I'm not a poet
Updated: Thu, 12 Nov 2020 09:20 pm
61 years old male, did many things, at sea for twenty-five years, lived in New Zealand, Got a Philosophy degree, Japan and Singapore. Now in Cottingham which is a suburb of Hull. Did other many things when I was younger. Psychiatric nursing for ten years. Got a small leather bound dictionary at about ten years of age inscribed with "From reading comes knowledge and from knowledge comes wisdom". I believed it and have never had a day when I have never read. Unrepentant punk rocker. Poets I love are Joe Strummer, Lynton Kwezi Johnson and JCC, Sam Hunt and Auden. Ginsberg and Beat. Dylan. Poe. I'm also a devotee of Camus and Kafka. An existentialist to the bone. I have no god. Ive always "written" something but I started writing with intent last year. I wrote/write as therapy and communication with people around the world who are in our lives. I have manic depression and was diagnosed with PTSD a while ago in darker days which colors much of me as person and my thoughts and ways of thinking. I lost my only son to bone cancer at eighteen years of age three years ago, writing became my "letting it out". It still colours much of what I write. I miss him every day. Every night. Although sometimes many call my poems "sad" they've missed the beauty which is often within. Which I find frustrating. I also write a lot of autobiography based upon my experiences and those of my family and friends. I realise my work can be considered "course" on occasion but its also real to me and the life that has shaped me. Lots of talented people on here and find it frustrating I miss so much. Its not by intent.
Blues for David Woke up this morning I was feeling blue Looked to my left Couldn’t see you Looked to my right Thats when I knew Oh my best buddy Buddy where are you. I have a million dollars, And ten tons of gold That I kept in a locker. For when us two get old. But its worth nothing now Because we’re torn apart And I know I can’t spend I can’t spend my fractured heart. When I dance in my minds eye with angels. And fear being deserted and alone. I saw the old woman in the church yard saying another goodbye at the same stone painting another farewell scene of ancient love. And I don’t fear that which lies beneath the grass deep in soil and farewell clothes and trinkets of memories sent on a journey of hopeless hopes and boundless groundless prayers for salvation and loss so much loss. And pain so much pain endless pain. To walk on the path and see transcendent light floating in the midst of the mind just out of sight. I envied the ones whose certainty opens the eye to believe. Then I met an American who told me about Adam and Eve. And thought about my mum and dad who couldn’t eat fruit because of the war. And thought that an apple was a poor excuse for revenge and saw the humour in a god who played these games and thought he is a joker. And then laughed at the stupidity of certainty that still makes us ponder mans duality. A fight for life that dances around and around forever. But where does it go as we weave our paths? Where are all the loves we never met? Everything all of it everything all of it. There in the wavering past which dances To its own long written tune and sings the song That tells us we have to live on in the future time of unplanned but unbound limitless deceit.
Rough and old! Battered and broken, lived and lost.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Blog entries by I'm not a poet
Cold Steel 1982 Falklands Finale. (16/02/2021)
I Dance With The Ghosts. Falklands 1982 Eight (16/02/2021)
The dead man Falklands 1982 Seven (16/02/2021)
There's danger near Falklands Six (16/02/2021)
Face Down. Falklands Four. (16/02/2021)
Check the bolt Falklands Two. (16/02/2021)
Ah' Chris mate. 8th June 1982. Falklands One (16/02/2021)
Vomit City (16/01/2021)
Read more entries by I'm not a poet…
Audio entries by I'm not a poet
My Crazy Diamond (12/11/2020)
Blues For David. (12/11/2020)
TikTok TikTok Tik Tok Times running out...... edited (08/09/2020)
Blues for David. (08/08/2020)
Blues for David. (01/08/2020)
|Wk 49||1 event|
|Wk 51||1 event|
|Wk 01||1 event|
Hover over an event to see the details. ( open mic event, Write Out Loud event)
Thursday 06 December 2018
8:30pm at Lairgate, Beverley, HU17 8JG, GB
Thursday 20 December 2018
7:30pm at 246-248 Spring Bank West, Hull, HU5 3RU, GB
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<Deleted User> (9882)
Tue 10th Nov 2020 22:14
Thank's Phil for dropping in on my profile page. I am so very very sorry to read about your son, what a tragedy, after all you have already been through in serving your country for all those life-endangering years.
I may only be one voice in millions but that won't stop me from saying thank you for your service on our behalf.
I'm with you on your tastes in music and as for poets,
give John Bukowski a try
I think he will be right up your street.
I hope you keep posting on here ( welcome by the way ) and that you manage to cope not only with the virus situ but also with every other kind of shit life throws at you.
Sun 4th Oct 2020 08:49
Thanks for your fascinating memories and views on the Falklands war. This is a really interesting article https://www.theoldie.co.uk/blog/my-return-to-the-falklands. I'm assuming that you knew this movie was being made?
Sat 8th Aug 2020 09:40
You're Blues for David tracks are fantastic! Just been listen to both of them. Listening to Blues is just perfect for these times we're living through as well. Maybe you could do a piece about our new changed world one day?!
Thu 4th Apr 2019 21:07
Hi Phil, thanks so much for commenting my "Lie with Poetry". I've been reading some of your poems - your writing hits hard and keeps it real, I really admire and appreciate that. Looking forward to reading more and exchanging more.
Mon 25th Feb 2019 13:20
Phil, thanks for your appreciation of my work. I like your work too and the oblique way you express language.
Thu 31st Jan 2019 15:41
You're a gentleman Phil with that comment. I do try to be impartial and non judgmental and impart respect as a matter of course. Not always easy here I'm afraid, and sarcasm can come to my rescue.
Sun 19th Jun 2016 00:21
Wow, Phil..young or disinterested, or whatever the excuse, I have a hard time believing that such dramatic events are somehow irrelevant after the passage of only a few decades. I mean, it isn't as if the events in Chile after Allende was overthrown occurred in some sort of political vacuum. Central and South America were hot for quite a while. That said, I believe there's much more to it all than the "disinterested" would care to know.
I'm glad to see someone write about these things..there's no good reason for such bloody history to be so soon forgotten.
Mon 6th Jun 2016 13:18
Thanks Phil - Some great lines in the poem above! Paul
Fri 3rd Jun 2016 23:24
thanks for the kind and supportive comment on 'Xenophobe' Phil - glad you liked it mate
Fri 13th May 2016 09:55
Yep, just read the addition to Granddad - spot on, well worth revisiting it for the edit. So poignantly observed. My nan stopped with my grandad, though he was a total bastard to her. That's what women did back then, eh?
Oh and hey - nice to meet a fellow Thatcher hater haha :D Tis a shame you're in Hull otherwise I'd have said come to the book launch.
God, the gig was amazing, I'm glad I've managed to do justice to it with my review :) No, he didn't do that one - but I will look for your poem.
The trick with performing is to practice til you're sick of it, til your mouth knows it. Take your paper up with you so you can read from it if you need to. And always take a nice deep breath before starting. Remember that no one wants you to fuck up, they only want to support you. Open mics are wonderfully supportive places cos everyone knows how terrifying it is. It gets easier the more times you do it, honestly. I spent the first two years of performing wanting to evacuate from every orifice all day beforehand :D It's a massive buzz though. And that's why we keep doing it to ourselves!
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