At dawn on March 11th 1943, the 3351 Jewish people living in Monastir, Macedonia (what was Yugoslavia then) were rounded up from Monastir, and incarcerated, with all other Macedonian Jews. 7350 people crammed into the old Monopol tobacco factory in Skopje. Over two hundred people died in Monopol – of sickness, or killed by the…
Tag: poetry
Noisy Creatures
One of my favourite places to write, other than my art room on a sunny morning, is a local cafe – sitting at the quiet table in the corner, between a small forest of monsterras next to the window. If we go at the right time, it’s the perfect place. Wonderful art on the walls,…
The Boy Nikolai
turning nightmares into poems
Manicures & memories
Painting my daughter’s nails is one of those precious, intimate moments of parenthood. . . a metaphor for love.
Seeing the year out with a poem
8 o’clock. I’m sitting here in my trackies with a cold beer and watching Vikings with my husband while the last of today’s sunshine fades from the sky and the last hours of 2020 dwindle into darkness as the calendar shifts to 2021 and sporadic fireworks begin to crackle. I’d like to see the year…
Finding Poems in Unexpected Places – A Prisoner’s Shirt
Sometimes we have to go searching for ideas when we are writing. Sometimes they just drop into our laps, falling from unexpected places. Like this one – In WW2, Private Stan Herron (1914 – 1967) was captured by the Japanese, and sent to work with other prisoners on the Burmese railway. Prisoners were issued an…
Every Time I Blink
This gallery contains 1 photo →
Writing from Memory and Life
Memory and experience are fertile places for writers. I always think the stories and poems we react most strongly to are the ones that strike a chord of empathy or understanding, because we have experienced similar things or thoughts ourselves. One of my favourite poems is Originally, by Carol Ann Duffy and One Art, by…
At Midnight
The clock has struck midnight and all is quiet in our neck of the woods. But there was a time, a few years back, a certain small girl (she knows who she is) thought midnight was not a time for sleeping, but singing. It’s actually more like a quarter of a century back, and now…
Walking Sticks & Freedom
This morning was one of those grey-white, mizzly days. Warm, and not quite raining, but the sun seemed to have decided to stay in bed, wrapped up in the snuggly folds of duvet-clouds. I, on the other hand, was fizzing with energy (rare, and not-to-be-wasted), even after a shower. So after breakfast, we decided to…
Verve 