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Public Projects Ongoing



Twenga 12
1 May 2024 –

#twenga is an annual (or in times of need) renga
of 100 Verses on Twitter

Sabaki/Host Poet – Paul Conneally
Sabaki/Host Poet – Gavin Wade

Anum Jamal @anumajamal
Paul Conneally @LittleOnion

Gavin Wade @gavin_wade_
Paula Turner @random_fate
Alison Raybould @jamray
Tina Francis @tinafrancis15
Patrick Goodall @artpickdarkpot
Hilde de Bruijn @tantwenga2024
Cathy Wade @cathy_wade
Ruth Claxton @ruthclaxton

finally May Day
all the tender plants
get put outside

the dawn chorus
and morris dancers

a squadron of bees
bumbling through
the pear blossom

the Irish farmer says
“the rain’s inside our heads”

at the kitchen table
before company comes

married and buried
on midwinter’s day

talking to Dulcie
about her blood pressure
the sun hits the window

a helium balloon high
in a Slimcea world

shovelling soil
her beach ready body
gets a new kind of workout

flamingo dazzle patterns
flock Lake Bogoria

teaching class about
the power of water
he cuts through stone

the Sherpa
becomes a bridge

in the drawer
I find an old mixtape
gifted to my love

still singing
though we’re 6-1 down

the crossword compiler
stops raking leaves
and stares into space

between mouse and moon
the owl’s shadow

no one notices
the bruises
when it’s apple pie

walking the long way
to the grocery store

kept awake
the whole night through
by cats in love

endless tulip fields
rush past my train

Destiny, Death and Dream
have no right to
interfere with mortals

ULEZ scrappings
save lives in Ukraine

the prime minister
calls an election
in a wet suit

buy one
get one free

enroute to playtime
Aisha wonders
how big is the universe?

the clack of wood on willow
at the council nets

frost ghosting
the covered stairway
in Sighişoara

my cold feet
pressed against his warmth

Noor’s stepmom
cooks up their favourite
birthday bouillabaisse

living in Brum
born by the sea

our shelters
bombed again
burning people alive

Karachiites wait
for water and gas

the speaker of the house
ignores Diane Abbott
forty six times

after the party
we go skinny dipping

remembering cicadas
and moonlit pines
my son et lumiére

his repellent
aquascutum suit

Auntie Joan tells me
I am and will always be
her favourite nephew

we make a heart
with two red cable ties

every so often
the Aston Expressway
is three lanes in and out

migrant workers grow
tasteless Dutch tomatoes

Yorkshire pudding
and gravy for starters
to save on meat

frozen blue fingers
craving some warmth

the trio wins first prize
for the snow sculpture
of Lord Vishnu

Picasso steals
stolen Iberian masks

I avert my eyes
as the shrouded body
rushes through the Medina

he makes songs
of voicemail messages

a passing siren
the Doppler effect

I think you’ll find it’s
Crick, Watson and Franklin

a Chinese lantern
from the Fort
for my Dad

these days they fuck less
but it lasts longer

some folk know
the price of everything
and the value of nowt

the man with the gnarled hands
sells only eggs

as one
a stadium of swifties
against the patriarchy

Chang’e brings back
bits of rock from the moon

white truffle hunters
take out their dogs
for the first catch of the year

the carp notices
a change in temperature

her family
plan a proxy walk
in the Langdales

a heart carved into
the bark of an oak tree

the afterlife
of dead people’s phone numbers
you can’t delete

next door’s bluebells
bully the grape hyacinths

pissed as a fart
he wobbles off stage
at the Spring Fling

I open the windows
to let out the dust

concertina wire
forcing us down the
Philadelphi Corridor

one stent two stent
three stent more

chasing the devils out
into the cold
silvery moonlight

it’s easy to see
the footprints of my prey