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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
September 2013


Railway Lines
(for a disused railway)
December 2013


Metaphor for Childhood
April 2014


I Wonder Why
December 2014


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
The first poem I read at the Puzzle Poets (with video)
October 2015


Ground Zero
My reaction to 9/11
November 2015


Magic Years
Being a teenager in the politically incorrect 1960s
December 2015


My Father's Funeral
February 2016


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
An Octolune, a verse form devised by Simon Zonenblick.
September 2016


Parallel Lines
October 2016


Are We Going Home Yet?
Childhood holiday memories
April 2017


Needle in the Quilt
A poem about Stoodley Pike
June 2017


Get In
A contradiction, inspired by Geneviève Walsh
August 2017


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
March 2019


A naiad plays by a woodland stream
June 2019


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.