Today a stream of children happened by the Poetry Yurt. Among them were twins Claire and Richard, who experimented with writing poems with a found feather and ink, and then on leaves as well as paper. And Poppy, who was 4, came with her grandma and we (that’s Poppy and me) wrote a poem together. That is, Poppy talked about what she’d seen and experienced, and I wrote it down, then read it back to her. Sometimes I suggested a way to tie it together, and then Poppy made the decision about which way to play it. Sometimes I think that some of the trickiest bits in writing poetry come down to taking a decision. Here is Poppy’s poem, she chose the title.
Poppy’s Poem About Palms
They have funny kind of leaves
big and a wee bit jaggy.
In the wind they blow and clatter.
Their trunks are rough as if
they’re full of thorns, as if
they’ve got wee skelfs, like wood.
Kriss and Lesley came by too, interested in making poems about paths, so we threaded the dark and spiky path through the Gunnera Bog, and I tested a draft on them, and then they took off to tackle Garden Dada Poetry. Here is Kriss, taking a blindfold stab at poster Numero Tres.