Biography

I started writing poetry a few years ago but then got out of the habit for some time. Then someone told me about Write Out Loud and attending a session prompted me to start writing again and well over a year later I'm still at it.

Writing makes me feel good so I carry on. Performing (or "reading out") is daunting at first but then it gets to be a real buzz - everyone should think about having a go. If someone gets something from what you have written then that is a terrific feeling.

Lately I've been working with Rochdale's own creative writing group the Wheatsheaf Word Weavers (the real www!) and we've set up a group called "Weaving Words" on Facebook. Its open for anyone with an interest to join so please have a look.

Samples

And Eagles were Kings

Soaring in the clear blue
As a dream or a thought
Sun warming broad aquiline wings
Surveying all
And he understood

The smoke was long gone
Blown on a thousand year wind
And just the shell remained
Brittle and dry, sapped of strength
Empty buildings, old and burned
Skyscrapers, appartments, churches
And temples to industry
Lying empty and desolate

Men thought they had answers
Unrivaled intellect
Complex society
A global economy
But men had, perhaps
To much
And now the bones of society
Laid bare
Picked over by vultures of violence
Crushed by the hyena grip of despair
Men couldn’t set those shattered bones
And they crumble to dust
Just a memory
Of a time men lived
Long ago

And he stretched his wings
In the clear blue
As a dream or a thought
And he understood

Still higher he flew
Surveying all
And nature was restoring
As it always would
And eagles again were kings




Not Like the Rest

(This is a true story about a girl I knew for just a little while. It’s a genuine tragedy, She wasn’t like the rest)

Young, slim, pretty
Shiny black hair
In satin waves
Freshness of youth
Delicate features
Fragile like the mayfly
A shy nervous smile
Flickers briefly
She looks much like the rest
And she walks and talks
Just like the rest
She tells me her story
Reads me her poems
Glimpses a future

Inside she struggles
Stresses and worries
Insecurity, plagues her like locusts
Eating confidence, consuming spirit
An empty bottle, beached
On life’s shore
Forgotten, a lonely, abandoned lamb
To face her wolves

And she hurts
“What about me?”
“What about me?”
“How should I feel? I don’t matter”
Not like the rest

Doctors diagnose, plan intervention
Prescribe medication, a hospital bed
Nurses monitor and report
Administer the treatment
Provide some care
Nobody really listens
Nobody really knows
Or understands

So she remains
Hospitalised, medicated
Pacified, stabilised
Tranquilised, desensitised
Monitored, protected
Contained, controlled

How does she feel?
She can’t explain
Then how could she
Doped and drugged
Her feelings blanked
Smothered and flattened
And they
Can’t explain
Then how could they?
She doesn’t look ill
She carries no mark
She wears no badge
They say she’s recovered
Finished her treatment
She’s not so sure
They send her home

Parents plead
A mother knows
She’s not ready
She’s still hurting
She still needs help

Her bed’s allocated
Her budget’s spent
Her resources gone
Released, discharged
Just like the rest

Her care in the community
Her one brief day
Of freedom
They came too soon
Unwittingly created
A torment too far
On a bridge
She pauses
No samaritans
No witness
No mothers arms

She’s gone
A solitary column inch
She didn’t matter
Not like the rest





Standby

My old television
Had a big old switch
On and off
With a clunk
My new one has
Standby

No switch
Just a button
Touch sensitive
That doesn’t really move
Or a remote
With flat batteries
It doesn’t ever really turn off
It’s ready to burst into life
To satisfy an instant need
For entertainment, for news
For diversion
To fill an empty moment
We can’t wait a few seconds
We need it now
Go on
Touch the button

My new computer sleeps
The screen goes blank
The fan stops whirring
The disk winds down
And parks
But a little light flashes
And then
Touch the button
It bursts into life
Straight back to where it left off
Its not really asleep
Its on standby
Go on
Touch the button

This is the modern way
Life at the ready
On 24-7 watch
Don’t stop
Don’t go to sleep
When I close my eyes
The world keeps going
The world might pass me by
The world never stops
I wouldn’t want to miss
Anything
I wouldn’t want to be
Left behind
We live
In a thoroughly
Modern rush
Go on
Touch the button

I don’t really sleep anymore
I close my eyes
Lie quiet
Might snore
But I‘m not asleep
Oh no!
I’m ready to jump up
At the drop of a hat
The bark of a dog
The rattle of the wind
The morning birds
A filling bladder
An empty stomach
The ring of the alarm
No
I’m not asleep
I’m on standby
Go on
Touch the button

I don’t have a little red light
But the alarm clock has
The phone has
The TV has
The digi-box has
I don’t need my own
Little red light
I’m surrounded by them
They’ve got inside my head
Glowing
Flickering
Light emitting synapses
Waiting to switch on
Always at the edge
Ready to go
I’m not asleep
I’m on standby
Go on
Touch the button

And if I finish my days
In a hospital bed
Plugged-in
Connected
Then
When my lights go out
I won’t be dead
Resting in peace
No
Not dead
I’ll still be
On standby
Go on
Touch the bloody button




The Hood

Old man shuffles
Stooped, shrouded, muffled
Against cold and damp
Uniform of age
Coat grey
Woolen scarf
Hi-shine shoes
Capped head bowed
Furrowed brow
Sunken cheeks
Age-dimmed eyes
Lines of life
Life lived
Duty done
Passes by
Nods hello

And the dogs watch
And tails wag

Young man struts
Perma-scowl
Too-young
Too-deep, furrowed brow
Thin stretched lips
Suck
On the last of ten
Smile-proof
Sunken eyes
Beneath
The Hood

The Hood
Hides, covers
The accused' blanket
The judges wig
Executioner’s mask
Hiding feeling
Hiding all

The skunk cloud
Beer puddled brain
Swaggering
With sham-strength
Confused values
Misplaced, replaced
Aggression, size
Anger, power
Resentment brimming
Arrogance wrapped

And the dogs bark
And he

Wonders why!




A Far Cry


It’s a far cry
A far cry from nature
A far cry from humanity
From civilization

I know, ‘cause I smelled the foxes
In the cold morning breeze
‘Cause I watched them grow
‘Cause I saw them play
‘Cause I heard their cry
Far in the distance

And the foxhunters? They
Watched them die

The hunters
Caring, caring for the countryside
Caring for nature, caring with their hatred
Their seething anger, their aching lust
For blood, for fear, for power
And yes, their lust for death

All their fancy jackets
Expensive tweeds and shiny boots
Sitting high and mighty, toasting their success
With blood-red wine on a pedigree horse
A pedigree horse groomed by stable hands
Delivered by Range Rovers
Polished and paid for by the working classes

Charging through the countryside
Like some long lost cavalry
Red coats bright, bugle calls shrill
But these brave toy soldiers
They won’t see battle, they won’t feel fear
Or wonder when their final moment comes
They won’t lie forgotten
In some God-forsaken foreign desert

No! the hunters
Defending their privilege their “Way of life”
Looking after the peasants and paying a pittance
To keep them in their place
To keep up traditions
To keep flaunting their power

To race through your back yard, or mine
Hounds baying for blood
The blood of a fox, or a family pet
Who cares? “Stand aside! we’re coming through”

The hunters days are numbered
But they still can’t see the truth
That there never was a God-given right
To hunt the fox, to ride roughshod over our land
Over the working classes and over our laws
But they still can’t see

Because they never smelled the foxes
In the cold morning breeze
All they smell
Is diesel fumes, polished leather
Warm wine and horses and dogs
The pungent sweat, the sickly-sweet scent of blood
The sharp reek of fear and the stench of death

And all they hear is
Snorting horses, yelping hounds
Tearing flesh, breaking bones
A vixen’s cry and her last breath

I know, ‘cause I smelled the foxes
In the still night air

And the hunters? They
Watched them die

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

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