Local glory (a poem about home)
The midday chill of January felt and braced. Out into the back garden, in all its shaded grace.Through the side gate into miraculous winter sun. Riding my bicycle, it’s time for fun. The fields shimmer, so does the frost, as I catch a glimmer of the dew strewn moss.The windy road ahead slices through the greens, yellows…
Dreaming to Love (poem)
We were all depressed, us poets us thieves. But then we opened our eyes, we looked to the skies, we cleaned up our act – we breathed. Us lot, that lot, what is our lot? To live and work and die… And love? To Love. Now that’s a thing. To Love and be Loved. Now…
The Bowden Report 