Sisters are dancing in their snowdrop skirts
white hemmed with green dots
gracefully swaying in late winter's cool breeze
#haiku -dk
07.03.2026 19:20
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Sisters are dancing in their snowdrop skirts
white hemmed with green dots
gracefully swaying in late winter's cool breeze
#haiku -dk
#currentlyreading Poetry Pizza 🍕 by Simon Mole. My favourites are “A Love Poem You Can Read Quietly” and “There’s a Spider in This Poem and It Won’t Get Out”, about trying to write about beautiful stuff and realising the spider is totally at home on the poem.
I loved Strings of Midnight by Maya, which was a Gold Winner in the BBC 500 Words competition. Well done to all. #Writing #Competition
My dog Kai enjoys when I read poems about dogs to him. My miniature poodle sits on my lap as we look at Poetry for Pets, an Anthology.
All proceeds from this poetry book are donated to the Buffalo Pug and Small Breed Rescue.
Text includes 4 haiku. Each about a dog. Haiku Ray Hourigan No joy like it, the Dog leaped and rolled, revelled i Snowy merriment. Michael Aaron Harrington broken gutter-dog flinches at falling coins John Chmura twin lanterns the orange sunset through a puppy's ears Robin J. Phillips balmy winter porch sun melts rooftop icicles dog stretches at my feet
Like poetry?
Like dogs?
You'll love Poetry for Pets, a collection edited by Melissa Rotert aka @melruthwrites.bsky.social
Proceeds go to help a small breed rescue in Buffalo.
And remember ....
"The doggiest dog
is the bestest of friends"
#poetry #haiku #dogs
After Lisette Abrahams An only not my mother of mine studied oceanography at Liverpool John Moore in the early eighties. She had studied chemistry at A level whereas I was business and economics, and she worked as a part time supply teacher. She told my half brothers I was almost a mermaid and might turn into a green glass bottle of Sprite in Crete. She taught them to say ef‑ha‑ree‑STO for thank you and made Greek salad for breakfast pretty as a restaurant plate. Her brother was a special care dentist who lived round the corner. She found a photo of my dad in his twenties to show how our side profiles then and now are the same as each other. Though Nan may ask why I would write such a verse about someone who stepped away, it made such lovely words at least on paper, hiding the cycling she booked in the mountains that I chose but could not do.
#Poem #Poetry
After Lisette Abrahams
She told my half brothers
I was almost a mermaid
and might turn into a green glass bottle of Sprite in Crete.
She taught them to say ef‑ha‑ree‑STO for thank you
and made Greek salad for breakfast
pretty as a restaurant plate.
He wasn’t in a shop window; he was more beside the charity shop’s door as you opened it, this paint‑box‑coloured, hand‑knitted, birthday‑bright clown. It wasn’t a we‑must‑buy‑him‑and‑bring‑him‑home moment. We held him up and put him back down, admired him again, stepped into the early spring sunshine, and thought about him some more. You see, Mum loves all knitted and crocheted things we haven’t yet learned to make ourselves. A lot of work has gone into creating him, I notice. His one curved strand of red, his one smile, is best described as kind. His hat is an intact birthday cake, complete and lit, but only with yellow wool on top. There are hearts around his hat, some on the back of his jacket, and his shoes are bubbly. Bubbly is his celebration name.
He wasn’t in a shop window;
he was more beside the charity shop’s door
as you opened it,
this paint‑box‑coloured, hand‑knitted, birthday‑bright clown.
#Poem #Poetry
I watched the first pop star appear wearing this firework silvered light burst of sequin and diamond like body jewels on her arm at her concert once in Hawaii, shown on TV, now outside my door, and the whole stage floor seemed to slip its mood from anticipation of her start into pearly metallic colours of light that rose around her like an aura, and her costume looked as if it had been made for beaches, outfits with mauve and white paint splash like patterns on denim, and the stage even let a lace of light free itself into a slow swing as if it were a veranda or a venue, and I walked through the avenue of mansions near where I lived with guard dogs you would have mistaken for stone, the pop star’s new neighbourhood I imagined too.
#Poem #Poetry
I watched the first pop star appear
wearing this firework silvered light burst
of sequin and diamond like body jewels on her arm
at her concert once in Hawaii, shown on TV,
now outside my door,
Great Auntie Teresa taught me from a distance as a supervisor in the Abington Street M and S, standing in navied uniform of skirt and blouse at the bottom of the escalators, held in a team photograph I would look for on every visit. A Girl Guide leader. A reader with children at a school. Uncle Terry said it was so good and generous of her husband with her to share so much of herself with a community. This is how they showed me what work could be. I saw textbooks in other languages on her daughter’s front seat of the car, and in the airport café I say out loud Lisa speaks Russian and Japanese for her travels and work, but she is so humble in her example she takes me to take your daughter to work day.
This poem is about how I learnt what work can be as a child, and is based on a Poetry Society prompt. #Poem #Poetry #Prompt @poetrysociety.org.uk
Thank you for the last word of the week, crisp. It has inspired a winter Christmas poem from me, based on a true memory.
#wordoftheweek #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity
Rejection Tips from the Editor of Frontier Poetry: It’s never easy to open your inbox and see a wave of rejections. But try to remember—multiple declines don’t measure your talent as a poet. More often, they reflect your dedication and persistence in putting your work out into the world.
A lovely tip from Frontier Poetry's latest newsletter.
Sharing just in case you also need this reminder today.
Post your startling #poem tomorrow on #fragmentsfriday - we hope to boost and comment on all contributions. Make your micropoem impactful. No blandness. 18 words or less!
I love this in The Little Teapot, Olney. #kindness #café
Happy World Book Day!
Reading for pleasure is such a wonderful pastime, which is why our hobbies edition features not one, but two poems about books! We hope you enjoy reading them!
Illustration by Gemma Creegan.
#WorldBookDay #WorldBookDay2026 #WBD #WBD2026
The Dirigible Balloon, EIC Jonathan Humble.
The Hub a poem by Carmella de Keyser
Class Assembly, a poem by Carmella de Keyser
Happy #WorldBookDay 🎈 Thrilled that my new poem #TheHub found a home today in #TheDirigibleBalloon #kidspoetry bank, a webzine, that inspires so much joy, creativity & elevates our #poetrycommunity. Warmest thanks to EIC @northernjim.bsky.social 🙏🏼
Here is THE HUB & am resharing CLASS ASSEMBLY. 💛
Just posted my entry for the #50PreciousWords Writing contest!
Thanks so much to @viviankirkfield.bsky.social for this wonderful #kidlit writing opportunity!
Find my entry here: viviankirkfield.com/2026/03/02/t...
Colorful squares with the names of poems including "High Hopes" "Fishing for Stars" "Pizza Bed" and "My Mum Is"
Thrilled to have two new poems up on the wonderful Dirigible Balloon page. You can check them both out (along with a TON of other poems) at the link below:
dirigibleballoon.org
The resources inspired me. #Poem #Poetry #Thankyou #amwriting
The Nest of Mauve The green of a tree is the palest gem, a cluster of lettuce leaves letting in light. Rounded high above the arches and the bus routes. Below. To cause the traveller inside the moving windowed car to look up. The traveller is a lumiere, lit with lemoned warmth in quiet café corners. The café corners are a nest of mauve, eggshells and peppers. The nest becomes a stroller on a low wooden bridge, whistling with its wheels as she carries on toward the park. The green of a tree is the palest gem, a cluster of lettuce leaves letting in light. Rounded high above the arches and the bus routes. Below. To cause the traveller inside the moving windowed car to look up.
#Poem #Poetry
The green of a tree is the palest gem, a cluster of lettuce leaves letting in light.
Rounded high above the arches and the bus routes.
Below.
To cause the traveller inside the moving windowed car
to look up.
'm delighted to have a new poem up on the wonderful Dirigible Balloon website. Today felt like the perfect day to share it with the world. My grandson gave it a big thumbs up on this glorious, sunny afternoon! Thank you to @northernjim.bsky.social
He wasn’t in a shop window; he was more beside the charity shop’s door as you opened it, this paint‑box‑coloured, hand‑knitted, birthday‑bright clown. It wasn’t a we‑must‑buy‑him‑and‑bring‑him‑home moment. We held him up and put him back down, admired him again, stepped into the early spring sunshine, and thought about him some more. You see, Mum loves all knitted and crocheted things we haven’t yet learned to make ourselves. A lot of work has gone into creating him, I notice. His one curved strand of red, his one smile, is best described as kind. His hat is an intact birthday cake, complete and lit, but only with yellow wool on top. There are hearts around his hat, some on the back of his jacket, and his shoes are bubbly. Bubbly is his celebration name.
He wasn’t in a shop window;
he was more beside the charity shop’s door
as you opened it,
this paint‑box‑coloured, hand‑knitted, birthday‑bright clown.
#Poem #Poetry
dirigibleballoon.org/poem/BlueCol...
It's always exciting to have a new poem on The Dirigible Balloon again. #Poem #Poetry
I am as treasured as toasties, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy. As bursting with bluesy at breakfast as blueberries, as shining in copper at Christmas as caramel. I am as treasured as toasties, left till gold to be a seeping-with-fillings treat at snack time. As marvelling at the miraculous of the world as marmalade. As frequent with oat finery and flattery as flapjacks. As rich as a ribbon red layer of raspberry jam in a biscuit. As glad as a grain of spicy rice in a dish. I am happy. I am as afternoon time as a toasted tea cake, as marvelling as marmalade, as frequent as a favourite to feast as flapjacks, as rich as raspberry jam, as glad as spicy rice, I am happy.
Happy @michaelrosenyes.bsky.social Day!
@walkerbooksuk.bsky.social
#poem #poetry #poetryforchildren
This week's poetry blog was not one I enjoyed writing, but it was impossible not to after the news yesterday. We are all asked to bear witness. This is one simple way I know how to do it.
#poetry #poetrycommunity #kidlit
shaunmjex.wordpress.com/2026/03/01/p...
Poets and poetry lovers, do you have a few minutes to complete a survey on line breaks? It’s part of a research project led by one of my graduate students. Please feel free to share. Thanks for considering.
docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1F...
This will hopefully be the opening poem in the collection for grown-ups I am currently compiling, the focusof which is love and relationships.: joshuaseigalpoet.blogspot.com/2022/08/and-... originally published in anthology on 'Masculinity' from @brokensleepbooks.bsky.social #BookSky #poetry
Blue‑Colours‑Wearing Children A poem by Kay Medway, after Inua Ellams We were squabblesome children / we stayed awake to bicker / like half‑heart pendants. We were stage‑bound children / we were destined / like dressed for Christmas shop windows. We were garden children / we soaked up air / like chess pieces. We were shoe‑sale children / we scratched new red patent / like skipping races. We were reader children / we delved in a book box / like trying on hats. We were swimathon children / we dove in deep ends / like ripples of milk in saucers. We were kitchen‑table children / we educated ourselves / like tuning pine. We were listening children / we heard what we didn’t write / like an abacus. We were shoutified children / we were talkative / like thumbprints. We were happy children / we swanned about with smiles / like faces on Toby jugs. We were blue‑colours‑wearing children / we painted with water / like best clothes worn every day.
Thank you, @marjorielotfi.bsky.social, for the workshop prompt, and thank you to @mattabbottpoet.com for gifting me the pass to the workshops. I enjoyed writing this poem. I received feedback for it that means a lot to me. #Poem #Poetry
#Workshop
Miss Raymond’s Lesson by Kay Medway "Do not be silly,” Miss Raymond will say when someone tells her I offered them my turn in rounders, handing the silver bat back to me. Why give up the days that naturally fall when I need them, when there are no others like them ahead. The floor, I will say, in the kitchen where we dance, is as reflecting as I have ever seen. A poem is an accordion, a concertina sketchbook, a view on a windowsill in front of frosted glass. Its scene of rooftops wears the same colours as a lighthouse. Its skyline is a genie cloud of outstretched arms with no emotion, and I stand beneath it, keeping the day that naturally falls to me.
Miss Raymond’s Lesson
"Do not be silly,” Miss Raymond will say
when someone tells her I offered them my turn in rounders,
handing the silver bat back to me.
Why give up the days that naturally fall when I need them,
when there are no others like them ahead.
#Poem #Poetry
I’m the sister who shows how things would have panned out, how they could have been for you without you having to do the things yourself. A first home chosen on an avenue, a first car, a grey blue Clio that I’ll drive us in with the windows open to a festival at an abbey as the family will recuperate, as we botanical print our way, when there, to happiness. The pinkened hair and pixie styles. The letters after name after completion of a new, never-seen-before BA course, the there’ll always be work for me, sister, they’ll be crying out for someone like me. My overcoming of disappointment if psychology is not an option, the I can always fall back on hairdressing.
#Poem #Poetry
A first home chosen on an avenue, a first car, a grey blue Clio
that I’ll drive us in with the windows open
to a festival at an abbey
as the family will recuperate,
as we botanical print our way,
when there,
to happiness.
The pinkened hair and pixie styles.