The Muse: The CASE for Writer's Block The mists had come, the night was still, the moon was sick and shy, The sun had set but still its blood was dripping on the sky. And at her desk she took her plume and dipped it in her ink, The virgin page was panting in its…
Scar
I never thought I was very good at writing poetry. I still don't. But Anna Jackson has convinced me I should do it anyway. The NZ poet and academic has recently published a wonderful book called Actions and Travels, about the joys of poetry. And the greatest joy, perhaps, is that anyone can write it:…
Beauty and bullets: My Ireland
The road leading to one of my father's churches. Ireland 1972 Next to the fresh grave of my beloved grandmotherThe grave of my firstlove murdered by my brotherPaul Durcan Today the world celebrates St Patrick's Day. Covid restrictions permitted, people around the world with precisely no Irish heritage, or a sliver of it, or a…
Let me tell you about joy
I deactivated Twitter and Facebook this week. I'm not sure how long for. It's called a sanity break. Social media dominates our lives and minds and I'm no longer willing to let that happen without my agency. I feel my adrenaline pumping and my outrage and anxiety spiking every time I see a clickbait headline…
Spring is Coming
Today I took a photo of the first spring daffodil to bloom in my garden. As I posted it to to Facebook, I started crying. Just over three years ago I moved into my home after a heartbreaking but necessary separation. I was sad, excited (weird, I know), confused, and frightened. I had no idea…
Ten Years Today
Ten years ago today, at 12.51 pm, a massive earthquake struck the Canterbury region of New Zealand. It was centred only 6.7 kilometres from the centre of the city of Christchurch, which suffered severe damage. 185 people died. Countless more were left homeless, terrified, psychologically scarred. They were now the reluctant custodians of a ruined city.…
My Mother has Dementia
My mother was diagnosed with dementia almost two years ago. My father found her spooning marmalade into a wine glass. That, along with her slurred words, her frustrated struggle to form coherent sentences, and her propensity to sleep most of the day were early clues. After a puzzling few months during which none of us…
Look at the World
I named my blog after the New Zealand bellbird (in Māori, korimako) - and not just because my last name is Bell. I have always loved birds: for their beauty and intense fragility, the sense of freedom they represent, and for their song. The bellbird is particularly gorgeous. The explorer Captain Cook wrote of its…
Love poems aren’t just for Jack and Jill
When we think love poems we tend to automatically jump to the heteronormative position, in which opposite-sex sexuality and relationships are presented as the norm. But literature is rich with poems about love and sex in all its varied LGBTQ expressions, if we care to look. Today I want to share three of my favourites.…
Escaping Ourselves
“But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.”–Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao If you’ve pottered around my site for long enough you will know that I've been writing a novel. It's finished now, and I'm in the…
Patricia Bell, Author 