Poetry in motion

I'm just back from a poetry workshop. No, really. I must confess to feeling a bit like Mike Myers doing his "beat poet" bit in So I Married An Axe Murderer (well worth watching this clip by the way...)

We were asked to come up with a wee poem following a series of prompts from the workshop leader - herself a published poet. Ironically, the event was organised by the John Muir Trust, who (which?) are (is?) all about the outdoors and 'wild places.' Appropriate, then, that I chose to do mine about a coffee shop in the west end of Glasgow.

Tinderbox

Spring. Summer.
Could be.
Could not.

A scooter in the window.
Car on the road.

Heavy glass.
Hard wood.
Struggle as I
Push the symmetry.
Breaking the symmetry
Opening just one door.

Burbling, brewing.
Foaming, frothing.
A-ra-bi-ca.
Ro-bus-ta.

Who used these words before?
Who knew these words before?
Barista.
But not a lawyer.
Illegal use of the word?

Post lunch.
Pre dinner.
Teenage Fanclub.
A mobile.
Another mobile.

Hot milk.
Warm bread.
Panini?
Panino, surely.
I only wanted the one.

Here we go again...

Well that's it. I've done it now. A return to blogging after a self-imposed hiatus.

We shall see how this develops and what random nonsense emanates from this here keyboard. The title was meant to be used for a book I'd been planning with the subtitle "What happens when the tourists have gone home" but other commitments prevent me from taking that further any time soon.

What appears here may well be to do with tourism, people, music, books, travelling, Scotland, tea, coffee and curries. Or it may not. Allow me to start with a link to what is quite possibly the funniest short story/article ever (provided you grew up playing football at a school in the West of Scotland).

Playground football.

Drop in again soon.