Ethika - The poet behind the writer

ethika home page

As a 'serious writer'/journalist- what ever that means other than earning one's crust at the craft, for many years I have been hung, drawn and quartered before admitting that occasionally, in the dead of night and behind locked doors, I wrote poetry. Some were published, under an alias and pressure of requiring green backs. Perhaps I've reached an age when I don't give a damn what others say, what the hell, these are my pages and who's to tell me what to put on them.

The poems in the index below are not in order. The last five were written this year (though one is a 'happified or magicked' version of an earlier poem) for two reasons, firstly a writer colleague read my collection and asked if I ever smiled - most are what could be called 'serious and moving' - or, if you're brutally honest, and he was, - bloody depressing. Secondly, some illustrations called for words and these five poems fit the bill - even if 'jingly'.

Some poems express feelings I could not include in reports. I think I realized a reporter who becomes desensitized to human suffering lacks that something which makes us human - the subject, in fact, of 'Human Interest'. Maybe I am not the complete cynic while I can feel surprise, shock, or even horror and it dawned on me that many of the reporters renowned for their 'human interest' stories were almost completely lacking in human feeling and sensitivity.

Rereading the earlier efforts confirms my opinion that poets need undergo a sohectomy (excision of the sense of humour) before joining the guild. I can't dispel the 'posish' picture of a poet as: male, slim, with dark brooding good looks, withdrawn, sensitive, wearing lace cuffs and velvet jacket. Nothing like yours truly, who tends more towards down to earth, blunt, red head.

Whether you like them or not (the latter probably shows you have good literary taste), leave a note on my guest book - enough requests will get the lot removed from my site never to see light of day again - promise. But, I'm the one who'll be deciding when 'enough' is 'enough' - it's my page ain't it!

Any publishers (one lives in hope!) should contact me, I own sole copyright on all my work.

Ieke

Back to top

Index of poems
Omagh
Speak Nothing Dust | Iron Feathers Burning | Souls Shriek Silently
Brown Horse Prancing | Human Interest | A Refrain from War
Lullaby of Innocence | Army of Rag Trumpets | The Hostage
Burn my tears | The Key
Grey Dreams Painting | Deep Green Circles | Sound Shadows

The last five
Shimmering Secrets | Fairy Music | Secret World
Sound Shadows (2) | Pixie Pleasures

Sign My Guestbook | View My Guestbook