Editor and publisher of the North East Poetry Journal, a quarterly publication promoting poetry in the North East of England. http: //www.communigate.co.uk/ne/lanchestercommunitycentre/page15.phtml BSc. in elecrical engineering from University College, Cardiff (1962. Worked in Scotland in Research & Development at Bathgate, West Lothian. Left for the North East in 1972 to set up in business. Retired in 2007. My interest in poetry came late in life at the age of 64. My first involvement was to compile and edit a book of poems involving poets in my village, Lanchester, and its surrounding districts. In 2002 'Waxing Lyrical' was published and a Poetry Group was formed. I am currently the editor and publisher of 'The North East Poetry Journal', a publication set up to promote poetry in the region and help poets to publish their poems on a regular basis. In addition, I publish anthologies, on a small scale, including my own: 'String of Pearls'. The Journal is posted on the Internet on: www.communigate.co.uk/lanchestercommunitycentre. My interest in the world of religious ideas, their interaction and evolution through history, has taken me on a spiritual journey beyond the literal meaning of religious texts and into a world free from dogma and rituals. I have published several books on the subject. The poetry journal ceased publication in 2012 and I lost interest in writing poetry. Now at the age of 82 I feel the urge to write again, it will be a slow process but fruitful. I look back on life and find it trivial and aimless in purpose. Only religion props up the symbolic building and gives it a meaning. Unfortunately I have no wish to enter and see for myself. I was there once and do not like what I see.
Sceptics say God is an illusion,
a figment of human imagination,
a sure sign of self-delusion.
They deride the contradiction
...
A haunting sound is heard softly whistling,
like a magic flute in the distance playing,
luring summer leaves to hum and sway,
to don new colours, dance and play;
...
Silent images flashed on my TV screen:
a child, in rags, sat on a stone
amid smouldering huts, all alone,
his bewildered eyes scanned the scene.
...
Gaya stirred, moved beneath the ocean,
caused uproar in the realm of Poseidon.
Frenzied with rage, frothing at the mouth,
his chargers rushed her idyllic shores,
...
Caught between a rock and a hard place
certainties vanish into the far distance,
doubts loom large like a spectre of doom;
I am confused, trapped in my little room.
...