Welcome to the blog post challenge.
Below is an example of a blog post written by Pie.
After Edwin Morgan
What I love about my cat Chichi is her soft and snuggly purr.
What I hate about spiders is their sudden scuttling.
What I love about snow is the soft swarm of cold confetti.
What I hate about thunder is the shock of an overhead nuclear explosion and lightning ripping the night apart.
What I love about Australia is the strange and unbelievable bounce of the kangaroo.
What I hate about Australia is the incessant attention of flies on my face, crawling into my eyes and exploring my mouth.
What I love about Birmingham is the buzz of the Bull Ring.
What I hate about London is the push and shove in Oxford Street.
What I love about airplanes is the improbability of flying through clouds.
What I hate about my bicycle is the wheel wobble.
What I love about rain is the gift of banded snails.
What I hate about conversation is the obligation to play tennis with words.
What I love about writing is the lightning appearance of an idea from what seemed like an empty room.
What I hate about drains is the fear of being trapped underground with worms and overhead compression of earth.
What I love about babies is the elastic scrunch of their red faces as they yowl.
What I hate about ice cream is the brain freeze.
What I love about our garden wall is the solid reliability of stone.
What I hate about politics is the way words become empty boats of refugees.
What I love about poetry is the comedy of memory.
© Pie Corbett 2020
I like the way –
Swallows dip and dive like anchors in a sea of blue,
Thrushes tap snail shells on stones,
The blackbird drills rain-soaked lawns for worms,
Goldfinches peck at peanuts in the bird feeder,
Sparrows quarrel and squabble in the bushes,
Starlings sit on telegraph wires, waiting,
The kestrel hovers at the roadside,
Owls wait for dusk to become silent ghosts,
Kingfishers create a sudden and aquamarine dash,
Seagulls eye up your fish and chips,
Pigeons in the park peck crumbs,
Swans glide by, wings mirrored in the pond,
Crows wait for break-time to end
And swoop down to pick over packed lunches
Chase the occasional salt and vinegar crisp;
Caught in the wind, their feathers ruffled.
© Pie Corbett 2020
Use the form below to write your poem and then submit it so it can be ready and commented on by a much wider audience.
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