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Likestarlings is a place for talking in poems. We pair poets with poets and they write a sequence of six new works by responding in turn to one another. Our palaver blog goes beyond poetry to discuss collaboration in theory and in practice. Please take a look, and feel free to add comments, opinions and suggestions here. Read poems here
 

Feeding


A fluster of pheasants in a field, ten, twenty,
are dotting the food-station stubble. Sixty, or more,
a blunder of big barking birds, gun-fodder,
mad-eyed men in a queue.

Our kids scrabble at the rattling train windows,
tongueing the steamed-up glass,
trampling coats on the carriage floor.
Stand on my lap, clamber onto my shoulders.

I try to gather all that warmth and humour,
draw it into myself. A vampire?
I snap out a bunch of bananas.
They snatch at my hands.