What's happening at HappenStance
Waking to the wind gusting the trees outside the window, I thought of Christina Rossetti.
I now know the cure for eating too much chocolate.
The time has come. I can’t put it off another day.
There are old poems and there are new poems. But some of the new ones feel old and some of the old ones feel new.
This was one of the questions at the Poetry Book Fair last Saturday.
I find liking poetry more difficult than I used to. What a confession!
“As to the Adjective: When in doubt, strike it out.” So said Mark Twain in Pudd’nhead Wilson – and he knew a thing or two.
On my desktop I have a file titled To Do List AUGUST.
You're getting obsessed with chocolate.
The submissions window is shut. Here's what came through it.
Reading poetry in fathoms has a weird effect.
So this is what it's like.
So this is what I do during the reading window in July.
There’s value and there’s cost.
I have learned some gruesome things from poems.
How have I missed Louis MacNeice on minor poets until now?
The “first fine careless rapture” is startlingly loud just now. And it’s not the first.
Sometimes I feel almost like a real publisher.
. . . is still singing in my head.
“The god of grump” someone called him on a FaceBook thread recently. Old Larkin, old love.