Only five more poems to go! And the Kiwi contingent are soldiering on magnificently (which is an unintentionally apt metaphor, yesterday being Anzac Day).
- Catherine has been putting a villanelle through its paces, and contemplating the use of a circus ringmaster in parliament;
- Marisa has been watching birds, offering flowers and thinking about thermals;
- Greg has been channelling Roger McGough and examining poetry from both sides;
- and Kay has contemplated concrete dinosaurs, green cars, and the dark sound of oars.
How are you feeling, guys? Strugggling, or did you managed to get the muse chained in a dungeon somewhere (or possibly reclining on perfumed pillows, being fed peeled grapes in a room with no clock and no calendar)?