Poetry

Icon for poems with recordingsWherever you see this icon next to an introduction, there is
a recording of the poem to listen to, as well as the text.

Click "Read..." for both the text and the audio clip.

 

What To Do With A Stone

Twenty-one years ago I sat on the beach at Clevedon, picked up a pebble and held it in the palm of my hand. I was enthralled. Maybe that's where this poem came from.

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Beginnings And Ends

Creation is a miracle: there was a time when what is now, wasn't. It didn't exist, and now it does. How?

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Bristol Bollocks

I wrote this because if I didn't write something I was going to burst. I find people love it when I read it aloud.

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Chew Magna

I was actually sitting in the empty sun-drenched church when I wrote this. I am the silent watcher.

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Defeat

Painful experience doesn't always make a good poem, but the chemistry can work—if, I suppose, you find the right metaphor.

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Enish

I've no idea where in my head this came from. Seems Celtic somehow. A dream maybe, but not one I wrote down when I woke up. Perhaps the loss of civilisations is a collective subconscious thing.

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Global Warming

This is an exact record. Much snow had fallen, but the Welsh farmer and his tractor were not deterred. The cows needed them and that was it and all about it.

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God's Garden

The notice in question is rivetted to a railing by a patch of grass on a canal bank in central Bristol. I promise you, it's real.

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His Voice Was

For Carleton Hobbs, actor, June 18th 1898 to July 31st 1978.

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Ho Ho Ho

My need to make fun of technology arises of course from a deep and ineradicable fear of it.

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Leopards And Porpoises

Don't ask me what these are about! But I can tell you Porpoises was written after being overtaken by a car going much, much too fast.

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Mars

What an appalling pun to start off with, but I still like the ideas...

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Night In Bethlehem

Since writing this—only a few months ago—it seems even children are butchered in broad daylight. Shame itself is dead, then. Barbarity sees no reason to hide any more.

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Sunday Morning

This poem has a recording, too!

I love the Anglican church service, but more and more of it rings emptily to my ear.

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The Fall

Where were you when the twin towers fell?
I was in the kitchen.

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The Safety Valve

You have to act this one.

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The Swing Is...

I still don't understand how swings work!

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Waiting For Winter

This poem has a recording, too!

I really think this poem smells right—tastes right—I don't know, something like that.

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Washing Up On Easter Day

This one needs chewing on, and you may not like the taste.

 

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