Biography

Baby. Shavy. Navy. Wavy. Lazy. Maybe...All Gone Hazy!

I was born in 1955, which is very recently it seems to me.
I write to exorcise something sometimes, and to capture ephemeral things at other times. Love in both instances.
I wish that I had gone to art college - although that would have meant missing out on Fiji with my shipmates in '79. Wiggy and Soapy and Whisky and Streaky.

Samples

YORKSHIRE, FROST, FEBRUARY 2008


Outside
The fingers of the frost are touching up the grass again
The grass might like this I don’t know; sweetness could be transferred by the cold one’s kiss.
What I do know is that for today, mid-February,
We had all that late spring days should bring
Including sun until dusk, and when driving down the Skipton road I saw
The mist like candyfloss flow round the trees
As they stood helpless in the valley ahead.
The chill arrived unsaid but felt, and ripped us from the fruiting time to coal
Inside
Half promised, part consumed within the hearth whose heat I half resent.
The smoke will drift in to the wind and maybe warm the errant sheep* up on the lane
This is unlikely though, since frost has gripped the grass and acts
Like skinny snow.


*As I drove up the lane from the cottage this afternoon my way was blocked by a dozen sheep who had got out from the field and were grazing on the hedgerows. They panicked at my arrival in the car and could not understand the threat I represented so, fearful of a sudden move that might damage my car I drove with great caution until got past them and up to the farm. At the farm I said “Some sheep are loose in the lane”.
“Not mine mate” came the less than useful reply.





A PAIR OF BOOTS

A wet field and what seemed like a hundred boys.
We chased around without a care,
Knowing that tea would always be on the table.

I ran hard, the ball was mine!
And then it wasn’t, as I slid past it in my plimmies
Like a train not stopping at that station.

And so it was in later life
I found it hard to get traction
Travelling not where I chose
But in the direction of most momentum.

A boy whose photo I still have
Saw the blur of me slide by
And promised me new football boots
To better tie me to the ground.

And so it was in later life
Gifts came unexpectedly
From people that I hardly knew
And not from where I thought they’d come.

Paper stuffed in to the toes
A clown among the richer boys
I felt obliged to use my gift
Of diving boots worn on the land.

And so it was in later life
Not for me the easy path
Never chosen first in games
Trying to fly in feet of clay.

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

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