Biography

I have been writing poetry for a few years and have had poems published in Envoi, Poetry Monthly, Purple Patch, Littoral, Iota, Poetry Scotland and several other small press publications.
I live on the Isle of Islay so can rarely attend readings and other poetry events. I am secretary of the Islay (formerly Port Ellen) Book Festival and each year, a poet is included in our list of ten visiting authors.
I mainly write in free verse with occasional forays into blank verse. My inspiration comes from the environment, wildlife, my family and from memories. I don't yet have a website but am considering the possibility. I am also working towards my first collection, which will probably be based on poems inspired by islands.
I've just attended an Arvon course - Towards a First Collection - very inspiring!

Samples

HANDS

accepting
that these hands are mine
is hard
impossible
to track
the change
from dimpled chubbiness
through varnished elegance
to these
these hands
look so much older
than I feel
palms
a maze
a labyrinth of lines
knuckles
prominent
in thinning skin
index finger's
swollen joint
arthritic curve
middle finger
ridge rubbed
by the pen
but still
they write
connect with memories
strive
to keep the flow
make sense
of a lifetime's
living


BREAKING DORMANCY

Time passed and I forgot
the envelope labelled in your precise hand,
‘Welsh Poppy seeds from my garden…for yours.’
Forgot the fine dust filtering through my fingers,
settling on stubborn soil.

Three years on, the ache of your death
has dulled…a little.
I have learned to speak of you without weeping.

Now you are back, you…and your poppies.
Pendulous buds expanding, shaking out their creases,
opening bright as suns,
spilling yellow petals
seeds
memories.



CLOCK CAFÉ

I was banned from ‘The Clock’,
not by the owner who gave us
our first taste of frothy coffee,
ice cream soda, access to a juke box
that swallowed every sixpence
we could find.

But by my dad, who saw
a devil’s den luring us from study
into decadence. Drawn
by the music, I went in secret,
told lies that caused the first cracks
in our relationship.

Those early hits were harmless,
songs that drew the girls, ‘Softly, softly
turn the key to open up my heart,’
Weaned on fairy tales we dreamed
of handsome strangers sweeping us
to happy ever after.

When ‘Rock around the Clock’ burst
on the scene, the boys came with it. High
on nothing more than Bill Haley’s beat
we rocked and rolled, pushed tables aside,
danced in the street until
the law arrived.

Branded ‘a new breed of hooligan’
we hit the headlines in the local rag.
‘The Clock’, closed for causing
a breach of the peace, re-opened
as a tea-shop. Left us simmering
with indignation and nowhere
to let our hair down


ISLAND SKY

Transatlantic planes
leave lines
too regular for a sky
accustomed
to curves in clouds
and curling flights
of gulls.
Only gannets,
Concordes
of the bird world
exhibit
such straight-edged
precision.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.