It was go mad, or write poetry.
I chose the pen.
For a while I busked with my brothers guitar. But, I didn’t get far. So I wrote some sonnets and sold them to an agent in Mayfair.
I was mentioned in Time Out and published in Melody Maker.
Still, that shadow, hiding behind the sofa, conversing with God on the way home from worship across Hackney Marshes, he’s still inside me.
He is the non-poet, taunting me like scrapyard gates rattling through the night.
Success, is creating something positive in spite of pain. Relinquishing our darkness, nurturing our light.