To Mother on receiving her watch after 50 years
Infinity … and so forth
A poem composed in limerick form one still and sunny Sunday morning in Lewes, after a visit to Glyndebourne. From the hotel dining room one could glimpse the Downs through the mature trees in the garden. It was a setting for Rattigan. And on one wall an unsigned and unidentified portrait of a young man, the mystique of his fleeting forgotten history inspiring this verse.
Junk Shop Jingle
During the recent mammoth task of sorting and packing the contents of our London home, I wrote a limerick almost daily to keep the creative juices flowing in the midst of so much prosaic activity. Like the anonymous history of the sitter in the portrait above, the lost seaside moment captured in this rediscovered holiday snap struck me as particularly poignant.