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Tag Archives: Being Alive

Nasturtiums, Sunflowers and A Poem

Our excellent and very efficient team at Roots today potted on tray upon tray of courgettes and squash of many different kinds while outside others prepped beds, weeded and planted more of the 8,000 onions – such a busy morning. In one of the poly-tunnels, the nasturtiums are already flourishing.

We have brought back some spare sunflower plants, part of today’s volunteer harvest, to grow here in our garden.

I picked up the poetry book, ‘Being Alive’ edited by Neil Astley to choose one for today and the book fell open at this poem which seemed very apt as I read it through.

I did, in fact ,share this once before in May 2016. I think it sums up being grateful for what we have each day as tomorrow may well bring something ‘otherwise’. It is certainly one to ponder.

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Posted by mybeautfulthings on April 21, 2026 in Uncategorized

Tags: Being Alive, community roots, Neil Astley, Otherwise by Jane Kenyon

Craftivism and A Poem

17 Jun

I missed a crafitivism session last week so have made my piece today. The pieces made are to be presented at the hustings next week to all the candidates standing in our upcoming election to remind them of their obligations to the world.
It’s a green heart with a white daisy and a purple centre and small purple, white and green flashes as on my tattoo which represents the Holloway brooch, reminding all that they should vote!

I’ve spent a happy hour browsing through Being Alive, a fabulous poetry collection and thought you might like this one by Billy Collins. It makes me think of the way exams ask for what the poem means rather than how it makes you feel.

Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
                  
or press an ear against its hive.
                
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
                  
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
                 
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
                 
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.