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Additions to ‘Musings’

http://annpilling.co.uk/musings/75-additions-to-musings

All night the engines thrummed under our heads. And we came to the island. And stepped out of the boat into fresh, clean skins. To a wave of cranes and ships like shoe boxes. To the red and yellow houses of the oil men. And brilliant, torn skies. To beaches spread with caster sugar sand. Where guillemots chequer ledges and great skuas. Idle and plane across soft moors. And bog cotton shakes from the fingering of the wind. Through these, a blackened stick. Piercing the sea like a gloved finger. Snapping o...

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Ann Pilling - Published Works

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Website managed by Dales Computer Services. Tek parça film izle.

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AnnPilling.co.uk - Poetry

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Tap goes the spoon's beak. On sugared onyx making white webs,. Splinters crack open, sink into a honey sea. And we suck sweetness. Behind drapes, frost skins the water meadows. Where she used to skate,. Town child testing her heel on a grubby pond. Ageing hostess now, serving a chic dessert, she watches. Mouths shut and open , sees. Juices dribble down chins,. Itches, as her mother did once, to wet. The clean corner of a hanky with her tongue. And make all clean. For George in Scotland. Tamar Yoseloff sa...

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AnnPilling.co.uk - Bibliography

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Ann Pilling was born in 1944 in Lancashire, where many of her books are set. Educated in Lancashire and at London University; her first ‘book’ was a thesis on the fiction of C S Lewis. Taught English in High Wycombe. Has been a full-time writer since 1981. Has published over 30 books. Won the Guardian Award for. Which was televised and has been broadcast on Radio 4. On the Lion’s Side. Her books have been translated into many languages. Has written poetry from childhood and this is her first love (‘.

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Ann Pilling

http://annpilling.co.uk/home

Hello, and welcome to my website. I am a poet but also a writer of fiction, mainly for children. You may know of me through a story I wrote 35 books ago called. This won the Guardian Prize for Children’s Fiction because, they told me, ‘it says serious things cheerfully.’ Through the TV adaptation I was able to buy a tiny house in the Yorkshire Dales which has become (as D H Lawrence said of his bit of Nottinghamshire) ‘the country of my heart’. Is a poem I have written about this move. Website managed by...

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AnnPilling.co.uk - Biography

http://annpilling.co.uk/biography

Until recently Ann lived in Oxford but has just moved to Wensleydale in the Yorkshire Dales (the country of her heart) with her husband. She has two sons and six grandchildren. In 2003 Ann made a conscious decision to concentrate on writing poetry, always her first preference. Home Field. Is her first full-length poetry collection. Website managed by Dales Computer Services. Tek parça film izle.

annpilling.co.uk

Silence

http://annpilling.co.uk/musings/73-silence

Like milk poured from a pitcher. By a woman with parted lips. Here where a fig uncrimps. Five fingered buds and the beginning fruits. Swell on curved branches. Lead to nothing but another straight walk. Or a bench angled to look at leaf light on grass. Or a stone saint worshipped by wolf and hen. But something has passed this way. There are shiny brushings against a wet hedge. And the silence has an edge to it, like fine steel. Where is the summer? Winter has come early. Simon Armitage's poetry reading.

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The Remains

http://annpilling.co.uk/musings/74-the-remains

There was nothing on her. the hospital said, no watch, no rings,. The dress she wore had to be cut away, she brought. Nothing into this world and she took nothing out. I walk through her treasury, oils, bronzes,. A zebra's head hammered in tin and a man. Sweeping leaves. Rings big as humbugs, pearls. Tangled with corals and hair. I see strangers. Drape their unpleated necks,. I must box it all up, make lists, but my hands. Have shrunk into claws. I am paralysed, iced. With death's terrible loneliness;.

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Life

http://annpilling.co.uk/read-along/57-life

I have narrowed it to a plain place. Less talk, less folk. Today I watched a man walk down a field. Along a rope of wall, its stones. Still hugged by melting snow that made. Fish spines on the emerging green. I have learned about finches and moons,. Walked only by stars, marvelling. How their still, cold light felt warm to me. The frost opens old cuts but here. I have no past and the land. Arched between that life and this. Is generous, like the speckled breasts. Of these spring-hungry thrushes.

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AnnPilling.co.uk - Musings

http://annpilling.co.uk/musings

Several months of last year was spent compiling a book of poems for a charity. Our parish church, a listed building in Hawes, the highest market town in England, is in dire need of repair. While others knitted, quilted and made scones, I collected together 100 happy poems, old and new, and called it ‘SAY CHEESE! A book of happy poems matured in Wensleydale’). Get in touch with me via this website to know more. The book makes a wonderful gift and is a good bedside companion. Julys I’d eat clover, take.