Feeling

He sits with sadness in his eyes,
mercury-blue and moist,
no light shines on his face,
apart from the moon,
who cups his cheek,
from her perch in the sky,
she understands melancholy,
but he ignores her offer of help,
turning away from her slender illuminating fingers,
instead he pushes the pain down,
burying with the rest of his misery,
he shouldn’t show emotion or cry,
that’s not what men do,
how many times does he need to be told.

He takes a breath,
agitating the mercury with woollen sleeves,
he sweeps away the tears,
then paints a watercolour happiness over his face,
just in time, for his wife has returned to him,
and when she asks how he is,
in reply, with all his strength,
he let’s a tear fall and tells her how he feels.


Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. I am big supporter of men’s mental health and this deals with men being able to open up to their partners.

Take It Easy,

Paul

(image courtesy of Nik Shuliahin on unsplash)

Bobby’s Wake

The pitmen gather around the empty hearse,
standing like Davids around Goliath,
some with roll-up cigs burning,
a glowing tobacco-fuelled pyre for,
another brother lost to history.

The colliery band are gearing up,
it’s good to see them still looking strong,
a shame some of the brass looks dull,
but the sapphire and gold thread of the banner,
is still resplendent in the tender summer drizzle.

Bobby’s family give their thanks to the vicar,
with a handshake and bottle of whisky;
his widow unsteady from grief
– and a brandy she’d drank for his honour and her nerves –
is weightless in the arms of her daughters,
the sorrow they’re carrying is a heavy enough burden.

Some of his friends from the village,
wander around the nearby graves,
hunching over the headstones and fading flowerheads,
making empty apologies they aren’t there more often.


Everyone congregates at the roadside when the band begins,
ready for the march to the pub;
tubas and trumpets blowing out the tune to
‘The Bonny Pit Laddie’
a reminder of the man,
just returned to the earth;
close to the coal he used to dig.


At the pub – we all raise a ‘Percy Special’ in toast,
and the tales and tankards come thick and fast;
like pick-axes on silver-black mine walls,
did only a couple of years ago;
the only hush comes from the opening of the buffet table.


These ageing men who’ve fought the police and government;
legends in their own lifetimes;
know that they’ll be together again soon enough,
wondering if they’ll be the missing face, lying in the dirt;
some have a fleeting sadness on their hard faces,
quickly burnt away by the furnace behind their eyes,
and then songs break out with soft smiles

this is a celebration.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem.

I really appreciate all your support.

Take It Easy

Paul

Stolen Voices

The worst kind of thief there is,
is the one who steals another’s words
then speaks them silver-lipped
and serpent-tongued
or writes them with crooked finger
and poisoned pen
without appreciating their weight
or realising their value
only seeing inked shapes on paper
not the skill it took in crafting those shapes
so when you’re caught
and our expressions of love,hope,pain & hurt
are reclaimed by us
the ones who have enough courage
to share our story with the world
I hope you are wordless, you are voiceless
a blank piece of paper blowing in the wind.

This poem was written following an issue where a few people were being plagiarised. The last straw was when war poetry was stolen from the pens of others , their name displayed as the original.

This is my feeling towards people who steal the words of others and say they are their own.

Take It Easy

Paul

Mothers & Daughters

Demeter wailed on the autumn’s eve
and all the gods could do
was to plant lavender clouds to soothe her
and comfort her
as the sky filled pink
to match her tear-stained cheeks
the same tears that roared to earth
as the last of the summer rain
Persephone was the last to hold Demeter
her bags already packed to return to Hades
she whispered sweetly and secretly
a skill her husband had taught her well
holding her mother’s slender fingers
she told her to watch for a robin
and when one flew across land below
to feed it with berries the colour of her heart
and the robin will accept graciously
so when Persephone returns she will be strong
and spring & summer will be theirs alone
their green dresses will sparkle with gold
woven by the sun itself
and they will dance as they’ve never danced before.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Greek Mythology is something quite different for me to work with in terms of conveying a message and I hope I’ve done it justice.

Take It Easy

Paul

(Picture credit: unsplash Faiuan Saari)

Sarcophagi

The low autumn sun
blinding-white but bereft of gold
because the beech and sycamore stole it
to paint their leaves
before purging the dying
windswept sarcophagi of the season
everyone and everything
wants to be a king for a day
and all kings know kingdoms fall
crumble to decay
and history remembers in bronze
the colour of rotting leaves
atoms return to atoms
return to life elsewhere.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem about autumn.

I hope you enjoyed it, if so why not check some of my other work out.

Take It Easy

Paul

Photo from unsplash: Ilham Ramadhan

I Can’t Believe It, I Came 3rd!

On Sunday (Halloween), I entered Black Bough Poetry’s #BBMicro2 contest.

The premise and rules were to create an original 4-line poem about Autumn or Halloween, post it on twitter using the above hashtag.

There was a panel of judges working throughout the day, all of whom are really talented poets.

A shortlist was announced on Monday and that’s when I got the first shock! I had made the shortlist! I couldn’t believe it as I’d read some of the other entries and I thought they were outstanding.

On Tuesday evening, the winners were announced. I came in 3rd. I will be celebrating this achievement at the weekend with my wife. It hasn’t really sunk in because I never imagined I’d get anywhere near the shortlist or finalist. It has given me a lot more self-belief in my writing! Hard work pays off.

You can see all the winners on by visiting @blackboughpoems on twitter. Or visit their website (blackboughpoems.com) to view the current books and anthologies they have for sale. Their Christmas/Winter edition has just been released and has some stunning artwork alongside incredible poetry.

Take It Easy,

Paul

Good To Me

From the sea glass
you smuggled me home
from the beach
I built a cairn
a tiny megalith
in honour of those
who in my history
have had a positive influence
some I still know now
others are silhouettes
billowing in the breeze
of my memory
smooth-edged like the shards
and when light rebounds and refracts
among the edges
glinting blue psychedelia
I find myself floating
staring upwards
lost in a soliloquy
for my soul.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. I have many other pieces of writing available to read on my site, plus there are links to publications featuring my work, so feel free to have a look around.

Take It Easy

Paul

The Sculptor

My palms are worn leather
handling hammer and chisel
the sinew in my forearms is taut
carrying marble creates strength
my neck stands tired yet agile
from always looking upwards
but my days of crafting pedestals is over
so I’ll wait for my body to reset
and return to an even keel
the cost of marble is too much
once it’s been etched
it can’t be returned
even though I probably value the material
more than the people I’ve placed upon it
I’ll craft myself an armchair
to rest and read on
and watch the pedestals crumble.

—————

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. If you want to read more, feel free to browse the site.

Take It Easy,

Paul

Autumn & I

I welcome Autumn
as she drapes me
in a blanket of bronze and straw-gold
whispering seductive sweet promises of
late lavender sunrises
and delicious red sunsets
she mentions velvet night-skies flecked with tiny diamonds
and an occasional silent symphony by the Northern Lights
even the rain softens under her presence
guiding acorns to ground
while winged sycamores float safely down
and when the wind wraps itself around her
it whistles happily
carrying her scent of blackberry and pear
feeding my nostalgia of years gone by
everything about Autumn is chaos
everything about Autumn is just so
I long for her and her embrace to return
by the time Winter shakes my hand
with his icy fingers.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem , I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave any comments you may like.

Take It Easy,

Paul

BIG NEWS!!!

Hi everyone, I would like to share some big news.

A few weeks ago, I was asked by the amazingly talented poet Damien B. Donnelly, who also runs Eat the Storms poetry podcast to join him to read some of my poems on his show.
Finally, I was able to free up some time and join him on the podcast (making my podcast debut, no less!) and the episode came out on Saturday October 9th at 5pm GMT. (I have just finished listening to the podcast thats why this is coming out at just after 6pm!)

The episode is Season 3, ep 14 and there are some incredible poets reading some outstanding work. You can listen on Spotify and most other podcast platforms. Why not get stuck into all the previous episodes as well?!

The Eat The Storms website can be found here: https://eatthestorms.com/

A direct link to the episode featuring me is here: https://open.spotify.com/show/0mOECCAcx0kMXg25S0aywi

Thanks for reading and hopefully listening,

Paul 🙂