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Although I love words I never felt any particular urge to be a poet. Prose and songs were my thing. If I ever had time to write I would have preferred to be writing music. But after moving to Sowerby Bridge in 2013 and getting involved in the local arts scene, I started to have sudden flashes of inspiration when poetic phrases came into my head. At first these tended to result from looking at one of my photographs, but after a couple of years inspiration started coming from other sources too. I don't claim that any of this is good, because it isn't. It's simply an honest record of my attempts to be a poet. I think the main problem is that I've always used words to portray clarity of thought rather than artistic expression, and somehow I just can't make the transition. I'm going to stick to music and visual art, which I find much easier to navigate. The first few poems are really just a case of me getting my feet wet, getting used to the discipline of writing poetry.
The Sundial
Railway Lines
Metaphor for Childhood
I Wonder Why
Here, following my first visit to the Puzzle Poets in Sowerby Bridge in October 2015, I hit a rich seam of creativity.
Where I Walk
Ground Zero
Magic Years
My Father's Funeral
At this point the seam of creativity ran out of golden nuggets, and from this point on it's slowly downhill all the way.
Roget's Moonbeam
Parallel Lines
Are We Going Home Yet?
Needle in the Quilt
Get In
At this point I ran out of poetic inspiration and my previous few efforts were poor, so I concentrated on other disciplines for a couple of years. Then the next poem appeared out of nowhere.
Tempus Edax Rerum Paradox
Caliadne
I think this is probably it. I'm not happy with the lack of progress I'm making with my poetry and I can see now that it's not, and is unlikely to ever be, my forte. So I'm not planning to write any more.
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