The Clachanpluck Poems

I still seem to be stuck in poetry mode at the moment, although these little verses came about in a slightly different fashion.  It’s all Facebook’s fault. Well, actually, that’s not quite true, it’s all a guy called Phil McMenemy’s fault. No, that’s not entirely true either, let me explain… Phil McMenemy is a photographer.  And not just any old photographer, but a very good photographer (if you ask me – and I’m a photographer …

The Hills

When you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll.  Yet another poem.  This one isn’t dark, it isn’t angsty and it isn’t an airy-fairy exercise in writing some particular form or other, it’s just a poem.  I suppose it might be in ballad form.  Or possibly something else altogether – my technical knowledge of poesy isn’t all that extensive so don’t take my word for any of it. Anyway, this particular bit of verse actually …

If I had known…

More poetry today – and this one is deliberately a little bit of an arty-farty exercise.  It’s also another slightly dark one.  Well, maybe not dark, but a bit angsty and the kind of thing that a simpering 18th or 19th century poet-wannabe might have come up with during his teenage years when he was desperate for a glimpse of a female ankle and thought that writing this sort of tripe would be certain to …

At the End

When not trying to dream up characters or plots or similar fictional devices (and when not being silly on Facebook or elsewhere) I sometimes try my hand at a bit of poetry.  Although it is often maligned for being “up its own bottom” or “arty-farty” (particularly when it comes to modern blank-verse forms) and there can be a fair bit of unwelcome snobbery associated with poets and poetry, there is something very pleasing and human …