Diverse Verse 2 cover reveal


So Diverse Verse 2 the poetry collection for charity I’ve been working on is now out and available to buy.

It will firstly be available at Southcart Books from today onwards towards the official launch this Saturday,then online for everyone who can’t make it to the shop.

Pictures taken by Scott Carter.

Poetry is a lot like IBS…


You think something is coming but after a lot of effort you’re often left with nothing.

Wearing Out


I lay on the couch, “does this hurt?” The Doc said,
As with a grip of steel he twisted my leg.
The pain coursing through me made me bellow,
“Of course if hurts, you impudent fellow.”

“You’ve got arthritis,” the Doctor clinically said,
“It’s on the screen in black and white, hips and leg.”
In the short time that it took him to tell me
I felt myself age quite considerably.

Now my hips are my internal metronome,
Each time they tick reminds me I’m old.
Each tock they make’s a clear reminder to me
That I’m not the young man I want to be.

 

Smile


What if you just really didn’t want to smile?
What if for you happiness felt like a trial?
What if you don’t want to wear your heart on your sleeve?
What if you don’t want you emotions displayed for all to see?
Would you instead try to always fake it?
Hide behind a smile that makes your face ache.
Let people see you as the life and soul,
But you’re worried that if the truth is told,
That if you reveal your real state
That if you reveal you feel life isn’t great
People and friends will judge you
Forcing out what you are going through.
So everyday you choose to hide
What’s burning you up inside.
Everyday you put on your smiling mask
Hoping what’s behind it no one will ask.

Another poem inspired by Dr Who, the time the episode “Smile,” where to give away that you were feeling sad might lead to your death. A world where you must smile despite all that is going on around you can resonate.

Here’s a link to my poem based on the Dr Who Episode “The Pilot”

Curse your sudden but inevitable turn to poetry


When a poet first steps up onto a stage,
Their mind is screaming that they’re a fake.
And that now on this stage their time has come,
To be uncovered by everyone.

So I wear a disguise so I look the part,
I’ve got tattoos on both my arms.
I sprouted a hipsterish beard on my chin,
Now I can’t be found out, where to begin?

You see I get tongue-tied if I wax political,
Embarrassed if I try to be satirical.
So I thought hard on what lines my rhymes should take,
What could I with words create?

So I just wrote down all the crap in my head,
All the stuff that keeps me awake in bed.
All the stuff that is commonplace to me,
I wanted to capture in poetry.

But I found all that anger hard to maintain,
Everywhere I go I don’t want to bring pain.
So when I stand up before you good people here,
I want to try to spread a bit of cheer.

So I started to write poetry on simpler things,
Beer,cake,pork scratchings.
Poems about binge watching TV,
These I found were the words for me.

So that’s my poetical manifesto,
Here I stand giving it a go.
This is what I’ve decided to try,
But remember, I’m a poet, we always lie.

Diverse Verse 2 is ready for launch


Late last year I launched a call for poets for a poetry anthology for charity entitled “Diverse Verse 2.” I’m pleased to say the book is at the printers and we have a launch date.

On the 27th May as part of Southcart Book’s open mic “Diverse Verse 2” will be launched. The official Facebook event is here if you are interested, it should be a great day with lots of superb poets reading and hopefully I’ll sell a few books for charity.

Embracing on an Autumn Day – Reprise


Hold me tight as the wind blows,
As the leaves gather round our feet.
So you’ll think of me next Autumn,
When you’re walking down this street.

Hold me close as the clouds gather,
And raindrops begin to land.
So you’ll remember me next Autumn,
When you hold another’s hand.

Then let me go as the sky darkens,
Free me like an Autumn leaf.
No longer attached too what I loved,
Our time together sadly too brief.

I’m reprinting this poem not because it feels like Autumn here in the UK at the moment but because I’m proud to say I heard this week it’s taken first prize in a local poetry contest. The Friends of Merrions Wood chose this poem as a winner in their seasonal poetry contest and it should be in their next news letter, considering I used to play in that very wood when I was young I’m proud to have won,.

The Girl with a Star in her Eye


I met a girl with a
star in her eye.
She didn’t twinkle but instead
radiated white-hot heat
that scorched those who got
too close to her.

I feel for the girl with a
star in her eye.
She captured my heart as easily
as she did that heavenly body.
Now I orbit her, trapped
by her gravity.

I knew a girl with a
star in her eye.
who fell to Earth burning,
briefly so bright
before becoming just
dust.

 

This poem is partly based on the Doctor Who episode “The Pilot,” and the awesome illustration above was actually drawn by Stephanie Hyam who played the Heather the girl who inspired this poem.

Intangible


Intangible

Are our thoughts just abstract concepts
Intangible until we write them down?

Then as we keenly press pen to paper to free them
As we bring them to life and make them tangible

Are they grateful that we are doing so?
Are they happy with this so called freedom?

Or do they feel they have traded their liberty
For ink-chains and parallel cell-bars?

Do they rail against this bondage?
Do they chafe at their paper prison?

Until we hear their impassioned pleas
Making us realise we have done wrong

Then we do what we should have always done.
We speak and free our thoughts from their A4 cells.

Releasing them into the air where happily they dart
Like spectres, intangible again and free.

 

Sometimes when I’m stuck for an idea I just open the dictionary at a random page and see what pops up. Yes I could be cheating but don’t you think if I was I might have chosen an easier word then intangible? 🙂

Why not give the dictionary challenge a go yourself?

Armchair Explorer


I peek cautiously through the kitchen blinds.
It’s like a BBC 2 jungle documentary out there,
A green canopy growing wild and untamed.
Nature is reclaiming my garden,
and I feel like
this is a job for another day.

I tentatively open the cupboard door.
It’s like an explosion in a skip,
no antiques or heirlooms here.
This is Tutankhamen’s stuff for the tip
rubbish unfit for any afterlife.
Another job for another day.

I’m no Attenborough or Carter
Fearlessly investigating  or excavating.
Instead I brave the TV channels
to visit far away lands
armed with a cup of tea
Sitting comfy in my armchair.