As a young boy

As a young boy I was enthralled by, almost hypnotised by, the astonishing and varied beauty of Nature: the immaculate designs and coruscating beauty of insects; the infinite variety and magical forms of the animals; the grace, power, soaring and elegance of the eagles and hawks; the majesty and mystery of the cats; the boundless energy, abundance and fantastic colours and formulations of the plant kingdom; the magnificence of mountains; the ethereal beauty of misty mornings; and the might and awesome beauty of the Cosmos.

As a consequence, the houses of my best-friend-in-nature Barry Camburn and me were mini nature sanctuaries, brimming with selections from Paradise including: cats, dogs, budgerigars, canaries, rabbits, guinea-pigs, mice, fish, tadpoles, newts, snakes, beetles, and caterpillars-into-butterflies, to name but a few. As a result we were avid supporters and proud wearers of the badges of the Royal Society for the Protection of Animals (RSPCA) and other nature protection and conservation societies. We were always deeply saddened by examples of, and stories about, cruelty to animals.

Both Barry and I were so in awe of all this beauty and creation, and so intrigued by its processes and evolutions, that we could not understand why it was that anyone would wish to pin into stillness on a board in a case, such a wondrous living thing as a butterfly, or how anyone could in any way wish to harm the Natural World.

It was my passion for Nature and my pets that led to both my first book and my first contacts with the media.

My first book

My first book at the age of 8 was a little tome on my pets; my first contact with the media came as a result of winning second prize, at the age of seven, in my town of Whistable's pet competition. I made myself none too popular by innocently proclaiming from the pages of the Whistable Gazette that the world would be a far better place if all the humans were removed, leaving the animals and plants to live in relative peace!

My goals in life, from the age of seven through 20 were, successively, to be: an entomologist; a zoologist; a zoo keeper; a vet; and an ethologist (animal psychologist).

My relationship with Poetry

This great love manifested itself by consuming my thoughts and actions. It did not manifest itself in poetry, because my relationship with that Universe was an unhappy one.

My understanding of poetry was that it was a confusing, relatively meaningless, dull and boring subject that required me to sit still and listen to some monotonic and self-righteous teacher droning on while reading this 'high art form'. I was then required to waste my time beating my brains out to memorise that which had no meaning or relevance to my young life.

As I grew older the relationship worsened.

By the time I had reached the giddy heights of teenage-hood, and was beginning to feel decidedly masculine, I had relegated poetry to a subject exclusively for the weak and feeble in both body and mind!

The transformation

The event that changed both my attitude to poetry and my life was imminent.

The scene: my English Literature class, when I had just reached the age of 14.

Our teacher at the time was a little, lank-haired, plain, and untrained lady whose voice you could hardly hear even when the classroom (which it never was) was not erupting with delinquent behaviour.

On this particular morning she had lost total control, and the class and she were in two different worlds. We were moving about, laughing and shouting; and oblivious to her except when to mock or cat-call.

She gave us ample opportunity for this by stating that today she was going to read us her favourite poem. This was not an auspicious start to a lesson! We all groaned loudly and in unison.

The situation was made worse when, clutching her poetry book to her grubby white blouse, she announced that the poem was about a bird. Our groans became ostentatiously louder.

Things got even worse when she proclaimed that the author was called Alfred!! We lolled melodramatically, mimicking histrionic despair and boredom.

And then something strange and eerie happened. She seemed to transform, like some strange alien, as if another Spirit had entered her being. Her posture changed, her voice became more powerful. She was wrapped in her own secure world of love and dreams for and about the poem she was about to read. She intoned hypnotically:

The Eagle
Alfred Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

The thunderbolt had indeed struck.

I sat, poleaxed, stunned by the condensed power and the immaculate precision with which Tennyson had so perfectly described a being that for many years had been a beacon for me, and whose qualities exemplified so much of that with which I had identified.

In that one moment my paradigms of poetry and life shifted totally and forever.

I realised that poetry could express in unique, powerful and sublime ways the awesomely beautiful world of nature; that poetry could, on one level, expand and magnify that world by giving it other dimensions.

In a very real sense, poetry could be seen as nature growing yet more wonderful and more magical by producing more life forms: poems. As teenagers do, I had found a new hero! And, as a good teenager should, I wanted to be like, to copy, Alfred Lord Tennyson...

Hooked!

Coincidentally, the following weekend, I was walking along a pier when I saw a fisherman catch a particularly beautiful fish and proceed to pound its flapping form with the lead weight from his fishing line.

My first-ever poem appeared at warp-speed, almost instantaneously in my head:

The Catch

It stares through me with glazing eyes,
The blood, congealing on them, dries,
As gasping one last breath, it dies.

The fish that once looked so divine
Lies smashed and dead, with broken spine,
I leave. The angler sorts his line.

Once I had read The Eagle and written The Catch, my mind was transformed. Rather than seeing things in the normal way, or not seeing them at all, my eyes were more opened to the beauty of everything, and to the possibilities of infinite metaphorical poetic connections.

Cliff and Man

On the West Coast of Ireland, abutting the rampaging Atlantic Ocean, are the spectacular Cliffs of Moa.

From a dizzying height they plummet, sheer, to the rocky depths below, which are painted an ever-changing white by the pounding waves.

The shapes of the cliffs combine with the force of the ocean's winds to create massive air currents in which the seagulls and sea birds play for hours.

The only way to look safely at this magical scene was to crawl on my belly and to peer down into the tantalising depths. The urge to jump (to fly!) was overwhelming, and both mind and body had to stay very much in control if this were not to be the last magnificent thing I ever saw!

This poem is about the struggle between Siren Nature, Man, Mind, and Vision.

Cliff and Man

The cliff-edge beckoned:
asked him to walk near,
dared him to stand on edge;

but he tricked Her,
approached on cat feet
and buckled
his own length away -
slid his body forward;
safely moved his Seeing
over.

And She, laughing, made him swim,
stretched him in Her space,
dragged his mind’s laceworks
down the rock-mossed edges of depth,
reeled him down Her sides and ledges,
Yo Yo’d his Eye
and down and distantly
roared at him with Her Sea.

He wrestled with Her offering,
warped his tiny space.

Engulfed Her.

So She flung him Her Earth-Bird
Seagull
who wrung his Mind
to Ecstasy:
rode the Funnel
of Her Deepness,
feathered the winds that shoved him
still on that cliff edge,
Swept any Curve
Stilled any Wind-Rush
Dropped in any Air Rise;
erased ledge and edgeness for him
drew him
drew him out

The engulfer

Engulfed.

The Paradox/Tide Laws

I have always been fascinated by Paradox. The following poem summarises, Haiku-like, a thought that has entertained me for many hours. I hope it does the same for you.

The Paradox/Tide Laws

Remain
Constant
By Changing;

Stay Where you are,
By Moving.

Mastermind

Mastermind addresses the irony that with our minds we often focus on everything but the Essence.

Mastermind

To manage
Change
You must
First
Manage and master
The Master Manager:

Your Mind

Actor’s Conundrum

I am going to introduce Actor’s Conundrum by quoting from Embracing Change on the subject of procrastination.

Actor’s Conundrum

When I
Choose,
I act.
When I
Choose
Not
To Act,
I Act.

Therefore I have
No choice
But to be
an Actor.

All the World’s
My Stage ……

Jilted Frog

Again let me introduce Jilted Frog by quoting from a story contained in Embracing Change:

Jilted Frog expands this metaphor.

Jilted Frog

Change creeps up
like a hunter in the night;
With stealthy paws
kneads the drowsy
mind
to numbness;

Kills
with increasing Warmth
Disguised
As Love

Stone Me Notes

Stone Me Notes addresses the habit we human beings have of labelling things and suggests, that in one context, we have got it seriously wrong!

Stone Me Notes

“Rare”
“Invaluable”
“Priceless”
“Gems”
“Jewels”

Surely Not
Stones?!

Surely,
The Infinitely Unique
Rainbow-thought
Kaleidoscope,
The Colossal
And Only
Stable and Changing
Universe

That is
You

Name Me

Name Me is a riddle. Enjoy the maze of your thoughts.

Name Me

When All
Is Still
I am Still.

When Forces
Greater than me
Attack,
I Move
And stay
Still.

What fells others
Mightier than Me
Does not fell me

I am your True
Shelter in a Storm
I am

Your

Willow.