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Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
If music be the food of love then poetry may just be the language of emotion. Home for my own words and those of others who in some way inspire, inform, entertain or educate me.
Midnight strikes on the memorial clockA flame throwing dragon is guarding the flockWhile a gunpowder fog glistens and glosses The uniform slates and the uniform mosses. For God and for Country. Lest we forget. A window on North Street turned aquarium greenWhere a…
First south and west, then north and east, I quarter up the sky.I’m watching for your sickle wings to scythe across my eye. I look, I look, then look again and listen for your scream.But bar the clap of pigeon…
The “words on a line” world premiere Yup, calling it a world premiere may sound hyperbolic. But, technically at least, it happens to be true… So here I am in full flow (rapture the photographer, Fabio Barry, called it) belting…
A little loose. Like a soft toy sewn on where it’s lost it’s stuffing. Magpies showing zero respect You sketched our field with straight line speed. Sent my blood coursing, bounding. The hearts’ pounding now stopped. In a beat. A…
One way or another I’ve been writing for a living for more than 40 years – first as a cub newspaper reporter on the Reading Chronicle; then as a journalist and broadcaster for the BBC; and now as a budding…
Union flags and bunting. The Kings Head. A telly on the wall And a row of mugs Raising glasses. Bottoms up, no shilling (coronation bitter £4 a pint) But press ganged by the Daily Mail All the same. Toasting two…
Ring rolling in a Bedfordshire field. Breaking up the heavy clodsAnd leverets. Blind to the danger. I stopped at first. Got down from the tractorTo shoo and scatter. At first. Too many of the sods Harrowing. The clatterFlint on iron drowning out…
Tying up loose ends, you saidAll crow’s feet and beak. A confiding birdPerched by your desk peckingAt the keyboard when I walked in. That smile still startles I swear it’s youSpin sad to find myself window shopping for one not…
It was billed as an evening of music and words. And because it was being held at the Chang Thai bar in Ludlow with its Buddhist kitsch decor, was called The Elephant in the Room. What the organisers hadn’t reckoned…
Bloodless skin too tightly drawn for lips. White. Like supermarket chicken. A row of teeth along the bottom curve. None along the top. (You lost those long ago.) And that moustache that grandmas get And tickle when you kiss. It’s…