Ernie Wordsworth’s Sad Fate

Ashes from last night’s chiminea fire stare back at me as I commence today’s descriptif quotidien. Hopefully that snippet of info paints the landscape I’m scribing this prose from a rattan pew at the top of my back garden. Although saying that, as I doubt you know the location my aforementioned fire pit, or indeed…

Dabbling In Verse

A few years ago yours truly embarked on an exercise of broadening my literary horizons by dabbling with scribing poetry. These approximately eighty compositions penned with intended pomposity, mainly due to their delivered in an olde worlde style. Sonnets whose links can be found within my website writesaidfred.org under the home page menu title of…

Sunday Serenity

It’s a long time since I’ve wandered along the unpredictable and opinion dividing literary corridors of poetry writing. Today, though, inspired by an absolutely beautiful sonnet written by my brother Ian for our mother’s funeral service, I thought I’d once again tentatively revisit the marmite genre I frequently penned around 4-5 years ago. To clarify,…

Wise Beyond His Years

“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” – John Keats. Sentiments from the 19th century English poet from which I oft feed when seeking to reconcile tougher life episodes which tap me on the shoulder and tarry unwantedly for a…

Plea For Delay

In lockdown, to continue revisiting some of the 60-70 poems written in summer 2017 (don’t worry I’m not gonna post them all!), I present prose penned to a higher being, pleading my moribund father be granted more familial time. Who that being was/is I don’t know. But regardless if it was one of the Holy…

Leopards with Immovable Markings

I’ve absolutely no issue with religion per se. The comfort it brings to those with faith in a host of dreadful situations is heartwarming and noble. In addition, I’ve nothing but admiration for those who live by the ecclesiastical edicts they serve as a life choice to follow. I am, though, baffled by individuals who…

Woodhouse Man

You may argue you’ve suffered enough during the COVID lockdown without yours truly starting to subject you to a selection of the eighty or so poems I penned in 2017. Although, not exclusively relating to the old man, this prose written during the last few months of my father’s life in 2017. A dreadful landscape…

Legacy To The Progeny

As relayed in the poem Poisonous Pathogen, in lockdown I’m revisiting the literary conduit of poetry. In this case with a revamped sonnet in tribute of my paternal and maternal grandfathers. Two men whose jocularity fuelled my penchant of seeking a quip out of the most challenging of circumstances. Legacy “I was in Bagdad when you…

Poisonous Pathogen

It’s rare I dabble in the genre of poetry writing. I spent some of the summer of 2017 penning around 50 odd sonnets, but stopped when concluding the old school prose style I adopted when chronicling these verses was too self-indulgent for widespread appeal, Under these COVID-19 times, though, this evening I felt moved to…