Category Archives: my sunday poem

My Sunday Poem … #21

My Sunday Poem … # 21

Some years ago I remember walking along the beach at Brancaster in Norfolk when I chanced upon an old fisherman’s hut. It was long abandoned and the interior open to the elements. It made me think on a time when it would have been new and probably in daily use.

It also coincided with me having recently read a wonderful poem by William Butler Yeats called The Lake Isle of Innisfree. It began:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee loud glade.

I was thus later inspired to write The House of Stones …

I will build myself a house of stones
And dwell there by and by,
Close to the wild sea shore
And the seagulls’ cry.

And if,
In time to come,
My house becomes a hollow
For the wind’s lamenting song,
A temple for the moon and stars
To gaze upon,
Then chance may guide
Some weary traveller to my door.

Perhaps,
In thoughts of me,
He may brush away the passing years
And make a fire
Of all the empty wordless days.
This man of dreams
This man of clay.

My Sunday Poem … # 20

My Sunday Poem … # 20

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My Sunday Poem … # 19

My Sunday Poem … # 19

Dingle, Tingle and Shingle

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my sunday poem … # 18

my sunday poem … # 18

spells & shells

Here is a silly wee verse I wrote way back in the summer of 1969 when I was all of 17. Me and my best pal Charlie Parker spent a couple of weeks down in Devon and Cornwall. We tried our hand at surfing off Minehead beach and chatting up girls. We were rubbish at both.

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my sunday poem … # 17

my sunday poem … # 17

Hello. You find me in reflective mood today. The seasons are gently slipping by – just as they surely must. Life is a wonderful gift and we must never waste a moment.

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I am reminded of some lines from To His Coy Mistress by the 17th century metaphysical poet Andrew Marvell.

Had we but world enough, and time …
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingéd chariot hurrying near;

I wrote Summer Song quite recently. It concerns the transient nature of life. Carpe diem and all that. It is also about my deep-rooted love of literature and writing. When I was young I could draw upon the creative energy, joy and crazy hope that the world constantly offered. It all seemed to be achieved with comparatively little effort. Now I find myself drawing deeply from the well of memory and experience. Hope is an ever-present flame and joy is the reality of being here with the people and things that I love.

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My Sunday Poem … # 16

My Sunday Poem … # 16

The Ruins at Castle Acre

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Castle Acre is a village in Norfolk, England. Just outside the present day village are the ruins of a castle and priory built in 1089 soon after the Norman Conquest. I used to visit them sometimes during the 1970s. This is a poem I wrote shortly after one such visit.

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My Sunday Poem … # 15

My Sunday Poem … # 15

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A painting by John Singer Sargent. ‘Gassed’, 1919. The most terrifying new weapon was gas, whose first major use occured at Ypres, in April 1915, when the Germans released a lethal mist of chlorine that killed, disabled, or panicked hundreds of French and Canadian troops. Gas was used by both sides during the Great War.

One hundred years ago the world was in the grip of the Great War. (1914-1918). The horrors and deprivations of trench warfare visited upon the combatants on both sides were almost without boundary. New weapons technology and almost unlimited manpower led to four years of mass slaughter and misery. The widespread use of chemical warfare was a distinguishing feature of the conflict. . Gases used included chlorine, mustard gas and phosgene. The casualties caused by gas attacks were relatively light when compared to those caused by artillery. But its use and effect were absolutely horrifying …

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