Dave Pearson

I was born in Leeds in 1951. We moved around quite a lot, as my father, a printer's compositor, was constantly trying to avoid redundancy. I was educated in York and Hinckley and Nuneaton in the Midlands and in 1972, I went to Matlock College of Higher Education to train as a French teacher.

I taught in Nuneaton for six years and then met my wife in Scarborough in North Yorkshire. I soon moved up to the East Coast town to marry her and took a post in a preparatory school. I taught there for 15 years before being made redundant myself in 1996. This happened three weeks after my mother died and was the source of many a poetic outburst!!

Since 1996, I have been a supply teacher in the area. We have four children and 8 grandchildren who are jewels in our crowns.

(The thought of losing my wife)

If at break of day I come to find her gone,
No beauty by my side,
No bright star in the paling skies,
Grief's chill touch will guide my shaken heart
Into a day where neither noon nor eventide,
Nor yet night still and calm may arise.

If at dawn, I come to life and this sweet dream is flown,
No treasure at my arm,
Her stead quite smooth and neat,
My heart will break and I shall weep and evermore bemoan
The flight of her warm charm
And absence of her eyes with smile replete.

For what shall I do with empty barren bed?
Or void and yearning breast,
Or aimless cloudy days,
If my darling will not tend my hapless flagging head
And lead me forth in thrilling joys all dressed,
Down fine and pleasant ways.

The streets I'd tread, but I'd not find this grace
And where the reason or the rhyme
To fly back to the nest we two had built
And where the favour of her bright and smiling face.
She is to me my wife sublime
The dearest of earth's most envied gilt.

God bless my love and keep her safe where'er she'd go.
In her new life
And with her new regime.
Find her the comfort and content which I could not bestow
In her new country lift her strife
And crown her as its shining queen

(My granddaughter left Scarborough to live in Devon in 1999. She was four years old. I was forty-eight years of age. This poem is what came to me as I sobbed my way through the ensuing days.)

In a far away land lives a bright little girl,
Whose head is awash with fair curl upon curl.
She is pleasant and sweet and has stolen my soul,
And my heart, it is breaking as years onward roll.

One day we were out on the cliffs for a meal,
We talked and we chattered, I joked and she squealed.
I said, "not long now and we'll no longer see
Each other so often"; a tear came to me.

She turned her head round and she leaned at my side,
And by her wet eyes, I knew she had cried.
An ache and a mass as thick as a stone
Pressed down on my chest as we came to drive home.

I remember the day when I first saw her face
Snuggled up warm, full of gentle, soft grace.
She puckered her mouth and with screwed up blind eyes,
Breathed a sigh of contentment, was happy, was mine!

She changed my life round as much as the earth
Changes night into day around its great girth
For as much as the dark is dispelled by the light,
Unbeknown in her mind, all things were put right

She grew and she grew and we knew her so well;
This warm little girl whose cuddle, a spell
So trusting, so fragrant, so fragile this life,
A reward for our striving to me and my wife

God gave us this jewel and shine as she did,
We praised and encouraged, but scolding we hid.
She fashioned her thoughts upon all that we showed
And her beauty has flourished from what we had sewed.

Now her cute, little voice I hear now and then,
From that distant, far province she whispers again.
When I hear her, my heart tightens up with sad bliss.
Oh, to hug her and whisper to her how much she's missed.

(After going for a walk one Christmas with all the family. The route led through Peasholm Park in Scarborough and on to the sea front by the beach chalets.)

They trudged the leafy alleyways
Which led among the trees
And they knew the track before them
Was affable, would please.
It was not a day of Summer
Nor of Spring or Autumn hues
The sky was steel and stormy
And heavy with abuse
But one of these brave walkers
She's frozen to the bone
The wind had bitten through her
She longed to be at home.

The wind had bitten through her
Its icy teeth too sharp
Its chill had pierced the marrow
And frosted half her heart
She did not intend to venture
Nor penetrate this gale
All her limbs were white and motionless
Her face benumbed and pale
But there's another walker
He pushed a chair and child
'Gainst a blusterous North-easterly
A tempest hale and wild

'Gainst a blusterous North-easterly
He shoved the cart ahead
Ever driving forth his daughter
'Twix tree and flower bed
And the sea raged on beside him
Ever threatening to surge
Yes, the great North Sea came pounding in
To batter Scarborough's verge
But there's another walker
A chappie from the South
From whom southern disapproval
Comes oozing from his mouth

From him, comes disapproval
'Tis too cold to walk too far
And he warms the cockles of his heart
With pungent smokey tar
Woollen hat he pulls on tightly
Around his fragile ears
Sharp, icy blasts run through him
And to his eyes come tears
But there's another walker
Who bounces on and on
With hair the shade of golden silk
Where all the talking's done

She whose hair the shade of gilded silk
Where all the chatter's done
Bounced around between these folk
And had a lot of fun
We may not see her sliding
Gracefully from clan to clan
And the storm doused not her ardour
Why! The more this sparrow sang
But there are other walkers
Flittering around the track
First they dart off to the distance
Then we meet them coming back

First they dart off to the distance
Then they reel this way bemused
The wind transports them here and there
And everyone's amused
The children's screams of gladness
Lit up the shivering stage
As the darkness deepens speedily
And the strollers seek the shade
But there's another walker
She's snuggly tucked away
Secure against the driving snow
Her father keeps at bay.

Secure against the driving snow
Her father keeps at bay
But she would walk, but she could not
She does not know the way
Safely sheltered, cover o'er
With layer on layer of heat
Over arms and hands and little legs
Right down to cosy feet
But there's another walker
The best of all the crowd
A lady dark, mysterious
Of whom I'm rather proud

A lady dark, mysterious
I'm proud to call her mine
The one I married long ago
For God gave me a sign
The sea, the wind e'en Gates of Hell
May with this dame collide
They'll not get far, nor long prevail
For heaven is on her side!
But there's one more brave walker
Who tramps along beside

Who does not know what day it is
Who's come just for the ride.

The last intrepid hiker
Sees everyone who's there
The chilly filly with no coat
The pusher, child and chair
He looks down at the smoker
And his fumes, and then he prays

That the ones who scurry to and fro
Don't wander in their way
And the sleeper goes on sleeping
As if the world had flown
And there she is, still sleeping
When all arrive at home.

(Once married the sparks fly, but see it through and all will be well. Not
many do these days, no staying power, no working things out!)

When we were wed, and by holy vows first united,
The crucible it spat and hissed a deal,
And burned to a fiendish white.
Neither she nor I could flee the demon crackle
Fronds of smarting poison ensnared the one,
Showers of venomous retort paralysed the other.
Neither world befriending.
A gross error and abortive fusion of two lives,
A hell on earth to be endured, an end to be awaited.

But behold! From the ashes and arson of our appalling anger,
And from the nadir of our bewildering despair,
There grew on a tender shoot, a fair and heavenly bloom,
When all around was grey and cheerless in defeat.
Its new verdure bathed our war-weary eyes.
Both of us captured by its innocence and tender beauty,
Gazed upon the winsome sight.

We guard it now, our precious flower,
From day's harsh heat and searing glare.
So priceless is our love which grew,
Such a joy to have each other.
My darling wife, you are a light when things grow dull.
On earth where there is stench, my love, you are my
Honeyed perfume which God gave to me.
In a life sometimes so full of discord,
You are the key to which I tune my every moment.
I love you, my nearest and dearest thought.
However could I thank the Lord enough
For such a gift as thee.

(On making the wrong choices)

Insufficient are my standards,
And my banners set on high,
Though in rule hold I my head up,
And dilemmas pass me by.
So I find, when God's hand smites me,
Strong the test, fearful the blow.
Undermanned are all my strongholds,
High-sounding answers, doubtful grow.

Oft a battle keenly rises,
Ha! Free will is on my side,
So today, I'll choose what's better
And I'll do what I decide.
Oh! Tomorrow comes too quickly,
And results are felt too soon,
Of my own earthbound decisions
And my decisions turn to gloom.

From time to time, I feel deserted
And renounced by all around.
There is then not one to counsel;
No consolation to be found.
Only then, in silence private,
A still small voice, its sound I tell
And it speaks fresh words of comfort
To a troubled Israel

What shall we buy, What shall we get.
Hyundai, Petrol, Miles on the clock!
How much have we got, What can we get?
Peugeot, Citroen Centrally locked!

How shall we pay, Who shall we pay?
Green automatic, and alloys - so sleek!
Where shall we drive? Where shall we not?
The bumps in the road cause an nasty oil leak!

What is the fuel type? What sort of age?
Diesel Hdi ten thousand and up?
The steering's assisted by goodness knows what.
Vauxhall, Fiesta, nice shiny hubs!

Honda, Isuzu, Diatsu, Nissan
Didn't you know I could speak fluent Jap!
Bentley, Rolls Royce, A Far Eastern sampan
Through the Exchange and Mart we're all in a flap!

Picasso, Picasso HDi and more
Child locks on the dash board and room in the Floor
Electrical windows, air con and the rest
We thought that the Xsara Picasso was best!

Submission Guidelines: Poems of no more than 30 lines in length each will be considered.