Biography of peter rodenby
These poems mean a great deal to me. They span the greatest period of my life and when I read
them they stir memories and feelings that represent all that I have been. I have always considered
them the best part of me. In some respects that’s a little disturbing because if they are rubbish
and people find them so, then I must except that my life has been a failure. Some were written
when I was a teenager, some as a lover, some as married man, some as a father.Some as a retired
person beginning a new life, with a new partner in an old cottage in the country where I am
trying to become a writer. Some just for the experience, some were called “The Waiting Years”
Initially because those poems span a period from when I started the pursuit of knowledge – I
began studying for a degree with the Open University. I hoped it would bring me academic and
professional acceptance and an improvement in career prospects, more money and a better way
of life. I believed hard work, sustained study long term commitment (something I found
impossible to achieve in early life) would ultimately lead to the golden path and the prize.
Sometime ago I discovered I was wrong, it has cost a great deal more and I’m still waiting.
These poems and short meanderings are moments away from studying and work.
I now realize that I have been waiting all my life.
What have I been waiting for?
You the reader must work that out for your selves. I give you the poems you are the final judge.
St Johns Chapel
peter rodenby's Works:
A collection of Poems
A Decandent Summer
peter rodenby Poems
Photographs Of A Personel History
Some images of a forgotten past I had no part of Now scattered on table and floor surrounded with tears of remembrances.
Call of lone curlew turn down beak outspread wings resting on air.
Eyes Don'T Tell Lies In The Dark
Eyes don’t tell lies in the dark Faces smile, lovingly close, no need for conversation, seeking each others lips.
It was that time of year towards end of summer lately leaves fall with barely a breath of wind
Weave your hair in sun silk waves Twirl seaweed in tiny hands Caress your breasts with salty sea
Blue sky, blue clouds, blue morning The sun and snow Silent slipping sleet Foot prints dissolve
The Saddest Time Of Your Life
A screaming wind unfastened our grip Aching we clung, desperately embracing, Breathing like one. A tear trickled and twinkled
Rhythmic tapping of shoes Ascending a hillside pathway Following a sheep ragged track But seeming like impenetrable steps
I Tried Catching Her tears
The Past Is Pressed Flowers
The past is pressed flowers discovered between pages
Inside My Crystal Rainbow
Inside my Rainbow
Isle Of Bute
The mainland string of sodium shadow in misty rain no more
Poems Of Faith
The Miracle There was such a crowd so many
The Art Of Playing Dominoes
I played dominoes with my grandson His last year I played dominoes with my father My grandsons dominoes had animals on their faces My father’s were the traditional kind
tinged with decay
in the final threads
Of their splendoured existence,
flutter agonisingly away
on the revolutionary winds of autumn.