Author Archives: Dick Jones

About Dick Jones

I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing (www.phoeniciapublishing.com) and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press (www.oldstilepress.com). I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material. https://www.facebook.com/moorbyjones?ref=aymt_homepage_panel http://www.moorbyjones.net/) https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=MOORBY+JONES spotify:artist:07MDD5MK9MnRGSEZwbsas9 I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - http://patteran.typepad.com - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0EUV

LIGHT IS A STORY

Our band MoorbyJones just laid down the basic tracks for a song called Light is a Story. It’s to be the next single so a good deal of construction needs to be done over the next few weeks before a … Continue reading

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THE ANARCHIST CAFÉ Anarchists should open cafes.Spill the ill-assorted chairsand tables onto the pavement.Go heavy with the red paprika,shower down the black pepper.Have trans and Roma waitersto glide between the tables,taking orders couched as poems.Decorate the walls with graffitopics of … Continue reading

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MY DANCE PARTNERMy shadow could be any age,sharpened to a T bya stare-me-down sun.My sideways self glidingacross the straw and chafftells me as we walk ofhow things were, or howthings might have been.Like skidding down a slopeon scree, laughing, breathless,like … Continue reading

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The Barley

When I climb the slopeof Bottom Field, I runmy open palm throughthe stalks of barley.The little cobs are greenand the stems area ghostly blue andthose grouped antennaeare just junior whiskers.This multitude, though young,has buried the hilland is its own horizon.I … Continue reading

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MUTUAL AID

What’s the riskwe take, wethe music makers,compared tothe dancer’s shifting,slipping grip;the penalty taker’sinjudicious shot thathits the bar;the climber andher crew loston the implacablerock for afinal hand hold? For us maybea clinker droppedacross a piece ofpristine harmonybefore a crowdwe’re tryingto impress. … Continue reading

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Dog Latitudes §16as if the houseswere to be drawn acrossthe loose earth on whichthey stand and go downas if the trees that shield uswere to shake onceand follow the housesroots up and branches downeach the mirror of the otheras if … Continue reading

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Dog Latitudes §17

trespasstwo paces offthe path andinside the cloisteredtrees /the brindled haresteps his paddlesfrom the freeearth’s edge andinto the governedbracken /you belong tomy two barrelssays the keepertheir two roundeyes  will watchyou through nettlesand brakes andbushy hollows rightup to myprivileged moment andyour reckoning … Continue reading

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how you are

how you arelonely in a crowdlike the mothinside the cageof handsand each wingbeatsheds moreof your powderand you can hearthe calm voicesand the sharedlaughter andthey think thatyou’re with themout in the lightbut where you areis entirely dark

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stations

stations. and do you findyou asked afterthe first bottle(hesitantly becausethis reunion sharedonly the fumesof a maybe past)that tears comemore readilythese days?oh yes i agreedbarely a daygoes past withoutyou lookedinto your glasslachrymae rerumyou pronouncedman’s relentlesscruelty to manas the default stateand far … Continue reading

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february snows

it was an omelettetwo eggs and somechopped mushroomsthe cat switched his tailas he always switched his tailwhen the evening pigeons settled on the hanging basketsone storey upshe poured a vodkathe last glass from the bottlefrom the belgorod relativesshe watched some … Continue reading

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