Biography of Tony Jennett
Teacher for 15years 'til they realised I was so useless they kicked me upstairs and made me an adviser
The Hills and the Sea are in my blood My favourite quotation: - It's Better to keep your mouth shut and appear a fool than to open it and remove all doubt
Tony Jennett Poems
I scour the cottage for signs of past presence L ike a famished orphan at the erstwhile site O f a long-spilled rice-sack, grubbing some essence, V estige of sustenance. Hope gutters fitfully not quite
A Grumpy Old Man
I'm old and I'm bitter, with nothing to fear So I hope I offend you by bending your ear.
A Muse Whispers
A Muse whispers and the soul's pricked-up, hand cupped ear strains hard to catch each syllable wafting over memory's embers
To The Over-Tender
The mind and heart sustain contusions By jumping to the wrong conclusions And intellect, perhaps, divines Too much by reading twixt the lines
A Child's View
If only I wuz President I'd work from dusk till dawn To build another Disneyland Upon the Whitehouse lawn
A line of doggerel? Poor enough in truth, For one so rich in spirit. Yet I won
Blind blue cold, in a sunshine wrapping, wafts Me down the bucking B five-one-o-nine. Snowdonia, full of late-spring snow, shafts The east horizon, beckoning, reckoning harlot-shine
Falling asleep all the time - that's expected But I see the bag's gone that cries tears In my arm. But the fire in my chest is not resurrected And that for days? weeks? was the sum of my fears
An arctic blizzard whispers in my ear Twelve inches off, through a block of new-cut snow Howling, unpenetrating. Does it know I'm sitting warm and smiling here?
With a final burst of red across the mirrored Llyn The sun strikes copper from the glistening organ frieze Of Glyder Fawr and sets behind Y Garn; old yogin Lotus posed, his little lake couched twixt his knees:
The sun has just taken a suicide dive. A dive to gambol and gamble with a sick spring lamb Half a world away behind a line of westering waves Wich all day flashed blue, crested white
So, hello vertigo! Bane of other's lives not mine.
Mine is the head the world annointed with Indifference the moment it appeared Wet and palpitating in the myth Of birth. My mother, tired and smeared
The New Cannon Fodder
Under a polycarbonate cover of riot shields
Not Poets, please! I beg. That's far too grand for us
Not Wordsmiths, though that is within our radius.
Tinkers rather, for we take word coins and rub them in the dirt
And shine them with its earthy power to make them bright and pert
And solder them together in ways not done before
So each one strikes another's fire and they all glow the more;
And sometimes hammer them a bit (but gently! hand of mine)
And drill and dress each syllable and push it into line.
But, so the whole should ne