![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/writing.group/23yThQaCyP4CPbM7RYrRHRya2TjCN2h2xtXRAnw55tQaTH9TMKD9PnU2u4vXaRQFpGwpo.png)

Hello, everyone.

Cliff Fell is a New Zealand writer and musician who was born in London in 1955.

Arthur Sze was born in New York in 1950. He is also a teacher and translator.

Travel is a theme from the first poetic text. Write about a person who has travelled from one place to another.

The second poetic text is symbolic. It could be about wisdom, or peace, or about the night. Write on any or all of these themes.

The structure of the first poetic text is mostly unpunctuated. Attempt to write a piece mostly without punctuation.

Simplicity is a strong structural feature of the second poetic text. Think about writing in a simple style, whether your piece is short or long.

Six words to attempt to incorporate into your writing from Fell: place, broken, maps, fear, busy, faith.

Six words from Sze: path, branch, fine, silent, green, light.

If you have a copy of The Exercise Book (Manhire, Duncum, Price & Wilkins), turn to page "#127: Another 'Landscape' Exercise" for an additional challenge.

That's all. I hope you are inspired to write today.

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### To This

by Cliff Fell

She came from a place of upright pianos

where music was ever a thing to be touched
on newly restored
hammers and strings

and a man with fingers deft
at inlaying walnut
could divine the life of each broken key

but she was in love with drowning sailors
and maps of other islands

and she made her own music by swimming alone
through the loops of their long cities
and learning to sing the tides

and if she had a fear it was of men in suits
and their heavy briefcases
or playground bullies with their busy arms

she thought nothing else could touch her

and so in good faith she had finally come
(or indeed I had brought her)
to this little corner

         of Hell—

                 my world
---

### The Owl

by Arthur Sze

The path was purple in the dusk.
I saw an owl, perched,
on a branch.

And when the owl stirred, a fine dust
fell from its wings. I was
silent then. And felt

the owl quaver. And at dawn, waking,
the path was green in the
May light.