David is a poet, playwright, short story writer from the north west of England.
He has been published in a number of magazines both on-line and in print.
In 2016 his poem ‘Home Straight’ featured at the Fermoy International Festival.
The stage play ‘Intervention’ was produced for World Peace Day.
His poetry has been published in the following publications… Poetry Pacific Magazine, TRR Poetry, Sixteen Magazine, Mad Swirl, Tulip Tree Review (Print Version) Oddball Magazine, Poem Hunter, THE BeZINE, Creative Talents Unleashed, Drawn to the Light Press, Live Encounters & The Galway Review.
His poem ‘He Crawled’ was placed third for the Pushcart Prize in the Blue Nib magazine in 2018.
I ‘ve harvested every stalk from a field of regret, pierced every pore in my spent frame, spilt lifeblood in the hollow. I’ve faced situations requiring affirmation leaving me doubting choices in the face of falsehood, mindful of the predatory dove switching cups toasting friendship. Splinters flow downstream evading retribution as I remain at the junction; a point of indecision where trust is as rare as wisdom. I am a stick caught in a dam at the mercy of a churlish current stock-still, muted but for cranium noise. But what a rush it was to get to this, what a thrill, a ride through white water, spawning tiddlers becalmed in a calm, never calm then headlong into rapids reduced, separated, beached, abandoned open mouthed awaiting a flood.
Notice the shine of her eyes, venture behind lids that open for you, travel along branches to the depths her mind and see your grandma, at your age, her grandma half the age she is now; for old people knew old people when they were themselves were young. The cine camera in her head plays moments as a baby in an iron pram can you see her? She’s with her young mother whose adjusting her blanket outside the fishmongers looking like a movie star. Yes, that was your great grandma a feisty young woman defiant and proud with the best kept doorstep on the street. Bask in the crinkle of her smile and unite in the joy of simple childhood when at last, her sisters’ shoes became too small for her feet. Despite the passing of time remember you’re on the same journey your flesh will also weaken, your bones may also ache; so, touch the sincerity of her smile embrace, and return it, it belongs to you both.
I am significant to some, it’s okay for me to allow this. There are those who would miss me and those would put the telly on. I don’t try too hard to be liked so maybe I am disliked maybe I am liked by those who don’t care to be liked. Maybe I am missing out or maybe saving myself from grief, for the more I love the more I falter misplacing more of myself. Thoughts pass, and I allow them to; It’s a strange thing to live and dodge so much that might enrich what’s left of me, after all, I did not exist once and someday I won’t again. So, what of these fleeting thoughts, moments I consent to pass. Why am I so blasé? Seems I’m working towards something I cannot achieve so, what’s on tv tonight? think I’ll waste more time allow misfiring efforts to slinter. Yet, if I am gifted another dawn, I’m sure to bleed again.