Category: First Words

Leaving Scepticism


They said that all things seemed

they said I dreamed


Which angered me

when all about me I could see


The places and the people

sublime and beautiful


Which must be real

or what else did I feel?


The world with all its light and energy

spoke meaning to my sense


Everything that looked at me,

everywhere I went


And so I left their false philosophy

which could not answer

could not satisfy me


Frustrated by distrust and suspicion

I could not live with endless scepticism


But went elsewhere to find

the human peaceful mind


The wiser and the quieter

and the happier condition.




They have already lived and died

They have already lived and died

               who made our past


Or else they’re lost

               in mist through which we cannot peer


I search for them

               I read their ways


Reclining here

               turning the pages of a book


I look for the life

               and the thoughts that shook

                              their souls to their foundations


Their voices reach me

               convert my ways


And suddenly I’m changed

               by all they thought and did


All stored up, now

               stored and ready

                              waiting to be released.


Eyes, Old Eyes

This was one of the first poems I ever wrote that I still think is worth preserving. It was written whilst I was still a teenager, as will be apparent, and is the first poem in my collection “First Words”.

Eyes, old eyes

those gazing, fading places

whose curving surface is disturbed


Reflections, places

fading faces

pass in waves…

[continues after image]


I do not want skin

wrinkled thin

shrivelled on me

while I am still empty


Fill me with memories!


The old will pass and fall so full

closed up with theirs

disappear in death

and die their time


But they too looked up

at old eyes gazing

threads back into history


Do I leap my life from day to day

and trail that thread

like life spinning ribbon red

from me?


Or snagged and shackled

trailing chains of ancestry?


Even now I hear you

the toddling, tottering thunder

who will burst from me

who will one day recede.

toddling tottering