so bright had dimmed,
Saw his ghostly, silent flight,
Eerie sight, bone-white, sky-skimmed.

This night they walk, fox and deer,
Without fear, not here, for we
Are abed until the lark,
Though dogs bark, too dark to see.

Dawn will break, mother-of-pearl,
Day uncurl, unfurl, fill soon
With swifts. Till then shadows creep,
Blackbirds sleep, hares leap the moon.

In response to the photos, day 6 of Paul Brookes’ what shapes can you see in the clouds challenge.

Cloud-break

a shaft of sunlight
streams in golden glory,
cathedral-filling,

dust mote-floating, touching
the shadowed fields below
with the echoing voices of infinity.

In pale imitation, we scrawl our names
in exhaust from screaming engines
across the purity, scratch the coping

of the sky with fingernails,
until the white stuffing bursts,
disperses, sea foam.

The Oracle trying to keep things in perspective. And pushing that sausage.

I’ve just seen the photos for Paul Brookes’ cloud challenge, and this poem seems to fit. You can see the images here.

A pause in the tempest

Blue immensity,
this wind-driven change,
this turning into the cold,

we must pass through,
almost a dream, sea-deep,
not death not sleep.

We follow in the seals’ wake,
their rolling, tunnelling
passage, to the place

where the whispering of the sun
is the language of the moon,
the tongue of the planet.