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.
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.
I put the sock onto my left foot and see
That peeping out there's my big-toe;
This makes me unhappy, because I am sure
That left there, the small hole it must grow.
To effect a solution is easy enough,
So I swap the sock o'er to my right,
Then the known laws of physics get twisted around,
I begin to lose trust in my sight.
I cannot believe what I see on my foot
It seems that the hole has reversed;
It's moved to the left - to my other big-toe!
I now think my sock has been cursed.
I swap the sock back, and the hole moves again,
It's creepy - what does it intend?
It's back to the right, where it was in verse two,
I now think I've gone round the bend.
And so I surrender, it's all got too much
Sock-holes move, and of that there's no doubt;
I just wanted to warn you about it, and thought,
Like the toe, that I'd just point it out.
(Written Aug 2013)