John Carter Brown
Biography of John Carter Brown
Lancashire lad, born and bred. Twice married, and with 5 children. Educated at Secondary Modern, but left in 1965 with no academic qualifications-(they were not mandatory back then) Moved to Somerset in 1990, then took a GCSE in English in 1994 (out of curiosity) and passed with a Grade B. This then spurred me on to have a go at writing poetry, which I have been doing, sporadically ever since. I moved back to Wigan in 2000.
My main hobbies are: Listening to music (I also play guitar, and have written a few songs): Gardening; Reading; Walking, and Photography.
Uncomplicated poetry from an uncomplicated man. I hope you enjoy my work.
John Carter Brown's Works:
I have one poem titled, 'My adopted home' in an anthology called: 'Poets in the South West'. Published by Arrival Press in 1996.
John Carter Brown Poems
A Hole In My Sock
I've noticed, again, a small hole in my sock And there's something I don't understand: It puzzles me greatly, I'm baffled, and so On this subject I now should expand.
After The Rain
A hush had descended, the air was quite still, Nothing was moving beside the old mill; Nature postponed both it's joys and it's pain, Holding it's breath until after the rain.
A Poem Lost
As I lay in my bed, unable to sleep I composed a good poem I wanted to keep; It kept going round and around in my head (I should have been bothered to write it all down)
Flame Of Love
Flame of love come near me And let me feel the heat Let me glide above the ground Instead of on my feet;
A Wise Man
I wish I was a wise man And all the answers knew, The solver of all problems With perfect point of view;
My liking for life has been stolen, A thief came and took it away; A visitor bent on destruction, A burglar from hell, you might say.
Is It Me?
I look at myself, and who do I see? I see the me I used to be, Not the one that other people see; The question be, which one is me?
Friday night was Chippy-night For all the family, Way back when I was very small, That's how it used to be.
Lay down your head my little one Close up your sleep-hung eyes; Give up the day, and all that's gone, Relinquish earthly ties;
March (An Acrostic)
Melting snow reveals an Altogether more familiar vista, as Rain washes away the last of the freeze; Cold days begin to lengthen slowly, then
I'd rather be Master than mister mister's a meaningless word It's simply a title you're given To mark you as one of the herd;
Oh vitamin B, how I've missed you, My body has long been bereft Of your strange but miraculous power To keep a man healthy and blessed.
Poem For V.E. Day
Victory in Europe Fifty years ago; To some it doesn't mean a thing, It happened long ago.
I Love And Hate
I love and hate this time of year The damp, the cold, the drawing near Of frost returning o'er the stones, The chill enveloping my bones,
The Old Box
Whatever is on the old box
It don't matter,
Some people just sit there
Their eyes getting fatter;
Their brains being dulled
By the flickering screen,
By the adverts that urge them
To buy what they've seen;
They worship their telly