Poetrier than thou

Happily, poetry is part of every week, what with the poetry groups I run at Bristol Folk House and the open mic I help to organise, not to mention writing the stuff when that's happening, but some weeks are poetrier than others, like this last one.

It started with getting my contributor's copy of an anthology, 100% of the profits of which are going to Sanctuary Foundation, an organisation which helps relocate Ukrainian people to safety and homes in the UK. It's available from Black Spring Press. 

It continued with my being guest poet at one of my favourite open mics, Under the Red Guitar at El Rincón in Bedminster, which is hosted by Bob Walton and Lizzie Parker, and which seemed to go well. 

I don't have a photo of that evening, as I find it hard enough to concentrate on reading and breathing at the same time, but here's the poster Bob put together to advertise it. 

The finale was yesterday afternoon's reading by Bob at the newly opened Heron Bookshop in Clifton Arcade. First, though, a walk for Cwtch on the Downs.  

View of the Avon from Sea Walls to the Suspension Bridge ... 

... and downstream towards Avonmouth

Cwtch taking in the vastness of the Downs

Kissing's clearly in season with the gorse in bloom ... 

... as is - at last! - the blackthorn ... 

... oh my goodness, the blackthorn!

The Clifton Arcade is a lovely light space, now with a lovely bookshop in it.

Bob being introduced by Lizzie Moss

Bob is much better at multitasking during readings than I am, managing to play an instrument as well as read his poem 'Afon Rhymni', with its wonderful opening line 'There's no river like your first river', AND check the Cardiff City score on his phone. Hats off. 

Cwtch settling in for the duration

See the copy of 'Wild Light' by printmaker Angela Harding, placed directly in my line of vision as I stood in the doorway? That was soon paid for and tucked under my arm.

Cwtch wondering if it's time to go

Meanwhile I'm looking forward to reading at Wells Fountain Poets in a couple of weeks, on Monday April 3rd, upstairs at the King's Head in Wells at 7pm; also with the Isambards on our poetry walk from Electricity House in Bristol City Centre to Queen Square, on Shakespeare Day - Sunday April 23rd - starting at 11am. 

Going home

Last week Facebook drew to my attention to the fact that it was a year since I'd wandered around the heart of Bristol, and I realised that I'd never been away from it for that long before. And as I'm attached to the place, I had to do something about it, and that meant getting up at dawn to go down  for a wander before it was too busy, as much for the puppy's sake as that of our social distancing. 

It was still quite dark when we arrived at Mud Dock, but it brightened as we headed down along Princes Wharf and Wapping Wharf to the Great Britain, although there was a stiff breeze, which made for interesting skies and achy faces. 

The same breeze brought in storm clouds, and although it was only a short stroll, the sky quickly became a lot more dramatic. 

Looking across to Cabot Tower ... 

`    

... and back to Cliftonwood

Cabot Tower, the Planetarium, Bristol Cathedral, the Wills Memorial Building, more of the Cathedral, the lead works chimney

Don't make me go in that puddle! 

A brisk stop-off at Sea Walls  - no ice cream van! - and it was time to go home. All very familiar, but given that we can't go anywhere new right now, enough to tide us over. 

 

Leigh Woods in sun and mud

Who's this, creeping through the woods at sunrise? Why, it's Cwtch the collie. 

Another Sunday morning, warmer - and therefore muddier - than last week, but still beautiful.

We got up even earlier to avoid as many people as possible, and largely succeeded. 

The views were much clearer than the same outlooks last week, when it was misty and frosty. We could see the River Avon hundreds of feet below in the bottom of the gorge. 

Today I was particularly struck by how colourful winter is in these woods. Of course, it helped that it was sunny.

We walked some way along the ramparts of Stokeleigh Camp.

We had a choice of paths ... 

... and decided to walk alongside the parish wall for a bit before making our way back to North Road. 

There are quite a few beech trees in this part of the wood. I think this one might have beech bark disease though I might need correcting on this. 

Meanwhile, others have been subject to declarations of love, a common fate of beech trees with smooth bark.

I love love Claire Sellars(?)  ... Will love her forever

The date looks like 1789 but I expect it's 1989. Maybe Claire knows the truth of the matter. She must be out there somewhere.

This tree has made a declaration of love all by itself.