Bard's life

As I march steadily towards yet another birthday I remind myself that, already, many of the boyhood friends who started out on this same strange journey have failed to make it this far. Here's a poem, from my Stone Witness collection, that commemorates one such youthful friendship.  TWENTY-ONE We started out with cocoa tins attached by string:  a telephone of sorts; progressed to proper phones, old army surplus; wired them up and strung a line from my bedroom,  to yours next door.  We formed a link that bound us fast through teenage years: fifth form, sixth form, till,  on you went to uni, I to unsought work. Where you were cerebral and gauche, I was the opposite, and yet we hit it off: no other friend, before or since, meant half so much. In those strange, final months, we seemed to drift apart: you went away and I, in turn,  went elsewhere too. Estranged at twenty-one, we were. You didn’t live to twenty-two. Your picture, pale, in newsprint grim, beside ...

I read this very visual poem, one of my personal favourites, in the second half of Guernsey's Open Mic event last Monday.  It's taken from my second poetry collection, Strange Journey . RAPTURE There are no trumpets; it’s all very low-key: no spectral horsemen or multi-headed beasts. Men and women simply drift away like dandelion-seeds on a soft breeze, one by one at first, then gradually the sky fills up with them: a surrealist painting, multitudes rising through indescribable blue, pale clouds adrift in the background. Youths in baseball-caps, men with umbrellas, girls in patterned dresses, daft old ladies, school-boys, postmen, beggars:  all are lifted up. Two nuns, like magpies, joyfully rise. Machine operators, shopkeepers, farmers, dog-walkers, policemen, joggers, young women with tired faces, suddenly beatific: all float upwards.   They rise heroically, each in an orb of shining light: the only movement in a world suddenly stilled. Traffic becomes gridlocked; ...

This month's theme for Guernsey's Poetry Open Mic event is CATS and I was therefore relieved to discover a couple of cat-poems gathering dust in the gloomy archive that I tend to refer to as The Bard's Basement . As a lifelong dog-person, my relationship with cats has always been one of caution.  Rufus, my Border terrier, was very attracted to cats but not in a friendly way and during his lifetime the bird-life in our neighbourhood flourished and brought us considerable pleasure. One of the poems I've dusted off to read at the Open Mic (on Monday 21st August) deals with my futile efforts to deter cats from the garden and I recall submitting it, along with a couple of others, to a UK poetry magazine a few years ago. Whilst they accepted and published the other poems, they rejected the cat one and even attached a note to the rejection slip expressing stern disapproval of the poem's content.  It appears that the editorial committee were all cat owners.  I have rece...

My recent visit to Northern Ireland was primarily to attend the wedding of my nephew, Simon, to the lovely Kimiko. The happy couple live in London but for their wedding they chose the magnificent setting of Old Court Chapel on the shores of Strangford Lough. The glamorous event was attended by a truly international array of guests from countries as diverse as Japan, Russia, Canada and Israel.  I was asked to write a poem for the newly - weds, to be read at the ceremony, and since the request came from my sister I had no choice but to comply.  The result can be found below. It's worth noting that in Japan, the crane is associated with longevity, immortality and prosperity and, because of their permanent pair bonds, cranes are often featured on bridal kimonos. Sweet cakes to be served at Japanese weddings are often baked in the shape of cranes for good luck. WEDDING POEM (For Kimiko and Simon) In nations far apart you grew in innocent obscurity, not knowing what awaited you whe...

On Sunday I shared the stage with popular local soprano, Lee-Ann Haw k es, at an open -air performance in Candie G ardens , St Peter Port. Lee-Ann captivat ed a n appreciative audience with a selection of classical arias while I read two sets of poems, taken mainly from my Stone Witness collection , and later signed copies in the shop at Candie Museum. I'm happy to report that Stone W itness continues to sell extremely well , b o th on line and through a number of local outlets. One of the poems that I read was the ever-popular Requiem fo r a Gambler , which you can find below .       Photo by Jane Mosse REQUIEM FOR A GAMBLER All that you owned when at your peak, with business buzzing like a hive, was squandered on a losing streak while, hopelessly, hope stayed alive. No game of chance could you forgo: you’d kiss the dice for one more throw. Slow horses, greyhounds half asleep, the Poker games you always lost, the endless nights you got in deep with fools who...

My old st a mping ground, East Belfast, which I revisited recently, is the birthplace of many well-known individuals. The writer, C S Lewis, grew up there, not half a mile from the house where I was born, and from the same district came actor and director Kenneth Branagh ; actor James  Ellis ; musicians James Galway, Van Morrison and Gary Moore ; writers, St John Ervine a nd Forrest Reid ; playwrights Stewart Parker, Sam Thompson and Marie Jones, and footballer, George Best.   The recently-opened C S Lewis Square houses a bright new tourist centre where visitors can access information on the city's attractions from interactive screens, interpretative panels and a wall map, connecting people to East Side's famous faces, places and industries. Nearby, visitors can rediscover Lewis's creation, The Chronicles of Narnia with a walk through a public space featuring seven bronze sculptures from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe , including Aslan, The White Witch...