The Writing Wolf

How many poets are there writing on commuter trains? Does every carriage contain someone scribbling in notebook, netbook or on an IPhone? Each one of us reflecting our own reality to a world too busy to look,  let alone read! Each  one of us sharing the core experience and sometimes, just sometimes, peering over another's shoulder and wondering? Each one of us adopts the rules specific to writing on trains like some strange masonic rite. Don't rubbish mine and I won't rubbish yours! And prays for a publisher!

The glorious peace Of the unknowing cloud Gold as a thousand stars Shimmering A waterfall of light Eternal and silent But echoing a heartbeat All about me Peace The quiet peace of nothingness The void That is all comfort Perfect peace

In future I will publish my poetry on this site.  If you are interested in my earlier work you find it at these two links! Dreaming in Yellow and Red Dreaming in Purple and Grey

In 1961, Rudolf Nureyev defected/leaped to the West, and on 21 February 1962 he and Fonteyn first appeared on stage together in a performance of Giselle .   It was a great success; during the curtain calls Nureyev dropped to his knees and kissed Fonteyn's hand, cementing an on-and-offstage partnership which lasted until her 1979 retirement. Fonteyn and Nureyev became known for inspiring repeated frenzied curtain calls and bouquet tosses. A performance of the Giselle was televised and that was the first time I saw them dance together.  I fell in love with these two beautiful people.  If you would like to know what all the fuss was about then follow this link Despite their differences in background, temperament, and a nineteen-year difference in age, Nureyev and Fonteyn became close lifelong friends but you were never quite sure about the extent of the friendship and whether there was the love affair you hoped for.  He said of her: "At the end of Lac des Cygnes when she left the...

A gentleman was strolling down a side street in Paris, on his way back from the house of one Madame de Verchoureux. He walked mincingly, for the red heels of his shoes were very high. A long purple cloak, rose-lined, hung from his shoulders and was allowed to fall carelessly back from his dress, revealing a full-skirted coat of purple satin, heavily laced with gold; a waistcoat of flowered silk; faultless small clothes; and a lavish sprinkling of jewels on his cravat and breast. Thus opens These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer and the gentleman in question is Justin Alastair, the Duke of Avon, known by friends and enemies alike as Satanas - the devil.  He is glamorous, jaded and fascinating and, on this particular evening, he meets his match! He encounters the intriguing and equally fascinating, red-headed, Léon - who is really Léonie!   Masquerading as a tavern boy, she is escaping a beating at her brutal “brother's” hands.  So Avon, on a whim, takes her into his household and para...

Lincoln’s Inn  is one of four Inns of Court in London to which barristers of England and Wales belong and where they are called to the Bar. The other three are Middle Temple, Inner Temple and Gray's Inn. Lincoln's Inn is able to trace its official records to 1422.   T he Honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn is said to take its name from Henry de Lacy, 3rd Earl of Lincoln who died in 1311. His own great house was nearby and he is credited with being the Society's patron. However, the origins of the name may as easily be derived from Robert de Chesney Bishop of Lincoln who acquired the 'old Temple' on the site in 1161. The present character of Lincoln's Inn owes much to the fact that its precincts and buildings - the medieval Hall and Gateway abutting onto Chancery Lane, the late seventeenth century New Square in the centre, and the magnificent Victorian gothic Great Hall and Library beside Lincoln's Inn Fields - survived nearly unscathed the devastations o...

Here is an island chain Each head a stepping stone Floating in seas of blood Deep sighs the ocean Africa to America With each head counted Deep throbs the ocean Mother tongue lost to them Lost with identity Flesh without dignity Roars with the ocean Cry you across the sea Cry you across the years Deep in the hurricane Toussaint stone dead in France Hear and remember