59 years old male, at sea for thirty-five years, lived in New Zealand, Japan and Singapore. Now in Cottingham which is a suburb of Hull. 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. 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. 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. Ive done two... five open mic nights now..... Lot of talented people in Hull to learn from. Lots of talented people on here and find it frustrating I miss so much. Its not by intent.
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.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
In his image. (13/02/2020)
In his image. (12/02/2020)
Open letter to god (27/01/2020)
Panama a love story. Late 1982. (07/12/2019)
The nameless. (15/04/2019)
Take the ugly things. (08/04/2019)
24 hours of love Gas Town Vancouver. (06/04/2019)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/philkay
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