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. spotify:artist:07MDD5MK9MnRGSEZwbsas9 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 G0EUV


‘Songwriters are not poets, Or songs are not poems, I should say. In fact, songs are often bad poems. Take the music away and what you’re left with is often an awkward piece of creative writing full of lumpy syllables, … Continue reading

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                                                                      Right from the beginning of … Continue reading

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We all of us – well, many of us – carry through from childhood certain key interests or preoccupations. Living under what was then the London Airport flightpath, I grew accustomed to seeing at comfortable height pretty much everything that … Continue reading

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DREAM DAD – a live reading.

                                       DREAM DAD by DICK JONES                                 … Continue reading

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Lockdown Readings §1: PILLOW

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LOCKDOWN Back to the beginning, then. Who lives here still? Some shepherd swain chewing on a stem, staring over the lonely treetops? Fool if you expected silence, or thought that the trees would be empty. But the contrails have gone … Continue reading

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LINGUA FRANCA Language ought to be the joint creation of poets and manual workers. George Orwell Ever since the acquisition of words provided me with a receptacle for memory, I have loved language.  Its music, its power to evoke, its … Continue reading

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AIW – 2007

On a Christmas morning many years ago I was born. Mum and I were in a small maternity home in Horton Kirby, West Kent. A few miles away in my grandparents’ terraced cottage on Hockenden Lane, Swanley, Dad and Alan … Continue reading

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On July 25th 2015 my friend the poet, blogger and curator Dave Bonta was kind enough to publish on his eminent blog, Via Negativa  a first draft of French-Canadian poet Yves Préfontaine’s extraordinary poem Peuple Inhabité. Life in a time of Corona has … Continue reading

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A CLEAR BLUE SKY My dad was a man of prose – a specialist: words used like gardening tools to conjure shapes, to fashion patterns. Language mattered: correspondence ran to pages – letters to the council; ‘thank you’ cards to … Continue reading

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