My father died when I was 13. The first thing I did was to sit down and write a poem of loss. It seemed to me so natural. It was the only way I could express myself. Of course I kept it secret, as I have kept secret nearly all of my poetry since.
About five years ago, I began to share my words. The more I shared them, the more people came back to me with their responses and suddenly I realised I was not writing for myself, but for everyone. I noticed that my feelings were close to others’ feelings, that the channel I had found myself was a well-known place, that of loss, laughter, anger, remorse, pain, grief, love and experience.
I was in Withypool and working there for a lady and a gentleman looking after their horses when the wife went away. I loved Withypool and Exmoor, my poems about the hill and Hope Bourne were much liked by the couple and one got published in the local magazine. So the very thing I thought isolated me from people was the very thing which would draw people to me, my response to my works, everyone’s world.
What is it we love about Winnie the Pooh? His truisms of course! We all know we felt them and they touched us. I gather that my writing has also touched people so I have decided to share them. I hope you enjoy the romp through my varied and kaleidoscopic existence, my pain, my loves, my thoughts and insights, they are also yours.