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…

A Beautiful Last Dance

Head bowed, with gravity dispersing tears across a cold stone floor, I strolled slowly behind my equally distraught offspring headed out of the crematorium door. The events playing out as they, me and a host of other family and friends (while stood a foot or so from her coffin) had just bode a final farewell…

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,…

Ode To The Crows

Wednesday morning, while drawing open a set of bedroom curtains, I noticed three crows perched on the fence panel between mine and a neighbours garden. Although if truth be told, as my ornithology knowledge contains glaring voids they could’ve just as easily been ravens. Anyhow, witnessing this trinity of black avians chirping amongst themselves upon…

With Jerusalem In Sight

Tuesday 17th August 2021 – As I look westerly from my office window, on the horizon the imposing Pennine Hills stare back at me. Views of this magnificent geological landmass a bequest to generations of my ancestors for as long as I’d forebears living in Leeds. Well, I suppose, not exactly like my forebears. After…

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…

All The World’s A Stage

Yesterday evening, UK prime minister Boris Johnson informed around a 30 million TV audience the lockdown edict of ‘Stay at Home > Save the NHS > Save Lives‘, had been superseded in England with a slightly more libertarian advocacy of ‘Stay Alert > Control Virus > Save Lives‘. Advice, which is at this time, isn’t being adopted…

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…