We live in what the ancient Chinese used to call ‘interesting times’, and it’s not over yet (whatever ‘it’ might be).
Sometimes it feels like we are crawling from a car wreck, with no idea of how it happened or where we are now. All we know is that we cannot simply carry on doing what we used to do, or what we wanted, to do without further consideration.
This has happened before; it will happen again.
It is not a time for grand visions, yet every crisis is also an opportunity. In all the bewildering noise, remember the definition of information – any difference that makes a difference. It is a time to sort out what is truly important, and to start taking those steps will that will enable it to flourish. Not a return to the normality that once was, but a humble groping towards something possibly better.
So the theme of this Spring’s Corncrake is Small Beginnings. We are looking up to about 800 words of any kind of writing – whether it be poetry, flash fiction, folktale, legend, memoir or other non-fiction. Previews and reviews of recent and upcoming Arts events are also welcome, particularly those in Fermanagh and the surrounding area, as are images and links to relevant media.
Submissions to email@example.com
Deadline: February 28th
It’s been a busy Autumn, as various social groups have returned from their long hibernations and diaries are once more filling up. Continue reading “The Things that Make for Peace”
after Kerouac and Keats
My heart aches for tranquility −
for the still, clear, rhythm-
that a dead, Beat Poet’s heart
has. Jack’s beats time
silently − painlessly now −
after the bloody, full-stop dash
On The Road to his last sentence. Continue reading “A Poor Vintage”
There’s a holy well in Holywell. Of course there is – isn’t that how it got its name?
Continue reading “Well Being”
Hand of friendship bitten. Continue reading “In Our Hands”
The smell of wild garlic in the woods
overlooking the beach is a reminder
I haven’t eaten in days. I fail in the smallest
of ways, it’s my life’s work.
Continue reading “Walking Home”
My grass had grow almost untouched for the best part of three years. In places, the grass roots were so densely entangled that pulling on one plant might roll up a whole section like rotting underlay. It had broken my lawnmower long ago. A local farmer with a brush cutter cleared the part visible from the road and tractored the mowings into a heap at the back. He did a good job, but it took several days and the noise was almost unbearable.
Continue reading “The Song of the Scythe”
He wrote the score in ’64
A symphony for the ages
Rewrote the scores of heretofore
Laid out his plan in stages.
But many came to damn him down.
With drums and pipe they came to town
While others played along with him
Then chose to sing a different hymn.
Continue reading “Larghissimo”