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THE PEN AND THE PAGE

Updated: Mon, 11 May 2015 12:06 am

darrenscanlon2@hotmail.com

http://www.darrenscanlon.wordpress.com

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Biography

Darren Scanlon was born in 1965 and still lives in Lancashire in the English Northwest. A typical 'northern lad', his ‘tell it like it is’, sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek humour and writing style have earned him 5 Star Ratings on Amazon. His poetry, which he has been writing since the age of 16, is published on many websites including Write Here and High On Poems where he has recieved great reviews: "We at High On Poems are blessed to have found such a treasure as you in our midst. Your poetry is thought provoking and shakes one up. You obviously are a powerful wielder of words!" His work to date includes: Hey Up, Matron! His debut novel which is a laugh-out-loud, roller-coaster ride through a day in the life of a NHS hospital ward from the point of view of the long-suffering patients and based on his own real-life experiences. Broken Angel and Broken Wings. The first two books into his gritty crime/gangster thriller Danny Roberts Series. Positively Poetic Vol’s 1, 2, 3 & 4. Four volumes into his on-going poetry collections. A Mouse’s Tale. An illustrated children’s novel, (based on one of his own poems of the same name). Alphabet Zoo. An illustrated children’s educational ABC book. He is currently working on his latest novel, book 3 of Danny Roberts thriller series. Future projects include, Way Back When, which is a comical look at childhood and how things have change, (not necessarily for the better), between the ‘now’ and back in the 1970’s when he was a lad. Also an illustrated children’s poetry collection and another illustrated ABC book.

Samples

COLD RAIN A cold deserted alleyway, dark as a desolate grave, away off in the distance dogs howling their dismay. A winter wind is gathering, blowing old papers away, with tired forgotten faces and news of yesterday. Discarded cans and bottles clatter on down the street, the chill night air is biting as he pulls in his frozen feet. So many dull and dreary nights spent seeking private reproof as the familiar pitter-patter sounds upon his cardboard roof. His heart is filled with shame and a cold, deep hollow pain... ...and here comes the rain. In and out of a fitful sleep his dreams are demon-filled, taunting him and teasing him destroying the last of his will. He hears an awful scratching and he’s searching all about, the sight of rats around his feet, he screams and then kicks out. Scuttling away in the darkness squeaking out their complaint, off to find some other poor soul to torment and to taint. Another wretched creature living life down in the drain... ...and here comes the rain. Traffic swishing here and there on dampened tarmac lanes, home to loving arms and a fire of flickering flames. Safe within their warm embrace, they watch the hot flames dance. No need for words between them as they drift into a trance. Silently they kiss and cuddle and gaze into each others eyes, warm, dry and safe inside each others contented sighs. But the long distant memories are all that now remain... ...in the cold and pouring rain. His body starts to tremble with a deep and longing need, the painful image beckons him and then it slowly recedes. A sob escapes the willful wall he’d built to hold it all in, it turns into a mournful moan that’s lost amidst the din. His body is wracked with baleful cries for a life that he once enjoyed, so fragile he soon discovered as he’d watched it all destroyed. And all he now has to show for all those precious years is a glimpse of sunlight memory between clouds of doubt and fear. A bitter, painful afterimage and a slowly sagging shelter... ...from the cold and pouring rain. And as the slow dawn breaks he lies motionless and quiet, whilst out there on the busy street people talk about their diets. Oblivious to the lifeless victim enshrined in a cardboard tomb, a helpless soul in a world of indifference, he lost his fight too soon. The report will say hypothermia, they'll tie a tag upon his toe but the real tragedy in his tale is that nobody will ever know. That a once proud and happy man could no longer take the strain. He died of a broken heart, in the cold and the dark and the rain. Written by Darren Scanlon, 16th September 2014 Revised 9th May 2015 ©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved

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

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