Many years ago an English teacher at the end of his tether referred to a painfully shy 13 year old schoolboy who had just spelt the word ‘what’ as ‘wot’ for the umpteenth time as a ‘Moron’! That the lad in question was yours truly I cannot deny. Since that day I must confess my spelling – indeed sometimes my grammar – still lets me down on occasions. Thankfully over the ensuing years I have got to know many more ‘words’!
What of me then? This timid ‘only child’ born of a mother with quite the eccentric germ phobias (she refrained from any and all physical contact for fear of passing on all manner of preposterous imagined diseases) spent his halcyon days of adolescence living entirely in his own head and quite blind to the outside world. That is until the day he discovered the drug mescaline and in his own small way tried to emulate Huxley with some degree of success in that ‘The Doors of Perception’ finally came ajar. I only needed to take said drug just two times. By then I had, as if by wizardry, evolved a hard and fast world view…one which set my moral compass on a compassionate toward all living things, leftist, non-believer course ever since.
Throughout what I call the ‘years of necessity’, those years when one’s offspring are growing up I by vexatious requirement needed a worthwhile income so kept my atheism and politics on ice for the main part. Not now though! You see a few years back we (that is my wife Shirley and I) sold our business and whilst we didn’t make a fortune we secured just sufficient to retire early. We were private investigators specialising in locating fraudsters and their ill-gotten gains. Along the way I often found myself in the most surreal situations some of which are mirrored in my poetry.
That I am the world’s most impractical man and also one with the propensity to take things said to me ‘literally’ often leads to others thinking me to be on the cusp of lunacy…another trait I believe is reflected in my work!
Whatever my ‘Poetry With a Hint of Lunacy’ or perhaps, ‘Poetry With a Hint of Magic’ are my bit of fun in life…my way of letting my mind roam free.

3 thoughts on “About

  1. I’ve read you for some time now. And nearly afraid to admit I barely understand, but you have some “purdy” words (said with Kentucky accent). However, I’m starting to grasp things.
    Groucho Marx once said the only poem that made sense to him was the one that starts, “Thirty days hath September.”
    A friend of mine often says,
    Roses are red
    Violets are Blue
    Some poems rhyme
    And others don’t

    1. Cheers, Sir. I am cursed with a wandering mind. The missus is on my case all the time! And as my old dad used to tell me, ‘You don’t half write a load of old bollocks, son’. I’m guessing he was probably onto something when he said that!

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