Happy Birthday HN!
My debut poetry collection, Heading North, was published by Nordland Publishing two years ago today. I’m still rather proud of it.
If anybody wants to buy a copy, with Christmas around the corner, there is a link below. Or, if any of you should find yourself near the Middleton public library in Manchester, UK, or the Norway National Library, you could have a read for free.
I’m all for the opportunists among you 😉
The first storm of the season, named Aileen, is due to hit tonight. For perspective, Aileen is no Irma, but still. I’ve taken down the hanging baskets and an outside lantern which is as much as I can do with no hatches to batten down.
The afternoon I spent working on a second poetry collection I’m trying to put together, while listening to a group from my favourite music period.
I have a friend who loves the eighties, and would instantly recognise the nod given by the title of this post. My own go-to listening preference stretches from the mid-sixties to early seventies. The Beatles; The Doors; The Kinks; The Rolling Stones; Tim Buckley; Cream; Cohen; Dylan, I love all of these and more.
Being born in 1971 means that in my youth I’ve never been in vogue, musically. And don’t even mention my dress sense!
Listening to music helps when I’m writing. The group I was listening to today was Jefferson Airplane. Why do I like these?
Go and ask Alice. When she’s ten feet tall.
I’ve decided to create a new blog which will contain nothing but poetry.
Fear not, City Jackdaw will go on as normal, featuring the usual mix of various subjects. (And there will still be poetry featured on Jackdaw, too, from time to time.)
But the new blog will be solely for my poems. New ones; old ones; complete ones and works in progress.
The title of the blog is Coronets For Ghosts, taken from a line in one of my poems. For those of you who want to check out my newborn babe, you will find her here:
https://coronetsforghosts.wordpress.com
I hope you will continue to fly with City Jackdaw, too.
Seven Winds The seven winds. Are there seven? Stapling 'Missing' posters to telegraph poles sweaty black leather and the odorous stink of sex and B.O. A slip with a girl's number on it found in the pocket of an old coat ragged and threadbare could she still be out there? a fixed point in a perishing dream. Coffee. Caffeine doesn't keep you awake it's a myth it's the toilet trips that need to piss every goddamned hour slipping through the tincture of light that crawls from the horizon with a Kirlian glow. There are friends long gone who festered for a while couldn't take the hint but maybe I was their project grasping for words as the dying gasp for breath carving my affections instead into the flesh of trees. ©AndrewJamesMurray
Hi guys, here is a link to my Amazon Author page. Check it out if you get five minutes during this busy Christmas period.
Thanks people, wishing you peace-at least for those five minutes 🙂
Andy
City Jackdaw 