David Lewis Paget
Biography of David Lewis Paget
AUSTRALIAN POET. Born in Nottingham, lived in Great Barr, Birmingham, until the age of 13, when migrated to Australia. Lived in Adelaide, joined Air Force at 21 and became Instrument Fitter. Began writing poetry during duty crew and guard weekends. In 1976 fulltime to Flinders University of South Australia, Bachelors degree in English and History. Wrote and published a magazine for the unemployed called 'Bread'. Wrote and published monthly magazines 'Trader's Gate' and 'Central Yorke Peninsula Mercury' for three years in the late 1980's. Ran printing and publishing business Mushroom Graphics until 1990, then Cottage Print until 2005. Gave up poetry for five years, and wrote eight novels in the early 2000's.
Until recently was Teaching English at Wenzhou Medical College, an arm of the Wenzhou University, Zhejiang Province, People's Republic of China. The experience there prompted another foray into poetry, leading to the current narrative style chosen for the second incarnation. Now retired and living in South Australia. Author of the non-fiction 'Arrows from Wenzhou', a detailed account of the twelve months spent in China.
Concentrates these days on narrative poetry.
David Lewis Paget's Works:
Poetry Collections -
Stand Up & Be Counted - 1974
The Venus Bird - 1974
Terra Australis Incognita - 1975
Ishtar - 1977
Bitter Harvest - 1977
Weep - 1980
Inspirators - 1981
Spoils of War - 1984
Cader Rook - 1996
Perspectives in a Black Season - 2003
The Red Knight - 2003
Timepieces - 2009
Family History -
In My Father's Words - 1994
Queenie - 1996
Local History -
Of Miners & Methodists - 1988
Cates's Creek - 2001
The Sumner Tontine - 2001
Dark Harbour - 2001
The Afterdeath - 2002
Prittik's Will - 2002
Heaven's Ridge - 2002
Experiment in Fear - 2002
Blackrock Island - 2002
Tales of Wudgi Crossing - 2003
Arrows from Wenzhou - 2007
China Times Volume I
China Times Volume II
Storytelling Magic in Verse, Volume I
Storytelling Magic in Verse, Volume II
Storytelling Magic in Verse, Volume III
Storytelling Magic in Verse, Volume IV
David Lewis Paget Poems
Her hair was as black as a starling's tail, Her cheeks as pale as a swan, Her eyes, like two slim moonstones, glowed And her mouth was the Holy Grail.
Father & Son
There is the family photograph That is your father’s face, There is your father’s father Grey-gathering years apace;
No-Name The Cat
The cat and I stare at the room No-name the cat, the cat and I, She stares at me, I at the gloom The house lies still as a vaulted tomb.
On The Death Of My Father
My brain has turned to ash, and yes, My mouth is dust, And love is grief, and death is But the loss of trust;
A Lover's Verse
A sylph is passing my threshold stair, Drifting her fragrance through the vine, Promising dreams of a never-could-be From the loss and the lapse of a former time.
For A Social Worker
What spark in you Is this that burns To comfort one Whose well is pain,
They came from a line of fishermen, Way back, two hundred years, The sons of a dour old Kentish man, Who'd braved the First World War;
I did but see you once, and that Upon some distant screen, You spoke of life and love, and death, And wickedness, supreme;
I lived in a block of service flats Right next to a power grid, The endless hum made my mind go numb And infected all I did.
Blue Mountain Coffee
I take my seat at the Golden Grove And watch the waitress, Xu, She's sweet and pert, and her shortened skirt Shows off a dimple or two;
Beddgelert - (pron. Beth-gelert)
‘There once was a Prince called Llywelyn, Dai bach, The Lord of this Snowdon Wales, Back in the mists of the mountain, when times Saw wolves leave their blood-stained trails.'
Life, a Play In three parts, now Is two parts done.
The Blueshell Bar
From Monday through to Friday and, For some, on the weekends too, There’s a constant round of students here Attacking the Chinglish stew,
I’d only been home for a week or two And Jeanine was acting queer, Each time she’d pass the mirror she’d stare And I heard her say, ‘Oh dear! ’
Sir John de Vere
Sir John de Vere has took a quill
And set himself to sit and write
The sweetest love that is of men
To take unto his heart's delight.
And he has took a damsel fair
That flitteth by, beseemingly,
And with a strand of golden hair
Begun to weave her mystery.