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Paul Waring

Email: drpaulwaring@gmail.com
Web: https://waringwords.wordpress.com
Updated: 9 days ago

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Biography

Paul Waring began writing poems in the late 1980's but wrote little between 1996 and 2016 due to undertaking two university degrees in Psychology and working as a clinical psychologist. He previously enjoyed a varied career ranging from banking to owning a menswear design and retail business. From the late-1970's until the late 1980's he was a singer/songwriter in several Liverpool-based bands. He resumed writing poetry again in late 2016 after the frustration of discovering his collection of poems had gone missing after a house move. Strangely, this inspired him to begin to write again, with gusto! He is retired and currently lives on the Wirral but has spent several years abroad in the U.S., the Canary Islands and Portugal. He has regularly contributed to WriteOutLoud since December 2016. https://waringwords.blog/

Samples

Night Mining for longer than I know I have roamed, restlessly drawn back into the dank chambers of a subterranean realm, while the world weaves the fabric of sleep. time has deepened my iron-caged descent, clanking down corroded creaking shafts into cavernous corridors who breathe the menacing damp that accompanies each foray to the dark recesses of mind, to swing a rusty pick at the mute stony, hard-faced rock of ages, whose seams I have long chiselled and chipped at in vain without ever mining its prized gems, instead, I sift repeatedly through mountains of shards, coal chaff, superficial detritus from a face that guards blackened nuggets, until my lungs swell with choking dead dust that forces another evacuation, a fruitless return to solitary confinement to wrestle with ruminations that turn me inside out, an alienated, contorted, frame forced to bear the weight of persistent unanswered musings about this futile life charade, and who I really am, with no prospect of slumber. Black Dog I learned soon enough that you were not just for Christmas, that long winter of '97 when you first arrived. how quickly you became a constant companion, never far from my side, matching me stride for stride, more faithful than night's darkness. how you grew, fed by my helpless hand, unable to resist those hang-dog eyes that penetrated mine and claimed my vulnerability as easily as locking jaws around a bone; already, you knew me better than I knew myself. and how soon your presence cast a lengthening shadow that darkened my days as I lost the fight for control, relinquishing my self to serve a black dog-god, a barking sergeant major whose iron bite and vice-like grip told me who was master. A Sweet Victory For The Solemn and the light and the dark and the shadow are one and the same, a triptych housed in a living library of idyllic loneliness, each sombre annex of soothing stillness speaks volumes from its rows of tomes that epitomise and embrace solitude, their testimony to splendid isolation and the silence and the peace and the rest are one and the same, a sweet victory for the solemn The Innocents outside there is little left to see but the dust of destruction, a torn canvas of abandoned hope etched in the dried blood of the dead and dying and the next-in-line, a taxonomy of wasted life, here where no birds fly, a land littered with the debris of its treasures, souvenirs of senseless hate, sacrificial remnants of generations atop the scorched earth, echoing a million mother's despairing cries that merge with the voices of barefooted orphans, a coke can for a football and Messi on their minds, the innocents of an uncivil war. Nostalgia stepping into the room once again I smell nostalgia engrained in this old oak table that knows more than I, a wisdom steeped, buried deep under layers of etched wooden skin worn nobly like the face of a patriarch supporting each generation of eaters, talkers, thinkers, planners, menders, doers, writers and viewers, bearing kindness and profanity equally and with quiet grace. likewise these four walls guard secrets seeped deep into tired plaster clung to by faded, parched paper whose changing patterns absorbed lifetimes of smoke and laughter and cries and dying of the past whose history reflects from gilt-framed portraits, wall windows, room souls who oversee the aged oblong god placed strategically like an altar to bathe in the soft stainglassed light of distant memories, that thing we call nostalgia. Long Gone Long gone, past, forgotten or lost, Missing, awol, blown off course, Bereft, abandoned, ground to dust, Disconnected from the source, That observes us grow, bigger than We are; sap rising like a tower. To breathe such exalted air can Intoxicate, seduce, offer power, Taken for granted, assumed to be A rightful possession, always there Later to discover it's temporary - Change happens when we're unaware Could I, should I, would I have known? Or heard if life had summoned me? Can consciousness delay, postpone Or shed light upon this mystery? Who watches a fragile flower wilt? Or sees ageing play its silent role To deconstruct what nature built? Slowly, relentlessly, taking its toll The cruel master does not hesitate To reclaim prized gifts, one by one; For some, a lesson learned too late, How small we are, how soon long gone

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

Audio entries by Paul Waring

Eggocentric (14/04/2017)

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Being Someone Else (08/04/2017)

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Jazz Notes, Harlem 1950's (06/04/2017)

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Comments

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 24th Apr 2017 17:07

I forgot that you are a psychologist. I remember remarking to someone, perhaps here on line, but not sure anymore, that I had found an old beat-up copy of Freud's Dreams (whatever the actual title). I was thrilled. And I set to with great interest and intent to LEARN A LOT.

But I floundered after a while, after much acute attention and thinking. More than floundered, I became belligerent, followed by disgusted, and then I just pitched it. (I can't believe I did it, but I did. Still haunts me. I remember being actually angry.) Thing is - I don't know whether I wasn't smart enough to understand it; or smart enough to discard it.

I kind of wish I had another copy. To test myself again. My grand-daughter's studies in YR 12 certainly seem to have all positive assertions about Freud's Dream Ideas. No negativity allowed. This has been on my mind for years. I hope you don't mind my sharing it.

'A Sweet Victory for the Solemn' is mind-crashing.

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keith jeffries

Thu 6th Apr 2017 13:17

Hello Paul, the Innocents is beautifully crafted and so pertinent to what is now taking place in certain parts of the world. A sad but sensitive portrayal of tragedy. Thank you. Keith

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keith jeffries

Mon 27th Mar 2017 21:45

Thank you Paul. Let´s press on and write more good poetry. Keith

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keith jeffries

Sat 25th Mar 2017 20:14

Paul, I have read a number of your poems all of which I have thoroughly enjoyed in both content and style. In particular I like ¨Nostalgia¨. as it is highly evocative. I have friends who own a four hundred year old home and their kitchen table came immediately to mind. You are the author of its description. Thank you. Keith

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Tom Harding

Mon 13th Mar 2017 01:13

Paul many thanks for your recent kind words- was a good boost. Really appreciate the support! And for taking the time to look at the collection.

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Tommy Carroll

Fri 10th Mar 2017 19:07

Thanks Paul for your comment re "Lift" Tommy

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David Cooke

Fri 10th Mar 2017 06:30

Hi Paul Glad you liked 'Prickly Pear'. David

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Frances Macaulay Forde

Sat 11th Feb 2017 02:41

I like you style! You're now on my favourites list and I look forward to reading more of your poetry. (Better late than never!)

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Ian Whiteley

Sun 5th Feb 2017 18:46

thanks for the kind and supportive comments on 'Janus' Paul - yes - we are all getting older - and it doesn't and shouldn't mean that the fire burns any less fiercely - keep on keeping on mate
Ian

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raypool

Mon 30th Jan 2017 16:12

Hi Paul. As a tribute to your "names" poem and also as an offer in honour of your WOL clincher, I have just put on a poem for you. Please feel free to comment(!)

All the best Ray

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Stu Buck

Tue 24th Jan 2017 00:24

Hi Paul,
No problem!
I have been on here a couple of years or so now and when i first started out I had never written anything more than a haiku, and was completely against most poetry due to a strict education and an awful diet of shakespeare and wordsworth.
The encouragement i got from people on here has shaped my work, and i now headline poetry gigs, have a book out and have had a number one chapbook.
I put 90% of this down to WOL.
Cant wait to read more of your work
Stu

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Colin Hill

Mon 23rd Jan 2017 13:03

Hi Paul, thanks for the lovely words you posted on my profile page. Just so's you know, I will always get to see any comments that are left under a blog entry as I like to read and keep up with other people's takes and opinions.

And I agree, leaving and receiving feedback is what makes this site such a great learning resource. I sincerely hope my witterings are of some use as much as I value receiving from others in return. I am aware that I don't always get it right all of the time and am always happy to stand corrected. Writing is a continual learning curve and no writer ever finds the end. IMO of course!

Right, so I'm gonna come back at you now on your 'Sweet Victory...' comment hahaha 😈

Cheers,
Col

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Wolfgar Miere

Thu 19th Jan 2017 22:43

Hi Paul,

thanks for your comments on "Shatila 2017" very much appreciated.

Please excuse me for not commenting on your "The Innocents" earlier in the week, it had been my intention to do so but I got distracted.

Its always good to see others writing on similar subjects, it encourages and seems supportive in many ways.

Anyway, thanks again.

David.

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Graham Sherwood

Sun 8th Jan 2017 16:58

Paul, thanks for reading this.
The detachment comes more from the clinical almost pasteurised way in which cremations are conducted and the inevitable way that public grieving is seen as a consequence of the scene.

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David Cooke

Fri 6th Jan 2017 08:54

Hi Paul, my mother has that picture up in her kitchen and it reminded me of myself in old photos, although that kid would be a few years older than me. I was born in in 1953. Anyway, I posted it as a taster from my next book After Hours out in April from Cultured Llama.

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Stuart Bright

Wed 4th Jan 2017 12:04

Hi Paul, firstly thankyou for your kind comments on 'the little voice', ive never had the nerve to let others read my writing and positive feedback is very rewarding! I have read some of your work and particularly enjoyed 'nostalgia' I like being able to see different perspectives from seemingly innoccuos objects. I think you might enjoy my poem 'ink' as I feel there are some similarities.

All the best

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David Cooke

Tue 3rd Jan 2017 18:31

Thanks again for encouraging comment Paul. 'Last Orders' is one of a group of poems which will be in my new collection After Hours to be published next April by Cultured Llama.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 3rd Jan 2017 17:39

Welcome to WOL. Paul. I've not been much on line these past weeks, but will certainly follow up on your work already posted.

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Graham Sherwood

Sun 1st Jan 2017 17:09

Hello Paul,
Thank you for your kind comments on I'd.
A small observation about the fact that none know us better than ourselves.

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David Cooke

Sun 1st Jan 2017 11:14

Hi Paul, yes Art was, sadly, a junky for many years and also got dragged into armed robbery, but he did straighten himself out and had a great comeback later in life.

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lynn hahn

Sat 31st Dec 2016 01:43

What a life you have had! An artist, a salesman and now a gift to those of us that think too much lol Glad you are back writing I enjoy your work.

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David Cooke

Fri 30th Dec 2016 08:30

Hi Paul Thanks for kind comment re my poems. You might like to check out the poetry journal I co-edit called The High Window. Here's a link:
https://thehighwindowpress.com/
David

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David Cooke

Wed 28th Dec 2016 22:34

Hi Paul Thanks for comms on my photo girl. David

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Paul Waring

Sun 25th Dec 2016 13:49

Hi again Andy. I've just read your post here. I am so grateful that you have taken the time to write. You have made me think....maybe writing lyrics has helped with writing poetry, especially in terms of rhythm and, yes, music can be an inspiration to write.

It seems strange that, although I've had research published (and football articles), I did not feel my poetry skills were honed enough to seek publication. But, after just a few days on WoL, I feel very inspired and encouraged by the feedback from yourself and a few others. It's a great community to be part of.

Thanks again, and good luck to you, too. Yes, it really would be good to meet up at some point in future.

Finally, very best wishes if you celebrate Christmas. My partner and I are strict bah-humbuggers! Paul

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AM Cash

Thu 22nd Dec 2016 10:52

Hi Paul, A similar story here from me on poetry, thought different life. I think life have given me the experiences to now go out there and express my views. I sense the same spirit. I really like your style writing too.

My poems often come from listening to music first, I wonder if your work still has that underlying backing sounds from your early years.

Good luck and hopefully we will bump into each other in the real world and not just the virtual.
Andy M Cash

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