Merry Christmas

Well, I  didn’t keep this site updated as my resolution said last January, however I now have achieved my MA in creative writing from the fab Trinity University, and low and behold, my collection ‘Her Own Language’ is being published by Dempsey and Windle from London.  I’ve made some glorious & talented poetry friends here and plan on making more in the Poetry Café in London.  Looking forward to the launches with Hannah Stone galavanting our northern circuit. All is quite well, Happy New Year!

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Hi Everyone

I’m now retired and have decided to work on a MA in creative writing at Trinity University.  I will be publishing my poetry booklet soon entitled  Her Own Language.  My New Year’s resolution is to keep this site up-dated and start ‘blogging’.  Yeah, boy I’ve got the lingo now!  But still I need to experiment with all this gadgets and thingamajigs.

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Hello everyone

Just to let you know, I’ve just finished Bill Greenwell’s poetry workshop for the third year and loving it. The feedback is excellent and they are all very accomplished poets. I’m sending my stuff into many competitions, so I’ll keep you posted, (fingers crossed).  Trying to get my confidence back up to par.

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Hello Again

Well, part of my problem posting new poetry here, is because when I do that, it is considered ‘published’.  I am continuing to send out my stuff.  I’ve won honourable mention in a competition at least, however, I am not satisfied.  Keep on truckin’, and wallpaper walls with rejection notices, anyone who believes that rubbish and gives up is a loser!

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Hi Everyone!

It’s school holidays, so I’ll be spending a little more time here.

Please leave a comment, let me know what you think,  I’d really appreciate any

and all comments.

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Ides of March

If Spring has a sound
it is the whimper of bones
between the crack of seeds
the swirl of wing.

The cool damp
butters its bread

thick

a requiem
in the key of green.

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My Friend Sam

My friend Sam

I enter an oval corridor
circles of distant murmurs.
Each vertical nook
is a Munch painting.

Peg-leg Stella hunching
gown open
sidetracked
in her drawer
of sagging memories.

Rose smiles with a frown.
The view outside her window
is only an illusion.

She pastes a magazine scrapbook
birds flowers children.

She loves children

takes her teeth out
grabs little hands
as though some magic
will escape through pores.

I look out the mindless glass

orange leaves
crumbling
divorcing
branches.

Closing my eyes tight
I pretend not to notice 
the smell of a rose.

Opening my eyes
there’s Sam’s Chair
his needle
penetrates burlap,
red, blue violet tapestry
deftly designed
oceans of beauty
discounted and excused
as an old man’s ramblings.

His heart beats a rhythm
out of sync;
his words are pregnant

his touch
annointed.

A brillo beard weaves strands
of ink and yellow
among supper’s crumbs.

Deep creases surround
thalo blue blue eyes.

Where have you been? he asks.
I’ve been busy…

I need white and heavy green,
white for the ceiling,
green for the heart

and black too.

For what?

Everything.

 

Sam- 1995  Oil on Canvas

My friend Sam

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