Barring one poem, I began writing poetry in 2000. I enjoyed a long correspondence course with the highly talented and broadly understanding, Alison Chisholm, at that time, of Manchester's writers bureau. Ultimately, writing poetry helped me to understand my life, and its threads. Personal confidence was boosted by meeting new people. Initially, I attended many monday night group meetings, then from 2015, I performed my poetry in a huge number of open-mic events, in many areas of the North West, stopped only by the Coronavirus lockdowns.
In total I wrote 593 poems. Then my clarity of thought insisted i only wrote in direct nonfiction.
About one in ten of my poems were accepted for publication by others, mostly in the united states. Submitting began after the writers bureau suggested Duotrope to me: a first rate website/resource.
You might find some poetry of mine using Google, and no doubt all manner of other random things !!
i wrote the "poem" below (a piece really) at the time it's dated. All my poems are dated by their conceptions dates. it was soon logical to refer to the collection as "my beautiful diary", because much of it was exactly that, with vastly more too.
I strongly recommend writing to people who don't do so already. It's highly accessible : piece of paper and pen. I sat O'Level english language three times, in order to be able to get into university to study chemistry. My Schooling suggested I'd never write, and that I was rubbish.
When I changed:
It happened in one moment.
I realised my worth.
Some people stopped liking me.
Some people started.
Most days became valid.
Acting out me was fun.
I could drink alcohol sensibly.
I became interested in humanity.
The longer I was me, -
the more me I was.
Dare I say I increased in wisdom?
My empathy rocketed.
The plight of others -
could make me cry.
In part, the right wing grated.
I gained personal rules.
Turning a blind eye was not one.
Further introspection was.
An adult relationship was possible.
I'm made up I became me.
I'm saddened some don't make it.
It's hard, but the "before-me" bit -
has a name.
It's called Hell.