I went to South Hampstead High School and lived in Hampstead Garden Suburbs.

It's all connected.

It occurs to me that this thread hasn't seen poetry for a while.

This is from the project I'm currently doing, where I write an acrostic, and then rewrite it into a poem that's a sequel to the first, or enters a duet with the first, or is just a revision of the first.

THE FLICKER SPEAKS

Listen. Unless some small things are come to pass (pebbles and grass, dead leaves,
Ants crawling over rocks) you will not pull for the last moment. I've never
Not been benevolent, munificent, magnanimous, let you to use all of
Those little words you dreamed up. Frost traces your windows now.
Every moment inside your skin; don't dare forget. I wait; a moment later you are
Righted and set to minute. Counting your chickens. The wolf draws
Nearer to your homestead, your small lantern burning, your wooden door.


THE FLICKER SPEAKS II

The wolf draws nearer. Here, it's cold. Mildew grows on the back walls.
You wait, and shiver. 
Every moment inside your skin--
                                                                              don't dare forget. I watch you. 
There's a lesson lost.                               Breaking out like crocuses.
Another forty days of rain. Every bible's just 
another love story, sweet heart, time slowing.
                                                 The arc's been sighted. The candle waits.

Hampshire is a part of England. Southerly, I think? FayJay? Am-Chau? My hometown, Hampstead, a neighborhood of London, I think...

ita! You lived in Hampstead Garden Suburb? Damn, woman, our old postal code was first N10 (we were Muswell Hilbillies) and then down the hill slightly to N8. And Jo was born at Whittington.

Rebecca, damn.

Seconding the damn.

Trice.

my 5x7, unlined, ringbound journals

Carla, I started journaling this way, in a 3-ring 5x7 binder which was also my work day planner. I set aside a section for journaling at any time, anywhere. As I filled pages I'd remove and replace them. I bought paper stock that took fountain pen ink well, colors and textures I enjoyed, and had it cut to size and hole-punched at a printer's who did it free, for all the business my office did with him. When I had about an inch's thickness of written-on pages I'd bind them, cover hardboard or cardboard end boards with handmade paper, or giftwrap, or collage, and bind with twine or leather lacing. I still have those "journals." And I still use the planner, though now I journal elsewhere.

For those of you who like NaNoWriteMo, it's NaNoEdMo. [link]

Lizard, just fabulous.

Although...

it occurs to me that this thread hasn't seen poetry for a while.

::cough:: Except what I posted a few days ago.

Yes indeed, Steph posted some sensational poetry. Which means we've seen two good hits in damned near as many days.

Which makes me happy.

Rebecca, damn.

Woo. Thank you.

::cough:: Except what I posted a few days ago.

Oh, come on. This is the Internet; and the thread has been fast. A few days is months' worth in those conditions.

I love these: Aeolyta, Melosyne. Those are sensational names.

Thanks! I'm fond of them. The characters, too.

Hampshire is a part of England.

This is what I mean. New Hampshire was named because it had historic ties to another place in the world. Allow your fantasy world to have historic ties within itself. Let it move through time. That was my point, apologies if I waxed a little too rhetorical.

Bev, that's the way I had visions of writing. But when I tried, it turned out I intimidated myself with the pretty. I had to have a feeling of impermanence, editability. Hence, I have a bin full of post-consumer-recycled steno type pads, with pages falling off from use and storage. But I wrote freely, allowed myself the freedom to screw up and leave lovely unfinished bits for future use.