Biography of Drax ...
I was born in Co Tyrone, Ireland in the middle of the last century.
E. M. Forster said a writer should live for thirty years first. I have focused on the writing and not the publication.
I wrote my first poem over 40 years ago and followed that with ongoing creative and journal entries. Lack of focus and preoccupation with everyday life saw this early work lost and the practice of writing only picked up quite by accident in 1994 when writing a panel for a promotional brochure. Now I constantly note, I sketch fragments and write (and read) almost daily. I develop ideas/drafts, experiment with form and study poetry and linguistic guides. My inspiration is often drawn from a single word or a fleeting image that is skewed in some way, that jumps out unbidden, often unwanted.
Poetry to me is just how much living you can squeeze into nebulous years and how you can distil some of the sights and sounds and smells of living into a poetry stew.. simmering away …an odd day the dog can almost eat it…: -)
Drax ... Poems
The Retired Dragon
The retired dragon looked longingly at his toes and the retracted webbing never to fly again in the swirls and twirls of love's chase the red eye covered with the patch of alone
The Moan Of The Pine
the almost silent moan of the pine passed to the excited sycamore it's leaves flapping with news of the wind
The Print Dress
a print dress in a cottage window nice colours, patterns reds blacks but what do I know about dresses
An Empty Puppet
I hold the supple skin of your middle, firm.. as you dance your firedance, I lose myself in your circle
An Old Bottle Of Imagination
I found an old bottle of imagination under the sink even the date was out of date I thought the hell with it lets risk it
The Retired Dragon
The retired dragon looked longingly at his toes
and the retracted webbing
never to fly again in the swirls and twirls of love's chase
the red eye covered with the patch of alone
the spark of his flame now quickly extinguished
bound on this moribund ground
trudging towards his final mountain cave
and the bones of Her…