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Writing Conference<\/strong><\/p>\n For Steve M<\/em><\/p>\n A feathered thud against the windowpane, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Christine Whittemore<\/strong> is based in her home county Gloucestershire after years in the US. Her\u00a0poems have appeared in many publications, including\u00a0The American Scholar, Orbis,\u00a0Outposts,\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0Antiphon<\/em>,\u00a0and\u00a0won several awards.\u00a0Her\u00a0novel\u00a0Inscription\u00a0<\/em>is out now. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n This poem was first published in The Cannon’s Mouth<\/em>, Issue 58, December 2015 (commended in Sonnet or Not<\/em> competition 2015).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Writing Conference For Steve M A feathered thud against the windowpane, and there outside, a crimson bird, a cardinal, stunned and faintly trembling on the gravel where it fell hard. So fragile and downthrown, so close to death. You went out with a plain old box; nested the bird in false nocturnal dark, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11997","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11997","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11997"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11997\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12129,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11997\/revisions\/12129"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11997"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11997"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11997"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand there outside, a crimson bird, a cardinal,
\nstunned and faintly trembling on the gravel
\nwhere it fell hard. So fragile and downthrown,
\nso close to death. You went out with a plain
\nold box; nested the bird in false nocturnal
\ndark, set aside the box like an unclaimed parcel,
\nand, heavily, we turned to our work again.
\nBut now there\u2019s an urgent scratching, claws against cardboard;
\nyou carry the box outside, you loosen the strings,
\nyou open wide the flaps; nothing happens; we wait;
\nand then in one smooth upward leap, restored,
\nthe bird sails out, red shaft of open wings,
\nand everything’s re-written by its flight.<\/p>\n
\nwebsite: \u00a0\u00a0http:\/\/www.christine-whittemore.net\/<\/a><\/p>\n