It is a villanelle written for my granddaughter, Olivia, with a nod to Dylan Thomas (see the start of the fifth tercet.) He, of course, wrote one of the most...
The first poem I wrote as an adult was for my daughter, Claire Louise. We were going to name her Samantha, but thankfully changed our minds. (Try rhyming Samantha with...
This was inspired by the 30th anniversary of the first moon landing and written for my son Andrew, who watched the historic event on a battered old black and white...
As a small boy I was forced by my mother’s partner, Bert, to watch him shooting blackbirds at the end of the garden, after he’d put bread down to entice...
One of my boyhood memories is of returning to a wrecked home after Bert and Irene’s final fight, to find my pet mice dead in their Woolworth’s biscuit tin, left...
This is taken from my early life in the 1950’s, witnessing domestic violence at first hand. Bert was my mother’s partner for part of my early childhood – and he...
It is based on an actual memory of being left alone in the house, confined to my bedroom one Sunday summer’s evening while my mother and her partner, Bert, went...
When I was a boy I would be sent alone to church by my mother, who would dress me in my Sunday best and wave me on my way. It...
My maternal grandmother, Alice, was an alcoholic, a fact I discovered in later life. But she had a fine singing voice – some said it was of operatic quality. The...
This was written as part of the 1418NOW project, where people were invited to write a letter to the Unknown Soldier, the statue that stands on Platform One at Paddington...
