Posts Tagged ‘poetry’


To put it all in context. In the last year or so, I’ve reviewed – or blogged about – collections that I love. Kim Moore’s The art of falling. Christy Ducker’s Skipper. Fiona Benson’s Bright travellers. Jane Clarke’s The River. Work by Shirley McClure, Maria Taylor, Hilary Elfick, Tom Cleary, Bob Horne, Steve Ely, Clare […]

via So you wanna be a rock ‘n roll star: some thoughts on ‘being published’ — the great fogginzo’s cobweb


anticipation builds
excitement intense
grains of sand
pass through hands
nothing left
but faded faces

poem for today

Posted: September 23, 2016 in poem, poetry, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

furtive glances
lives in eyes
tell stories
without words
no more is said


pounding of hearts
sweating of hands
shuffling of feet
hands held
lives connect
never seen again



regret nothing, live
what is gone
cannot be undone
distant memories
still haunt you
stop them taking
over your mind
the past cannot
be altered
the present can
be created
live your life anew
with no regrets
 


This is an audio recording of me reading some of my own poetry at the Blind Pig, Sowerby Bridge, August 2016.

If you have any problems let me know


water flows down
the neck of the moors
a silken scarf
of life giving blood
a life captured
in one perfect
moment as light
meets dark reflecting
back a portrait
of a person
been and gone
a star burning
brightly, intensely, before
fading, extinguishing itself
through a life
over indulged, lived
half hearted, such
promise never fulfilled
a life to be
half remembered
half forgotten
 


i look in the mirror
see someone
in their forties
i do not recognise
i am twenty again
the person i
wanted to be
all that time ago
i am now
age has distorted
my perception of
who i am
confusing my real age
with my imaginary age
reducing me to a child
learning about life
all over again


dust holds…
the dreams we have
the memories we create
the people we meet
the places we go
the loves found and lost
the spark of genius
the drunken moments
the times we forget
the fights we have
the making up we do
the books we read
the films we watch
the time we get up
the time we go to bed
dust holds all of these memories
as it watches life unfold
from a corner of the room