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/). 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 G0 EUV.

ARS MORIENDI

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

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

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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THE FAMOUS FLOWER

THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING MEN by MARTIN CARTHY This is one huge post so I’ll kick off with the simple stuff. Immediately above is Martin Carthy singing a song called The Famous Flower of Serving Men. Please give it a … Continue reading

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STILL LIFE

My mum died ten years ago. It was the quietest of deaths – a pulse stopping at the end of years of exile in a dark, silent place so far removed from the places of laughter that she had shared … Continue reading

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PETANQUE AT ST. ENOGART

St Enogat is a small, pretty town just a few miles from Dinard on Brittany’s Côte d’Émeraude. One quiet Sunday I sat in the shade of a persimmon tree and watched two elderly men preparing to play pétanque on an … Continue reading

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THEIR VOICES IN THE NIGHT

I have a sleep disorder that – compounded currently by the side effects of medication – ensures that each and every night is fragmented into a sort of archipelago of the  5 stages of slumber varying from just stages 1 … Continue reading

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