Poetry

A poem I wrote for my father, who was born in 1926 and is now similar to a model T motor car, needing constant tinkering to keep him up and running. I've done my best to capture his gasping Yorkshire accent. He was born in the days of horse and cart, starting work at the age of twelve in the steel mills on the east side of the iron river...

Setting off on a world tour in the late seventies was nothing like it is today there were no mobile phones or multimedia just the odd phone box for calls your thumb and forefinger were used for hitchhiking thousands of miles around the globe taking years and years almost a decade to the point where many of us became wonderless with our own wanderlust but we did become quite skilled in the art of conversation due to spending so much time speaking with strangers back when you had the safety of...