Well who would have believed that I would have eight books of poetry in me?
Once again I have enjoyed compiling these poems and writing the prose that sits alongside. I am not sure that they are really poems. Who dares say?
Sometimes I write long pieces and sometimes I write short pieces. Sometimes I call them novels, sometimes stories and, particularly with the shorter ones, I call some poems.
Some of my poems scan and rhyme and some do not.
They come into my head and I write them down.
I do not care what you call them. There are no rules – only proven means, previous success, and things that have worked in the past. We adopt the methods that work best and stick to the basics so that we can all understand and share – grammar and punctuation have a purpose but still – there are no rules. I make up rules as I go along. You never get anywhere by doing things the same as everyone else.
This volume was largely written at the end of 2016 and on into 2017 so it is overshadowed by the scourge of Brexit and Trump. Some of the poems reflect that.
For me overpopulation and the wanton destruction of nature are the two compelling drivers. I perceive that we are destroying the planet and it grieves me. I want some sanity and a universal approach to dealing with poverty, overpopulation, environmental degradation and pollution. Something has to happen fast or it will be too late. Both Brexit and Trump seem to me to be quantum leaps backwards in this regard. They represent insular, narrow nationalistic attitudes based on fear and hatred that are the opposite of the ideals I aspire to.
We can but hope and go on dreaming.
Opher 15.4.2017 (written in a cabin on the Megellan on the Arabian Sea)