Poem by Philip Larkin 'Why did I dream of you last night?' Why did I dream of you last night? Now morning is pushing back hair with grey light Memories strike home, like slaps in the face: Raised on elbow, I stare at the pale fog beyond the window. So many things I had thought forgotten Return to my mind with stranger pain: - Like letters that arrive addressed to someone Who left the house so many years ago. 1939

Philip Larkin

Confucius say.

That's nice to hear, Evie. I often wonder if things I've written or said stay with people.

What's your quote from?

Solid grey banner bearing these words: 'If you can't make peace with it, make art of it.' Beneath this aphorism is the name Mark Antony Owen, and the date April 13th 2016.

Ten years since I tweeted the aphorism I still want carved into my tombstone:

'If you can't make peace with it, make art of it.'

Or a child.

Maybe that's WHY he had to start cutting his own hair at home ... 🤭

That's ... typically what happens. It's why such roles are labelled maternity cover – the incumbent is expected to return.

Subruria | Syllabic poems by Mark Antony Owen Welcome to Subruria: a place neither classically bucolic nor wholly suburban. Read and hear lyric poetry in nine original forms by syllabic poet Mark Antony Owen. New releases published every three ye...

Today I reach the nothingy age of 53. Very far indeed from a milestone birthday. Next year's anniversary will be far more remarkable, as that's when I'll publish the biggest release yet of @subruria.com – adding 54 new poems to my ongoing online poetry project. Roll on April 12th 2027!

subruria.com

Correct. I can hammer a Samsung all day and still have 15% left to play with by bedtime.

Blast from the past, this – back in the days of COVID-19 lockdowns, and @taraskurtu.bsky.social's hugely popular (and very welcome) International Poetry Circle. I helped her run it at the place we once called Twitter. I felt proud to have got Daljit Nagra on board. I'd later publish him in @iamb.uk.

Eating Pot Noodle. I know.

Yep. Me too.

All it's missing is 'I'm not gay but ... '

Screenshot of a Google Lens enquiry into the identity of a British bird.

Because you're wrong, right?

Yep. The comedic spark has pretty much gone out of this account. Can't imagine Rob being able to scrape together enough fesses for another compilation book.

My partner traced my half-sister (of whom I knew but had never met) through Facebook. Discovering she was a raging Tory and voted for Brexit means I'll never make contact with her.

Same. Solidarity. ✊🏼

Really? More than Ashley Madison after the data breach?

'I'm not Welsh but ... '

Windmill Hill Windmill Hill They used to graze horses here, until mistreatment took them to pastures new – paved the way for this grassland’s luscious mane. Left behind, saddle-leathered by leaf fall, the reverse

Seeing as I was there earlier today (killing time while my car failed its MOT), here's me reading 'Windmill Hill' – my latest contribution to @coastalpoet.bsky.social's #poemsaloud initiative.

on.soundcloud.com/Pe5gkwEBt06iE7JQuC

Nope ... not taking the bait.

#keeperofninecats

As are ...

• PARK LIFE!
• ~ Michael Gove
• ~ Katie Hopkins

... etc, etc ...

It does in this house.

Or at the very least, a baker.

Now disappointed you're not a woman ...

No.

Next ...

Much obliged, sir! I've downloaded this to read later.

'Otters' noses, badgers' earlobes ... '

#youneedtoreallyhatetheromans

Likewise!

Surely the only rule with a rocket-propelled grenade is 'Don't get blown up by it' ...