Biography

As an Urmston Lad I have performed at a number of gigs on the Write Out Loud stage. My most recent success was on the Contact Theatre stage in a peotry dramatisation called 'Crow of Murders'. Green TeeTheatre brought together 20 poets for the show which directed by Dominic Berry. My contribution was called 'Emotions to a Distant Shore

I am becoming a regular at the Green Room in Manchester am there again on the 21st of August. I have made a few trips now down to London on poetry gigs.

I am putting together my own 1 hour show, based on my poetry/songwriting called 'Emotional Rainbows'. It will have four poetry segways on; Disbility, Affairs of the heart, Society and Your 'avin a Laff. A 15 minute version will be shown in January as prt of Not Part Of News Years Eve and hopefully the full hour version in July next year

I have been published on line at www.helium.com and will be through www.authorhouse.co.uk in September. There will be a poetry book on Parkinson's Disease in July this year called 'THE TAMING OF THE FORK'

A ‘curved ball’ smacked me in the kisser; Parkinson’s disease had left its calling card.

Welcome to my poems that beam you up and boldly go where no Parkinson’s poetry has gone before. Whether you are able bodied or disabled these verses will provoke an array of emotions and mix them all up then place it in a pocket of your heart.

How could I help others understand how a disabled person feels, who lives life to the max, and has the same right to access all levels in this society? How could I put back some of the benefits that I have gratefully received? That is when I wrote my first poem ‘The Taming of the Fork’, one sleepless night on holiday with friends in Ilfracoombe.

My Parkinson’s has been enabling rather than disabling, which surprised me. I have been down to the depths of despair and come back laughing. Somehow my condition has made me a ‘richer’ person despite the changes that will inevitably come.

JOIN ME BETWIX THE SHEETS WHILST MY WORDS PAINT PICTURES
This will be published under a pen name of William Lawrence, a name i will use for all my poetry books
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I have a childrens book called,'Wide Awake William' and a short story called, 'A Winters Dice', in the pipeline.

.I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in April 2005 when I was 44. The biggest thing for sufferers is control and frustration in not being able to complete the tasks you once took for granted.

That's when I turned to poetry to express my turmoil and many attempts. It provides ongoing therapy. Part of my aim in my site is to show that there is at least one system to help retain some control. This has helped me get my raw feelings and emotions out of my head and onto paper.

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I have written over 250 poems since I started writing in October 2006. I have written alot about Parkinson's is semi-serious, as I find humour can take the edge of my condition. I have discovered it to be an enabling key. Poetry is a two way gateway between writer and reader

The subject wrange within my work has expanded somewhat and I have branched out into short stories, lyrics, scetches.and even a hymm. Hire me for a gig if you dare !!!!!!!

WELCOME TO MY WORLD WRITTEN WITHIN THESE PAGES

Samples

2 legs become 3

I may have three legs now, but I’m not stumped
In athletics I’ve run, I’ve leapt and I’ve jumped
At my son’s school sports day I’ve always tried to win
A solo three legged race I always come first in
I work in the tourism department for the Isle of Man
Running presentations, doing signings when I can
I look like that old Rolf Harris song, you know the one
‘Jake the Peg tiddle tiddle pom with me extra leg tiddle tiddle pom’
Some may think that the stick is some kind of trap
But it tees them off that I’ve improved my golf handicap
At the beach I am really popular, in fact just the ticket
My field position is stumps, when they are short of a wicket
Some may say that I don’t have a leg to stand on
I say, ‘Ha’ I have a multiple choice option
So yes I may have a stick to help keep me stabilised
With all that I’m achieving I continue to be surprised
Next time you see me don’t stair or do an about face
Come up to me and lets chat then I’ll give you a race

© Phil Golding


Bouncing Back and Forth


My soul is a seaming cricket ball
Hit for runs towards the boundary
I’m stumped, ‘how’s that’ you call
Life isn’t a mould made in a foundry

My life is like a game of table tennis
Will I be pinged or will I be ponged
Sometimes problems can be a mennis
Hitting a smash into a future I belonged

My life has the roundness and strength of a car tire
Treading carefully; bouncing on uneven road
Seeking the solutions when circumstances conspire
Support from all with a wide and heavy load

My life can be like a fortnight at Wimbledon
An expensive bowl of strawberries and cream
I’ll serve for the set as interferers rambled on
Life is not a bowl of cherries but I’ll still dream

My life’s is contained within a boxing ring I’ve found
Punching my opponents to gain the upper hand
Bouncing back and forth until champ I am crowned
Be sure my Parkinson’s, my future is still planned

Phil Golding

Above the Plimsoll Line

Above my plimsoll line this body is doing fine
Alright for a 47 year old ship
Bald on top and wide at the hip
To all that see me I might look well
Below the plimsoll it is hell
Parkinson’s is on a search and deploy
To take out systems and destroy
I cannot smell a gas leak
A bunch of flowers bought last week
My throat muscles are slowly going on strike
Unable to let past small pill or sort of spiky
Sometimes my legs forget the forward motion
How to start up again, ain’t got the notion
My memory retention is a bit hit and miss
Some will stay in others I want remember this
Muscles are under attack get some fatigue
My pain level is in a different league
So if I get told ‘you do look well’
Think of my plimsoll line, below its hell

Phil Golding

Alien Inside

It’s been a few years now since my space was invaded
Some E.T. being triggered a rouge cell in my head
I did not volunteer to become its host, my brain toast
All I know is that it’s an evil little bugger, slowly spreading
Its roots are like red weed choking my communications
Picks parts of my body to destroy receptors, implant its own
Whole areas of inner landscape turn black, baron, and a wasteland
Occasionally spots of resistance sprout up, fight the invader
New nerve trenches get dug and nerve fibre optic pipes lay down
They try to isolate the red choking weed, get through to brain
Sometimes these pipes lasted for weeks others only a few hours
Still the Pill Master, even though it’s a loosing battle, fights on
As with all unwanted aliens that invade me, eating at my core
I fight on despite knowing the inevitable, resulting outcome
As muscles weaken, loosing the will to function, still I fight
Mental agility goes from premier to conference league
I will fight to kill the ‘red weed’ in any way I can
The inevitable will out, and I will die, but I am not going quietly
I will delay in the hope of a treatment, which kills my ‘Alien’ inside

Phil Golding

Another one of me poems, sorry Pam

I must be driving them mad at work since the poetry bug bit my bum
My river of creativity has burst its banks its flood defences overcome
I shout “I’ve got another one of me poems” sending them diving for cover
I pin them down with my poetry it take some days others weeks to recover

A complaint was sent to my boss who hauled me into his office one morning
He said, “Stop bringing in this poetry” and he gave me a verbal warning
So I fixed him with my ‘Paddington’ stare, he changed colour on his nose
When I hits ‘im squarely between the eyes with one of me poems, in ‘Pro’s’

I’d enjoyed working at that office, cos after that incident I got transferred
You see the boss had become unbalanced so to a hospital she was referred!
A huge party my friends gave me before I left, with only room on the stairs
“You learn how to write poems”, they said, gave me a book by Pam Ayres!

Phil Golding


Richer, tomorrow

For that richer tomorrow
I had only planned it yesterday
There, it lies, fragmented
Desolate in the hallway of my mind
That blue print, MY blue print
Ground into the carpets weave
As if 'worked over' by an industrial vacuum cleaner
Parts flake off, my future floats away
Like the ashes from a burning fire
They say I’ve got an involuntary tremor
Or this Parkinson’s gig
Why me WHY MEeeeeeee!
I’ve got a wonderful wife
She doesn’t deserve all this
And my boys, MY BOYS
They are only young
They don’t want a dad
On meds destined for a wheelchair
Fingers crossed for tremor

I went to see this specialist today.
‘One more test for you, Mr Golding’
BASTARDS, I’VE GOT PARKISON’S
That’s it life over, totally screwed
Why couldn’t you tell me four years ago?
When I started putting my family through it
Started four long years of study
For a degree I can't use
My future, a huge metal climbing frame
Twisted into impossible shapes
Fashioned by this, this jug-naught thing!
Why me God?
Why couldn’t the truck turned off earlier
Instead of me being up the junction
My whole LIFE is down the pan
My plan, My plan
My ………..flush
Dawns first awakenings rush into my mind
In the hallway of my mind sits my phone
The green answering machine light flashed
On off, on off, on off ON
Was I actually dreaming?
Pressed the listen button, eh
“This is deep thought”, this voice said,
“We have come up with a plan”.
I splashed cold water on my face
Starred at this bloke in the mirror
Then my face light like a 200watt light bulb
YES, if I just do this, tweak that
I HAD a plan, I can achieve, I will achieve
That metal frame is forged anew
Got myself a new flexible enabling plan
Got choice, got my goals
Parky will always be nipping at my heals
But for now Parky mate,
I’m in charge
Its two fingers to you.

© Phil Golding 02/08

Tumbling to Eventide

My time on this earth speeds like a run away train

Year’s clock on my mortal allowance as night follows day

Eventide gathers in all the paths I have crossed

Ready for reflection with a loved one

As the sun draws back each ray

Blackened lines of trees fracture the sinking globe

Like gnarled old mans fingers they hook night shadow

Dragging bit by bit, a blanket of celestial orbs

Mans’ rebellion against the dark shines on every street

Reflection consumed, household retires loosening society’s connection

Rooms illuminate and extinguish like slow sequence disco lights

Shutters come down on vision; submarines ready the dive to dreamland

My sub dives for sleepier waters to discharge yesterdays mind garbage

Clutter is rammed into torpedo tubes and fired shattering yesterdays illusions

Body moves around as if protecting itself from the explosions

Year’s clock ticks by another night until the 8th hour of sleep

Alarms sound as trees loose their grip, nights shade flies away

Chased by first lights ray returning colour to my world

Inhabitants resume motion reverse sequence of disco lights

Staring into the mirror I see a luggage set under each eye,

As I shave each stroke my true face is revealed

Slapping with the aftershave awakens my mind to a new day

Like worker ants we leave our nest boarding our chariots

Each chariot follows another; vast lines begin this day’s rat race

Rain clouds block the sun, releasing there load, piling misery

Water hoses my face as I run from car to office foyer

Parents shuffling with children to school, form an L S Lowry living tapestry

Another speeding day has started tumbling to eventide


It’s not just me

When my brain of mine started to malfunction
The doctors found a label for my chemical soup
Parkinson’s it read, which initially didn’t dawn
It’s not just me who has unjustly been afflicted

Sometimes when I am alone with my thoughts
They wander from the man I was to him I’m going to be
Waves of sadness envelope me, overcome senses
I sob uncontrollably into a dark place devoid of reason

The love of my life had married me for me myself
She hadn’t married this chemically modified future me
This was our voyage of discovery our all time love
I want her for my wife, my lover not as my carer

God blessed our love with two wonderful boys
They had every to expect an energetic dad
I was supposed to be a fun, dad a perfect role model
I was supposed to care for them, not them me

As a son of my parents love, I was the next generation
Don’t son’s grow up, leave home, testimony to their love
Shouldn’t they sit back with satisfaction as I achieved
They should’ve had their retirement, not worry over me

As my Parkinson’s creeps over me, overtaking systems
I worry what my friends see when face muscles stiffen
Do they think me boring person when my look so serious
Fatigue slows me down, I get tired, but I’m still me
I sometime panic wondering what strangers see
If I need a stick that immediately I am ten years older
As I walk; I shuffle, stagger along a sober drunk
I’ve seen those looks saying ‘look at that piss head’

I still weep in the dark, but sometimes I get stubborn
I get real angry thinking the degree I got was wasted
Then I say be dammed with all my Parkinsonism
I have a lot to offer and by God the world will get it

© 04/08 William Lawrence aka Phil G


Instant Soup

Everything needed, needed now
I pay my rates
Pay you wages
Serve me now
Feed me, feed me now
Just add water
Microwave
Ready in five
Family change, change now
Instant birth control
Instant family
Instant divorce
Must have it, must have it now
Adverts in your face
Better than yours
Latest thing
Need sex, a partner now
Chat lines
Virtual dating
IMS feelings
Is this why we are called the human race?
Have to have everything thrown in our face?
Everything summed up in a lipsticks trace?
Prostitute ourselves for what?
Society couldn’t give a jot?
Is this really going to be your lot?
Here is a news flash, here is a scoop
You the reader, look outside the loop
Add some veggies to this instant soup

© Philip Golding
14th October 2007


A rope to have and to hold

As my fingers type each key a tear slides down my face
I had always planned give my love to that special someone, for keeps
Year upon year to that plan I remained true to that resolve with her
Never did I think my love could grow for another, until there was you
You opened a door to me, that I never new existed, a vision I never new
This vision of beauty, based on Africa’s shore, fills many of my dreams
They say that for every man there is but one special someone
The love offered by two, was it misfortune, folly and was my brain engaged?
Caught up in a tide indecision thoughts resound, just how many will I hurt
As I have evolved as a person as brown hair goes mottled grey
Had evolution taken me from comfort zone to excitement of her pasture green?
How could I commit to another woman when I have what I have?
Your perfume invades my heart, my soul; my very being was under your spell
How could I not commit to my new love, she could be my real true love
To now have two special women for one heart splits it in two
My love lies bleeding its life force seeps whilst my mind wrestles with choice
How could I possibly can I selfishly choose, whichever her go for I loose?
If I choose you then they get hurt, I choose the other her then I hurt you
I am sitting on a darkened ledge, feeling my soul is in the corner, wedged
My brain tells me to draw this all to an end then this heart I can mend
Should I end my time hear, die a middle aged fool, my soul devoured
My being is tethered to each limb horses tied to the other, ready to rip me apart
Through me a rope to have and to hold, so I may return to my human field

© Phil Golding Feb 2008


It’s Just ………..You

You are the dawn that breaks, bring colour my way
You are part of my world, bring meaning my way
You bring sweet dreams, taking troubles away
You know I will always be there come what may

© William Lawrence 02/08

Bouncing Back and Forth


My soul is a seaming cricket ball
Hit for runs towards the boundary
I’m stumped ‘how’s that’ you call
Life isn’t a mould made in a foundry

My life is like a game of table tennis
Will I be pinged or will I be ponged
Sometimes problems can be a mennis
Hitting a smash into a future I belonged

My life has the roundness and strength of a car tire
Treading carefully; bouncing on uneven road
Seeking the solutions when circumstances conspire
Support from all with a wide and heavy load

My life can be like a fortnight at Wimbledon
An expensive bowl of strawberries and cream
I’ll serve for the set as interferers rambled on
Life is not a bowl of cherries but I’ll still dream

My life’s is contained within a boxing ring I’ve found
Punching my opponents to gain the upper hand
Bouncing back and forth until champ I am crowned
Be sure my Parkinson’s my future is still planned



© William Lawrence 0408

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

Last blog entry

You must find another

Posted on Sunday 31st August 2008 4:12 am

 

I hate what I am doing to you,

trying to get you to hate me.

A map continues to elude my grasp,

bringing us to the same yearned for moment in time.

What I am going to say, rips my still beating heart from my chest.

All air is driven from my lungs, through my lips, as they part, saying,

“You should leave me, find another!”

I feel so depressed and low saying that,

knowing my thoughts have now become real.

All those times that could have, should have been.

Our loves blossom, so beautiful,

yet, it will never brighten its first spring.

Our bodies laying side by side,

with our fingers clasped together,

bathed in the glow of loves embrace.

The sense of your lips lingers on mine,

long after they have separated,

there impression like a robin’s footprint on fresh snow.

Dreams!

Drink in these images my angel;

you know, deep down, you must find reality in another mans arms.

Angel, always know this that in this cruel heartless world that separates us,

my love for you, will always live inside you,

keeping you warm and safe.

At the darkest hour,

take our loves story off the bookshelf in your heart

read of the love we nearly had,

as the dark dark clouds gather all around.

Like a beacon of light that love will draw you to safer shores,

be that silver lining.

Although we live in a world without choice;

that serves to prevent our union,

keep safe our love,

hold fast to what we nearly had. 

No sick twisted fate will return this love to the coldest of embers.

Our love will forever live on, nestling on that shelf in our hearts.

Although our lives move across different highways,

when rolling thunderclouds darken the brightest summer’s day

we will read and remember,

make the most sensual love,

feel warm and safe,

then smile.

 

© Phil Golding 08/08

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