SWINGS AND ROUNDABOUTS

A version of this poem appears in my second collection, Strange Journey, published in 2012. It sold surprisingly well and copies found their way to places as far away as Canada, India and New Zealand.

Poetry books tend not to be big sellers, unless your name is Roger McGough or Pam Ayres, so even modest sales in this field may be counted a success. 

My earlier collection, The Man Who Landed, which appeared as one half of A Guernsey Double with The Boy Who Fell Upwards by UK poet, Peter Kenny, also notched up significant sales though, since we chose to market it online through Amazon, whose trading terms are not overly generous to authors, so far we've been unable to retire on our earnings.

Copies of Strange Journey, The Man Who Landed and The Boy Who Fell Upward are all still available. Simply contact me here or go to this link:-  http://www.anthologyofguernsey.com/

THE SWING

As we launch out, the air feels clean,

the wooden swing's a pendulum

divining or recording time,

as sunlight stabs, pure platinum,

through woodland chestnut, cedar, lime,

into our playground, softly green.

It takes our joint weight on taut ropes

as we, in tandem, drive it on,

gathering momentum, we rise:

you grip the seat I brace upon

with boots, knees, adolescent thighs

and boundless, adolescent hopes.

The swing is like a storm-tossed boat,

the wood a bold kaleidoscope

of light, leaf patterns, soaring dreams.

I sing within the cradle-ropes,

the sound extinguishing your screams.

Free from confining earth, we float.