Poet & reviewer, born in !958 in Accrington. Based in Manchester, England.
Published widely, including the collections Calling Myself On The Phone (Smith/Doorstop, 2003) and Travelator (Salt 2007, www.saltpublishing.com) Poems published on the net and in magazines.
Have worked as a teacher of creative writing, as a mentor to African writers via the British Council's Crossing Borders project) and have read my poems from Manchester to Johannesburg in everything from libraries to bars to offices.
Interests: avant garde poetry, abstract/surrealist art, jazz (modern) and walking round the city.
From: TRAVELATOR: RANDOM SONNETS
The largest toilet wall in Europe Happiness
is the first coffee of the morning Then bang
The post-box stood guard by the blasted van
Cordon off your heart with scene-of-crime tape
Do the weekly shop then home to the news Later
no-one died The sky was Yves Klein blue It's OK
if I were to blow up anywhere it would be
Make the world a safe place for shopping
Where is that I was going to get a haircut
but I think I'll wait till I know the score
Let's stand round barriers refusing to move on.
Am I the only one didn't hear the bang Bandaged
heads Did us all a favour That morning I was
in a supermarket My how we've scrubbed up since
Locked out daily pockets full of coins for the slots
where does the sun sleep when it slopes off at night
One slice of bacon tomato and a rubber egg
does he eat his lunch off the world's flat plate
Still, the forecast rain is holding off but do you
fall into space when you reach the horizon
Weather talk round the breakfast room lashings of
where do you fall to when you're over the edge
toast and porridge the consistency of warm mud
Is the world really as flat as this town full of
kiss-me-quick gulls and the skrike of salt
will we swim out too far then drop out of sight
The penny arcades have opened their doors
do the lights in the sky revolve around me
Then who’s that stepping off his plinth
like a man on his way to work
who strode all the way to Huddersfield
My father came back for all the world
like a man out to buy his tobacco
to stuff in his little slot machine
As if he had a purpose in life
his hair was black as a peppercorn
They’re making a film about cops
by the statue of our ex-PM the theme
from Z-cars in my ears I stroll past
to write this down From Eccles he came
his skin was hard though his heart was soft
and ate whatever was put on his plate.
Will passengers have their boarding cards ready
Changes of clothes books pen in my pocket
the quandaries No Sharps Allowed Suitcase
packed we enter a new country singing
If tears were a staircase
Does this pavement move on forever
I’m a man it’s my job to be wrong Love ends
The sky is Yves Klein Blue at the terminal I’m
lost in the map of veins Last Chance to Buy
We’ll take our coffee in the American Cafe
Then we fold it all up and put it away.
To my heart girl you give me such trouble
stepping on a moving pavement on a mission
to depart I carry Lunch Poems around
THE ALL-PURPOSE STARS
Someone’s behaviour is bothering
a significant other Try not to rescue
everyone today It’s a day for keeping
You might be in a silly mood but
it feels like you’re stuck in quicksand.
A great day for haircuts kicking arse
if you’re feeling stuck with some ache
you need to tiptoe like a fairy round
Someone in your life has a bee in their bonnet
where what’s not out in the open
is the tendency to blurt strange truths
at the wrong moments The way through
is to think about the future beyond
Something hidden will pop out Careful.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
GHOST TRAINS ON THE MIDDLEWOOD WAY (20/02/2014)
FRONT ROOMS: AS ESSAY (23/12/2011)
Prayer Text (05/06/2011)
Breakfast Roll (13/03/2011)
BackChat poetry/jazz project (17/02/2011)
No Call for It (11/11/2010)
The Word No Is A Long Sentence (24/10/2010)
Surfaces May Be Slippery (22/10/2010)
Incident Tape (21/10/2010)
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