Dean Meredith Biography

My Mother is seventy-five today
And still alive thank God
We could have lost her many times
But she would never abandon us
...

On a dreary day too poor for a name,
He dragged himself down to the little café,
Flat white and a paper, always the same,
He fumbled for coins and something to say,
...

Her good eye
Saw me coming
Her bad eye
Saw something else
...

Just write
And it will be
Just right
Not for critics
...

We all break
In different ways
The stone chips
On our paintwork
...