Poetry can give an insight to the soul of the writer. Or the reader. Poetry can touch on the feelings you don't want to admit to, and those you wish you could celebrate. On life. On time. On what it is to be you.
Here's Pieces of Me, a poetic intros...
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Grimsby, where I'm from, was once the largest fishing port in the world. That was quite some time ago and now, though Grimsby fish is still famous around the world, the industry has dwindled immensely.
My (now ex) wife's paternal grandfather was a merchant seaman. Actually, for a good time, so was her maternal one, but we're talking about her father's side right now. He was a strong, proud man and, when cancer took him as it did his wife, my wife asked me to write something for his funeral. This was that piece. As Grimsby's (and Cleethorpe's too) heritage is so much sea based, the Humanist who carried out the ceremony asked if he could use it for other funerals he carried out.
I was honoured, of course. The same man spoke at my mother's funeral earlier this year and mentioned that he's read it many times since. I hope it brought some comfort.
