Poetry Blogs (Stones)
This is my own edit of an appearance I made on Radio Scilly last month. I've been a frequent visitor to the islands for twenty-five years, and they feature a lot in my work.
Linda Thomas is Scilly's estimable librarian, and it's great to be able to give her this shout-out as she's been a real champion of my work for several years now. The show itself was a blast (although you may not get that f...
Monday 22nd July 2019 11:51 am
At the start it was not so
That we did know the stone to throw,
To kill the beasts and men like us,
To think it fine to strike the blow
That spread man's blood upon the dust.
How was it that death entered in?
Cruel killing, how did it begin?
Did not the Tree of Life stand there,
In God's garden where was no sin.
In God's garden where all was fair.
Friday 28th June 2019 4:14 pm
In the distance
the green tops to the chalkwhite cliffs
slope down to the sea
behind countless breakwaters
wading out through low waves
their wooden posts testament
to the shifting stones of time
Below the grey sky
the bluegrey water rattles the beaches
sloping down to the sea
between stark black breakwaters
mute guardians of the coast
each wooden barrier m...
Wednesday 29th August 2018 10:25 am
Were you not my watch tower, erect above the chalky cliff
Stone guardian against all, high over the rough tides of my youth?
Was yours not the bastion, planted secure on the high turf:
Whose high walls embraced us and protected?
But that was then, now I am the ascended man -
Now I do not see your turrets from my farther shore
Black waves broke on your defences, your mortar crumbl...
Sunday 10th December 2017 4:05 pm
The final passage of man’s impact
Stones won and worked from a gritty rock face
Once made a shelter, a base, a home
Long abandoned and without form
A vegetated hump on the moor edge reveals
Tilted on its clean worked facet
A stone sink in ashlar remains whole
Testimony to lore
Cleanliness’ was next to godliness
In the high lonely Pennines
Thursday 28th March 2013 4:51 pm
Rounded lump of grey gritstone now balanced in the beck
Divides rushing stream linking high heather moor to distant sea
A shining silver thread through dale and wold to wide Humber
This same stone, surface scrubbed smooth by falling water
Now releases a stanza carved by a craftswoman from a script written by a poet
Ink to paper
Hammer to chisel
Rock to eye
Monday 4th March 2013 5:23 pm
If sticks and stones can break bones
and bombs and guns can kill
then a poet's pen and words can likewise murder
but heals wounds in its sublime expression;
Our differences fade with each line of verse.
Being read, and quoted, and handed out!
That is the poet's true reward.
On shall poetry live, and within its soul
the poet in whose he...
Friday 12th August 2011 2:00 am