Biography of Les Derbyshire
I now live in the 'West Country' of England, in a village, in a quiet valley. I'm sure that this has an influence on the way I write and certainly on some of the subject matter.
I've always enjoyed good descriptive prose and a wide variety of poets but came quite late to writing my own poetry. I find that sometimes, when the germ of a poem starts to form, it helps me to write the 'story' in the form of poetic prose before working it into a more poetic form.
Les Derbyshire Poems
And Then There Was You
My life used to be a calm pool, Still, Serene, Hardly a ripple disturbing the surface.
It's Not Me
That face in the mirror, It’s not me. The person that comes each morning To look out at the real world,
Today I open my eyes To the first day That will not have you To give it life.
So many things have changed Since first I came To the white island In my early, early summer.
Oh, The Joys Of Travel!
Take an airport, any airport. Yes, any airport, From Bangkok to Baltimore, They’re all the same,
Ode To The M25
(For anyone from outside the UK who has the misfortune not to know the M25, it's the circular freeway/autoroute/autostrada/autobahn around London!) In the heat of the day or the dead of the night Here's a thing that is certain to bring you delight.
The phone rang early this morning. I ran to answer it, Still wet from the shower. As soon as I picked up, I knew;
More than the bubble and swirl of a stream That finds humour in its rush From source to the sea; Faster than flurry of leaves
The Passing Year
This is a very English poem, inspired by my Dorset village. The hedgehog and the toad are gone to rest;
When I Am Old
''When I am old, '' I said, ''Will you still love me? '' ''When I'm forgetful And my body won't do
I Never Knew
One mystical, magical evening I looked into my world And found you there. I never knew where you came from
Listen To The Darkness
Come close and feel the night! Here with me beneath this tree, Listen to the darkness!
Mists Of Time
Distant elusive scenes Of a past Half veiled Drift across my consciousness.
The Day That We Met
The day that we met I knew we’d be friends; Your playful nature Made me warm to you.
The Passing Year
This is a very English poem, inspired by my Dorset village.
The hedgehog and the toad are gone to rest;
All breath suspended, life traded for survival;
The silent forest wears a shroud
And mourns the passing of the year,
The meadow sheds its coat of many colours.
Old John forsakes the highway, seeks the barn