“PoFacedPoetry" by me, Billy Reynard-Bowness was born suddenly and powerfully on the tenth anniversary of my son’s tragic death, by drowning, when he was just nineteen years old. I wanted to express how my feelings had at once changed yet stayed the same in the ten years since he had passed. As is the way with grief, there were so many conflicting emotions, things I wanted to say but couldn’t speak. Moreover, having no real faith to speak of, I needed to think about how I believed we could ever meet again, and, if so, in what form? Having always been deeply interested in the lyricism of language, I decide to write, to put my feelings into a poem, which became “Chemically Eternal”! Yes, it was cathartic, but, much more than that, it seemed rekindle a flame, an urge to write. Poem after poem needing to be born. Words dancing around and swimming through my conscious and unconscious and I am LOVING it! Born in Lincolnshire but growing up and educated in Huddersfield, I consider myself a Yorkshireman at heart. I am 47 years old, a Pisces, former Legal Executive and sometime bit part actor, and live in the wilds of deepest North Yorkshire with my husband, three dogs and countless chickens. In any spare time, and when my ankylosing spondylitis allows, I enjoy walking in the Yorkshire Dales, travelling, gardening and boating.


Blithely we dance the days away!    Frittering the clock with gossip, spit and chat. To have and to hold; bold, surly and gay,                                 Consuming to get fat.   The tracks of our years devoured; come quick!     As we rail against time; passing faster and scant. Must do and must see; must have. …

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Fog-grey paint on wood… Sentry! Imprisons willing hostage… Safe! It jars – jams handle door to floor Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit   The fawn as naked innocent born. Cow mother forages for food… To earn! Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch. Waiting to exhale. Wolf pants foul –             …

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And he stands there. Waits. Left bereft. Disbelieving his dream his nightmare; blinks blinks…thinks. Thinks! No tears; dry. Too dry    to try    to cry. Scratchy; hoarse as his heart; beats. Beats! Bleats. Empty             space.   Blank       bed. Gone; no more – no sight to see – no words… to speak. Quiet. Tranquil. LOUD. DEAFENING! Head-splitting. …

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VEGAS                                    Sandra works the slots all day Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks Feeding the bandits instead of her soul… Knowing it’s daylight, somewhere! Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress Imagines doing things way past his prime… Knowing it’s nighttime, somewhere! Passing hours like their years Bathed in sticky syrup …

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Goodbye to nutty Boris You sneaky old Doris David Davis death knell Jumped ship as well Make room for that Hunt Tess really took a punt Giving the sharp Brexit barb To smooth Dom Rennie Raab May has the support of slippery Gove That shifty eel, the slithy trove And crusty fusty Rees-Mogg Emerges from …



Boris likes to stroke his Mogg Merkel loves a hot Macron David Davis hates to Barnier Keir Starmer gels with Garnier   May adores her slimy Gove While Corbyn woos the Abbott Liz Truss, such angry sourpuss Herself to champion loudly fuss   And Greening’s not for leaning Against the Brexit so opposed Sajid wants …



AWAKE Life is a dream. In dreams’ we exist… For in dreams… We sense We see We hear We feel We taste We smell We fear We love We lust We loathe We triumph We fail We fall We climb We fight We laugh We cry We try We run We stop We hit We …

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“The daily grind is so hard” He whined “Work and raising kids isn’t easy” She opined “Deirdre got your promotion” He snitched “I heard Dave got yours?” She bitched “I hate this damn job” He sighed “So look for another” She cried “Maybe tomorrow” He lied “You’ll do it one day” She lied “Stop tapping …



WALKING WITH MY MATE You pick up the lead like the blade of a knife Gently and tenderly. Quiet with wish to surprise But he hears. An ear pricks. His eyes flash to life He barks; jumps and twirls. Joy impossible to disguise Off we go. Adventure awaits; a walk has begun His tail wildly …



HEAD   My drum has perforations; now flawed Mylar parchment once taut on bone Leaks prose; but each metaphor pored Percussive skull reverbs teeming tome   Waning instrument yet waxing lyrical Tympanic threepenny opera still plays Snare split – verbose facial spiracles Whip quick flick of offal; tongue flays   Well weathered but – oh …

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