POETRY & BOOKS
And I will give you
the purple flower of Honesty,
its parchment for your thoughts
and a small sprig of Rosemary
for you to remember that I did.
I'm not a cupboard
and I'm not a playpen.
I'm not a sweet
and I'm not molly.
I'm not furniture,
I'm not a bowl
and I'm not a crisp.
I'm Alice, I'm Alice!
LETTERS TO JOCASTA
Letters to Jocasta
Like a butterfly from the lavender to the buddleia,
a bee that flies the grass for the clover
and the blackbird, its song begun in the thorn, finished in the lilac,
so, every love poem,
to anyone at all, becomes another dedication to her.
And there are, it seems, no women in the mists of arcadia,
just a mother that you hardly knew,
looming dark as the holly from where the thrush sings its hymns,
each note, each word, every attempted sonnet no more than a letter to Jocasta.
Official Website of Author.
As featured in 'JUNO Magazine' and 'Green Parent Magazine'
Dad’s Doodles is a sort of poetic dialogue between a father and his daughters in their pre-school years. It’s a dialogue that’s been nursed for twenty years on the hard-drives of various lap-tops. Alice and Grace are real people and they said real things, which were noted at the time on anything that came to hand. Alice is now an Architect, Grace a Doctor.
Click on the link below to purchase:
When the days are long and the nights short
you fish the darkness over the top of the tide
and in the grey light of an early dawn
fall over it,
feel its belly give as you trip,
left dead on the turn,
a few steps from where you’d fished.
lying bloated like a body on the Somme,
before the stretcher party and the telegram are sent.
PIECES OF SHRAPNEL
Pieces of Shrapnel
There's a hole in the heavens where retribution falls as fire through the stars
while the river shines silver all the way from the coast.
Fused and contorted they are, twisted and broken,
cooling where they land,
on the splinters of glass and silvers of slate.
And no-one calls from the smoke where they lie,
nothing but the whisper of dust settling on a wasteland, empty and grey.
Moments hang in fragments, the centre blown,
coats left with no buttons, toys with no wheels, words that no longer work.
Just tangled knots of silent thoughts,
lodged like pieces of shrapnel, still warm in the rubble of an old man's mind.
Buddleia and butterflies on the bomb-sites, sparrows in the eaves,
privet flower, crickets, frogs, hedgerows over the lanes,
a decade given back to nature and she’d filled it with beautiful things.
POETRY BOOK FEATURED IN 'JUNO MAGAZINE' & 'GREEN PARENT MAGAZINE'
| Released Sep' 2018 |
Like the lyrics of a favourite song, they sang in the sunshine, laughed every day and each night told their stories to the moon. They had fun and talked to the rhythm of a garden swing about happiness and birdsong, blossom and all. Dad’s Doodles are the notes of a father caring for his daughters as they go skipping through the days, leaving footprints in the dew, jewels in their dreams and thoughts that look like poems.
Click on the link below to purchase:
Terry Dammery was born in Hexham UK and spent his early years in London orphanages, subsequently working as an Aircraft Engineer, a Head of English in a UK comprehensive school and a University Lecturer in the UK and Singapore. He was educated in the sciences and the humanities, with a Master’s degree in Software Engineering and a Doctorate in Political Philosophy. He has had numerous poems published in various magazines, journals and collections, as well as five books of his own and now lives in the English Peak District with his family, in a house that’s in the clouds, and writes to keep himself sane.
Love in the Vernacular - Erbacce Press
- Green Parent