Poem: Eggshell garden
November 10, 2022
Half an egg, hidden in a drawer, a tiny half-skull among the socks. She gathers dirt, careful not to leave a tell-tale trail, fills her tiny cup, waits until dandelions are blown into wishes, wraps a seed in tissue. She puts her garden on the windowsill, a promise behind the curtains, which are printed with pink roses and stringy effusions of lavender. Sprouting towards the light, a tiny green finger pokes into being, and the eventual flower is more dandekitten than anything fierce. It purrs in her mind, her flower wattle-like yellow, punctuating her bedroom with a freedom of glee. PS Cottier
Somewhere there’s a photo of me as a child holding a plant which is growing inside an eggshell. That memory inspired this poem.
Tuesday’s Child is Full
October 20, 2022
This is the front cover of my latest book, a collection of poems first published on this very blog. I am particularly delighted with that cover, which relates to one poem inside the book about the Australian White Ibis, or tip turkey.
I have been writing this blog for thirteen years, frequently posting new poems, usually on Tuesdays, hence the book’s name. Thank you to all readers who have followed/commented/read the blog.
The book can be ordered here, from In Case of Emergency Press, which is the best name ever! It is priced at $20 (AUD). Re-reading thirteen years of this blog and selecting the poems was an interesting process, only occasionally bringing on a cringe. Dealing with Howard Firkin, the publisher, was a pleasure.
I will shortly be arranging a launch here in Canberra. Details to follow.
Tuesday poem via link: Amorphous Solid
October 11, 2022
If you go to this site, you’ll find a new poem I wrote called Amorphous Solid, which is about a person turning into glass. It’s included in an on-line journal called Liquid Imagination, which has been around for quite a long time. Have a browse around. Unfortunately this is the last edition of the journal. The Poetry Editor is John C. Mannone, and the Managing Editor is Sue Babcock.
Tuesday Poem: I was meant to stride through
September 28, 2022
I was meant to stride through armour jingling, a whole orchestra of metal bits, cymbals and triangles. But something made me rest in the still, mushroom strewn wood, dank and smelling like dogs’ paws. Taking off the shiny carapace, I wriggled into the moss, napped, awoke to a gnome stealing gauntlets, to store in some illicit cavern. I decided not to give chase. Let him take what he wanted. Rolling over, my moist pillow seemed to release rich spores imbuing me with memories, indistinguishable from dreams. Before all this striving, all these ventures and clashes, I used to take the time to examine things, the varied feathers of birds, the damp exigencies of the frog. Who knows? In a hundred years someone may find a mossy log shaped a little like a knight, on which an escargatoire of snails pursues the silver quests of their kind, clothed in quiet brown armour of shell. PS Cottier
Any excuse to use the word ‘escargatoire’…
Tuesday poem [haiku…sort of]
August 23, 2022
Chitinous plates turtles party with roaches zoot scutes PS Cottier
It’s lovely thing to have a blog, wherein one can post one’s weirdest creations. I was thinking of an old fashioned phrase for parties; bring a plate. And I had a vision of cockroaches and turtles partying, with plates attached to their bodies (part of their bodies). A scute is the hardened shell of a turtle. And an excuse for a pun. Look up zoot suit, if you need to.
That wonderful illustration is by Jean Ignace Isidore Gerard, who used the name Grandville. Courtesy of the site Old Book Illustrations, which is just fantastic.
I will shortly have news about forthcoming publications!
PS Cottier 