Basic Existential Boy
A collection of poems, covering heartfelt topics from the immediate aftermath of World War 2, living in the shadow of his elder’s sacrifice through to his recent experience with Covid 19.
Just to let you know.
‘Just to let you know, the sale of your mum’s house
completed today.’
comes the text,
along with a stab of regret.
That’s it, the end.
It didn’t seem
a lot of money
for what was so loved:
An old cow shed
converted to
a line of rooms
like a railway carriage,
a home,
the first and last my dad owned.
He loved that small patch of earth,
growing cabbages and tomatoes
along the verge down the lane,
watching the wildlife
as he slowly decayed,
the cottage falling down
gradually
as my mother reached a hundred.
Being pushed in her wheelchair,
A day trip collecting sticks
for the wood burner.
That’s it,
All gone now. Just memories.
The monies are in the bank,
so there’s nothing more to say.
It’s done and dusted,
stored away
to be unlocked
now and again,
for reminiscing
in a reminiscing kind of way.
I Don’t Know If It Fills
Me With Hope Or Despair.
Marathon running is like poetry writing,
pointless.
Finisher’s remorse,
I could have gone quicker if…
would it matter
To anyone but our narcissistic selves?
Should poetry have something to say?
If Seamus Heaney didn’t sound like Seamus Heaney
would he change the world,
have universal appeal?
Voices are created
But it won’t help the war on terror.
Races are run,
but people still starve.
So why do them?
Why pound the pavements
with millions of steps,
or write myriad words of meaninglessness.
Can we transcend history and fly,
create purposeful communities
out of running and spouting?
If not, can we learn to fail better?
Can we illuminate the void,
explore our limits and find humility
as we cope
with our blisters,
hobbling towards the finish line,
slouching towards Bethlehem,
failing gloriously to achieve
the PB of truth
in our sweaty endeavour?
Two Swans Fly Past.
Two swans fly past,
their wings beating in unison: weep, weep, weep,
like a well-oiled machine.
Do they have mystical meaning
on a summer’s morn,
or are they just random travellers
as I sit here drinking tea
considering my soul’s eternity?
All featured poems are available in the latest book, Basic Existential Boy.
Proceeds from every sale will go directly to Epic Youth.
Providing support, training and development to young people across the U.K.