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 ( 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 ( I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material ( + I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0 EUV.


GO WEST Nearly two decades ago, I read Barry Miles’ just-published The Beat Hotel. The book depicts an on-&-off six-year period spent by Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso & William Burroughs in a run-down little hotel in the back streets of … Continue reading

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names of the moon

names of the moon sucked pebble: tongued smooth by ancient salt night / starflecks in a quantum field / sour white beached as blue-black sucks out // old coin: dun metal edged like a flint scrap / spent / effaced … Continue reading

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Moraira is a small coastal resort about an hour’s drive from Alicante.  MORAIRA 1. We each of us carry a strange portfolio         of ghosts and vipers         spiny things and ticks that burrow … Continue reading

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Much as at the point when suddenly rain stops,             or wind abates,                         or cloud obscures the sun, there is a moment just between              breathe in and breathe     out                          when shock stops the spin and hum of … Continue reading

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At the moment of her death         she saw the curtain fidget                 around a hint of starlight. At the moment of his death         he heard … Continue reading

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LOVE SONG TOO LATE was written some years ago after a particularly vivid dream of love lost many years earlier. Subsequently I took the poem’s narrative and wrote it up as a song. Co-writer Steve Moorby put it to music … Continue reading

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PHLEBOTOMY As I drive home my blood is talking to the man. My salts and spices are telling my story to a stranger. Confession in absentia. Unremarkable, that chapel with its scattered single pews. Then the curly-headed priest in white, … Continue reading

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