October 2011 ~ Helen Hagemann

Monday, October 31, 2011

My Irish Pics, Annaghmakerrig & Dublin

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Poem for the Day - Her Blue Dress (artwork by Janice Mason Steeves, Canada)

Her Blue Dress for Janice You will want to knowthe seasonhow a gown can slip itself over nose and cheekand be visible from arthow Emily Dickinson stood by a window pressing her pink hipsthrough a passage of timelifting a blue taffeta dressover...

Cartoon for the Day - I Love this Irish One!

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Three Poems in Eureka Street!

Three poems published today in Eureka Street. Must be the luck of Ireland still on my shoulders. Thank you Mr. Tyrone Guthrie for bequeathing your house to artists. What a wonderful place it was, the people more so. I now have lots of Irish friends and others too, from all over the world! The Tyrone Guthrie Centre You can read the poems at Eureka Street Poems are also...

Helen is Back from the Land of the Leprechauns!

The Return of Saturday Poetry & A Possible Hands-Up Count This is a hands-up count to those of you who are interested in attending Term 1 of the fortnightly Saturday Poetry class at the Grove Library in 2012. The library is once again very supportive of OOTA and is requesting a confirmation from me regarding the booking. (Apparently the Flax room is in high demand for 2012!). It would be great to secure our original space – that lovely quiet...

Poem for the Day - Bull's-Eye (revised at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre, Ireland)

Bull’s-eye The whole house turned wild took a deep breath with the noise of it like snapped wood It was before the dartboard before father fixed a flywire door before anyone thought of a startled death My young brother too sick of dying from archaic flow of arrows from Robin Hood’s deathly yowl from behind the staghorn wall where a graceful thrust of sword pinched him to the floor took the sharpest tool from the shed and with a garrulous burst...

Poem for the Day - Camping (revised at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre, Newbliss, Ireland)

Camping We pack after Christmas, a band of pilgrims heading out on the open road. This is the best time of year when nights are full of stars and clouds have slung their guy-ropes across another town. Cruising Walpole, trees cast their long shadows like mesh across insects and streams. We explore pioneer camps, axe handles in old markings, phantom footprints of an agreeable time. We have the night sky all to ourselves. It warms us like saplings...