I'm very pleased to have this poem published on The Stare's Nest today. The poem is dedicated to Talha Ahsan, a British-born poet and translator with Asperger's syndrome. In 2012, having already been held in detention without charge in the UK for 6 years, he was extradited to the US - without any prima facie evidence being provided to a …
Category: writing
a short idiosyncratic list to round off 2014
The year is nearly out. Here are a few of my highlights of 2014. Ravel Day on BBC Radio 3 Friday 7th March was dedicated to the music and life of Maurice Ravel. I marked the day on my calendar as soon as I heard about it. His 139th birthday, so not a traditional landmark …
Continue reading a short idiosyncratic list to round off 2014
poem for my right-hand man
bless your hands for double-bowing my laces as tenderly as a parent on their child's first day at school bless your hands for finding their feet with hooks and zips; the ins and outs of the wrap dress for honey on my crumpet and moreish chilli pasta bookending fractured day for keys slotted home and …
somewhat hampered
Late last Friday night, on the mean wet-leaf strewn pavements of Manchester, I slipped and landed on my right hand. Pain, spectacular bruising, impressive swelling. Very British. Didn't want to make a fuss. Soldiered on. Ibuprofen. Visiting friends, taking in sights and culture. Back to work Monday. Resigned to not cycling so buy weekly zone …
hippo haiku
Late yesterday afternoon we walked up towards Vauxhall, along the narrow and uneven pavements of Battersea Park Road and Nine Elms Lane, construction sites lining both sides of the road. Then tucked in to follow the river path and soon spotted up ahead, in the cloud-darkened waters, a large curved honey-coloured structure being towed towards …
Hilaire – Letter from Battersea
I’m very pleased to have one of my poems published on The Stare’s Nest – a newish site with some great, socially-engaged poetry. In my own small way, I hope to highlight the injustice of Shaker Aamer’s continued detention in Guantanamo Bay.
Letter from Battersea
to Shaker Aamer, Guantanamo Bay.
The park is much the same.
Spring arrives earlier each year.
First, snowdrops, in stealthy clumps,
nodding their hope to the sodden ground.
Crocuses, sudden cups of lilac,
saffron, ivory, trumping St. Valentine’s Day—
cruel anniversary of your rendition,
your unmet son’s birth.
And still a coming-up of daffodils;
blizzards of blossom on leafless trees;
catkins twisting towards detachment.
Birdsong and nesting exist in this place.
I press words into the page—
forget-me-nots sewn in your name.
Down the road,
they are laying the foundations
of the new American embassy.
Good neighbours,
we are preparing our welcome.
See our banners. Hear our chants.
Free Shaker Aamer.
Bring him home.
Shaker Aamer is the last British resident in Guantanamo Bay, where he has been held since 2002. He has never been charged and was cleared for release in 2007 but is still…
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Virginia Woolf at the National Portrait Gallery
Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded. This quote from Virginia Woolf is printed on the back cover of Frances Spalding's Virginia Woolf Art, Life and Vision. How true, how true, I want to say. I recognise this sentiment; it's the source of my early and on-going compulsion to write a journal. To …
Continue reading Virginia Woolf at the National Portrait Gallery
Fourth Friday summer party
Just over a week ago Fourth Friday held their summer party at the Poetry Café, and I've been thinking about it, off and on, since then. I almost didn't go, feeling a tad lacklustre, a bit drained by the humid weather and slightly dreading what the conditions would be like in the café's basement, which …
extra time
Inspired by today's BBC Sport Prom, which explored parallels between music and sport, I thought I'd share this poem I wrote several years ago after my first couple of visits to the Proms. At the Proms We remember not to hum along. Wide-eyed, ears pricked, we clasp each other’s hands to stifle rogue conducting, dampen …
the P word
I don't easily describe myself as a poet. Labels of any sort are generally problematic to some degree. Scratchy. What's my problem with 'Poet'? In some mouths, it can sound like an insult. Perhaps I'm subconsciously adding 'Minor' or 'Failed' in front of 'Poet'. Certainly, there are many people, including members of the wider writing …
