Lament for a lost landscape
There are no trees in Orchard Ride Nor apples ripe at autumn tide Save for those in cellophane From Tesco, Waitrose or some such name. No roots, no trunks nor grass between No insects, bugs or things unseen Just bricks…
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[richard uridge]
Poetry, bikes, dementia...
[richard uridge]
Poetry, bikes, dementia...
Rich Uridge
Training company boss by day. Poet and a whole heap of other things by night. Plus the son of a mother who was killed in a care home while living with dementia.
New Year’s Eve
The church clock strikes midnight. Each chime counting out the old year and ringing in the new. But it’s the sounds in between the bell that are our celebration. One…The hoot of an owl borne aloft on white wings. Two…The…