Starting Out

Like many journeys there is often a back story before it begins proper and so it is with my poetry which got underweigh as a 'mature' student. As part of our English professional studies we were required to try our hand at writing a poem. I had already set down some notes about things from my childhood, I was concerned that I might forget them in years to come. Strangely these notes had a poetic tone. Once I got started I found myself writing odd pieces.
Here are a couple of my childhood memories and the piece from college.

Canal

Sun worn tow path
High shouldered we walked
My father's head between
My knees, my hands
Firm on his forehead.

One of my first memories from about the age of three.

Shop

it stands
yet time has passed it
gone with clock and watch
of my granfather's craft

it endures
in childhood's shroud
of filtered memories
half alive

Room Dream

a cuboid
cold blue and sterile white
but for tiles of mottled green
sitting impersonal in the light
harsh rigid friday dream

the dream
room tossed sat petrified
by the fumbling fettered void
and deep a warming thought cried
awaken softly solid cuboid