This daily writing, direct to the page, is becoming an interesting hybrid of page design and poetry. I’m enjoying the ink more, not just as a writing tool but for the unpredictability of the nib which sometimes splodges to obscure meaning. This is frustrating and exciting. I’m also re-discovering my handwriting and how illegible it is. No wonder I prefer typing!
At the end of the garden
is a coop.
Fear is like a head of cabbage
tossed into the run.
Outstretched feathered necks
scamper towards the thud
even before they know what it is.
Meanwhile, a hen, inside the coop
warm bellied in half-eyed meditation
waits.
another kind of happiness 