Bob Beck

In September 2012 I had a mental breakdown, which led to my spending three years in a secure residential therapeutic community. While there I took part in a creative writing workshop which led to my poems being printed in various publications.  

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All I Hold is Bone

All I Hold is Bone   I long to catch you walking across the sun blessed down through the long grass seeding swept by your mourning gown.   I long to meet you darling where once we walked alone under the soft sun shining before my heart was stone.   I long for your eyes …

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Mugs

Mugs   There’s some with mugs they’ve abjured, though plain white mugs – they want no prompt or evocation of the worst of past schemes.   But that mug on my draining board, that plain white mug – doesn’t need any slogan or decoration to remind me what it means.   If there’s a mug …

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My Father’s Ghosts

My Father’s Ghosts   Here’s a photo of my father on the Raj frontier. Can you tell which is he? Laughing with some fellows with nothing to fear. (He’s the one younger than me)   History now in their old army puttees. Fine lads with broad grins, and with arms round my father for the …

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