---

Grandma Badger came to greet me
Most dashing in her dinner frock
Invited me to midnight tea

All the little cubs came to gawk
They hadn’t seen a witchling before
Down and down we went, quite a walk

At length we came to a carved door
Come into the library dear
Where we our ancient knowledge store

In here you can meet our seer
She’ll teach you whatever you need
To from the witch hunters stay clear

Decipher the signs you must heed
Help you light the white ardent flame
That must any vision quest lead

It’s time to your inborn strength claim
That’s what will set your spirit free
I see it in your fire brick mane

First we’ll have fortifying tea
Then we’ll see what signs you can see

©RedCat

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Researching and writing this I learnt a few new words, first witchling which, when it popped…

A triolet inspired by Kerfe Roig’s beautiful Badger. You can read all the contributions here.

• 

Badger light

In the grey of badger light
That smells of earthy, rooted things,
The dark is fox and barn owl flight.
In the grey of badger light,
You rollock through the scented night.
On sharp-clawed pads, no need for wings,
You skim the grey of badger light,
That smells of earthy, rooted things.

Inspired by John Law, “Back from Shopping” and Kerfe Roig, “Badger”

• 

• 

Sturdy women coated and scarved,
against the cold, damp English day. Tight-clad legs step
clop clop on water-pooled streets. The little one’s hand grasped—
everywhere unseen dangers lurk.

There will be no jumping now. Come along, her mother says,
and goes on talking about Bess’s too-soon baby, Tom’s gout,
and Will who lost his job—again.

Beneath the surface of their words, stories swim,
fish waiting to be caught,
the meanings elusive, not quite hooked.

The woolen hats and packages move with the women, yellow, red, and green
contrasts with the grey all around.
In the fine drizzle of the fretting sea,
the shops are nearly invisible,
like the badger in their garden, a fog-creature of the night.

The girl wonders if he lives beneath
the surface of the puddles. She jumps…

Thank you, Nigel, for inviting me over to your blog to talk about my pamphlet, The Montefiore Bride.

The Montefiore Bride is a short story told in prose poetry and forms part of the Worth Park timeline I wrote back in 2017, during my residency at a local Victorian park, when studying for my Creative Writing MA with the University of Brighton. The full poetry timeline will be published later this year by The Hedgehog Poetry Press.

During my residency, I researched the park’s past going back to 19th September 1888 when Sir Francis Montefiore, the first and last Baronet of Worth Park, brought home his Austrian bride. Unfortunately, Lady Marianne, Sir Francis’s wife, was only at Worth Park for one year before returning home to Vienna and never to return to Crawley, but no one knows the details why.

The bridal couple’s arrival at Three Bridges Station on 19

You know that you’ve enjoyed reading a collection when you repeatedly wish you’d written the poem you’ve just read. That was the case for me with Sharon Larkin’s, Dualities (Hedgehog Poetry press, 2020). I was left envying the achievement of this collection for she writes the sort of poetry that I enjoy reading and aspire to write.

Larkin’s collection has the perfect title, Dualities, for in this collection so many of the poems examine the two, often conflicting, aspects of the subjects about which she writes. This is particularly true of her poems about relationships which capture their complexity, revealing how positive behaviours can turn out to have negative outcomes. For example, in Mismatch she writes about a woman trapped in a controlling relationship in which she is treated as a child, forced to do things she doesn’t want to: ‘I didn’t want to, but you enticed me out,/found me…

I’m delighted to welcome Lucy Crispin, former Poet Laureate of South Cumbria.

Hi Nigel

It’s great to have a space to talk about one of the poems from shades of blue. Thank you so much. I’ve chosen ‘a libation for small things’, in part because it reflects some of my characteristic thoughts and interests; in part, also, because through the pandemic I think we’ve all appreciated the ‘small things’ which helped us keep going.

Both my jobs—as poet and therapist—involve considering what it is to live happily and well. Of course, this varies from person to person—your ‘small things’ will be different from mine—but whatever the ‘things’ are, they help offset the inevitable pain of being human. Blackbird song at 5am; the unselfconsciousness of a fancy-dressed child; the fleeting beauty of changing light; the kindness of a friend: all these things can redeem a day and make it…

In Response to Art Work by Jane Cromwell

Sirius mighty
star, shines for the Night Journey
appear disappear

In Response to Art Work by John Law

Scarborough Harbour

This is the harbour where Vikings landed
where bombs struck,smoke covered all
where people stepped to trade in fairs
where knowledge broke borders bare
this is the harbour where waves now strike
recede,quietude reigns, travellers alight
where once writers would stories write,
where history marks its pages bright
and tourists roam enjoy ice cream nights

In Response to Art Work by Kerfe Roig