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This is the third book of poetry that I have written and published over the last 40 years
or so. Those of you who have read either of my previous books , Just Me (1971) and
Through The Windmills Of My Mind (1983) may recognise several of the pieces in
this book, along with some relatively new pieces, especially those with a link to the
World Wide Web and the Internet.
I have used the word published. That however, is just a dream. What it does mean is
that I wrote, typed, proof read, retyped, printed and photo copied them and put them
into folders myself. That means you wont find any of my books on library shelves, not
just yet.
Over the years, both readers and critics of my work have all come up with the same
question, albeit phrased in different ways and that is..Where do you find your
inspiration? Well I could have used that old clich that says 10% inspiration and 90%
perspiration; but that would not be true. I actually find my inspiration closer to home.
My inspiration comes from something that lives and breaths, something that has
nothing to do with culture or religion, class or creed. I find my inspiration from Life
itself. Let me explain.
In any one day of anyones life, they will have to face a whole myriad of feelings and
emotions, and deal with them in their own unique way. Emotions such as love, and
joy. The feelings that I felt when holding my newborn son for the first time; the way I
feel when a stranger smiles at me, or my boss gives me a compliment or the emotions
I have on receiving a letter from a dear but distant friend.
On the other side of the coin you have those not so nice, but oh so necessary
emotions, for you cant have sunshine without rain. Emotions such as anger, the sort
you feel when you come across cruelty to animals or humans; your reaction when you
have spent twenty minutes in a Post Office queue and it closes just as you reach the
front; or how you feel when you come across injustice, stupidity or ignorance.
One emotion that you will come across in my poetry, is loneliness. That feeling of
desolation, of wanting to belong to someone. somehow, somewhere. However, you
will also find humour, honesty, truth, understanding, confusion, betrayal and many,
many more emotions that I dont have a name for or room enough to print them all.
A Poet can be likened to an Artist. An artist will often paint something that he sees or
has seen, in the hope that those that view his work might somehow share in the
emotions he felt as he painted the piece. A Poet - paints pictures with words.
I hope you find pleasure, perhaps a forgotten memory, and maybe a better
understanding of me, in what you are about to read.
Allan D Stewart
May 2009
“There has been many times in my life, when I have felt so very alone - times when I
would have given anything just to have a friend - a friend just to talk to- a friend to
help and guide me in my hour of need. In time, I found such friends. So if you should
ever need someone, as I did, please remember these words…”
WHEN
When you reach out your hand…
But find nobody there.
When you’re feeling so alone and so sad…
And in deep despair.
When you really need a friend…
I will be there.
When your mind is so full of confusion
And your heart is so full of doubt.
When you feel that you are being used….
And need to talk it out.
When you need a friend just shout
And - I will be there.
”This next piece is the shortest in the entire book, yet it describes exactly what this
book contains – my thoughts – which along with my emotions, create the backbone to
every poem”
Thoughts
Thoughts.
They fill our minds a million times of a day.
They are the prompters of all that we do or say.
They are the building blocks of memories and dreams.
They are a necessary part of life it seems.
“ If I was asked to choose the one piece from all the poems that I have written, to
signify my view of this world -it would be this one. It was originally written in the early
70’s,when, as a young sailor; I was serving on a warship on coastal patrol in the
Persian Gulf. These thoughts echoed my feelings at that time - and now reading it
again I realize tthat nothing much has changed – and in my mind I can still hear the
haunting words of…
My Heart
It has shared the youthful experience of romance ,pure and new.
It has known the joy of tenderness -of love, sincere and true.
It has felt the emotion, the happiness, of the wondrous birth of a child.
The love and trust of children pure and undefiled.
It has known the joy in sharing the love of colleagues and friends.
And touched the very heart of a love, that never ends.
Yet -it has also faced the bitterness -and the heartache of divorce;
the tearing apart of life itself by some invisible force.
“You are probably sat reading this poem, in a comfortable chair in your comfortable
home. Now try to imagine what it would be like to be torn away from your family,
your home, your loved ones. Imagine what it must be like for a Sailor, or even the
sailors wife”
Later that night with the children in bed and past asleep
Your thoughts and your mind, drift away into the deep
And you remember another time, just like today
You remember how it was the last time he went away.
How at first, your nights and your days, were filled with tears.
How each month seemed to last a hundred years.
How you longed, each day, for some word, maybe a letter
And how each loving word made you feel so much better.
Yet still you asked yourself, are there many other wives like me,
Married to a man, whose first love is the sea?
-------------------------
So I signed up for nine long years and traveled far and wide
My home each ship I served on - the sea, a willing bride.
Yet a sailor’s life at sea does have a serious side.
Endless drills, secrecy and silence, far out at sea
Preparing for war or any other eventuality.
I can promise you that your loved one will one day feel the same -
And you will be more than just a photograph in a golden frame -
the childrens daddy will be much more than just a name.
your love will become once more a reality, and not just a memory.
There will be no more loneliness, no more sorrow
No more having to face alone, the emptiness of every tomorrow.
“This piece was written just a few months ago and requires little introduction. The
reason will become apparent very soon after you commence reading..yet still I would
ask..…
Why Me ?
The shock, the agonizing pain, that shot across my chest -down my right arm and then
back again.
I couldnt move. I felt paralyzed. I asked myself why -was it fear, was that day - finally
here?
I couldnt see -I couldnt speak. I was completely dumb. Yet, I could hear a voice calling
me in my head.
but was I alive or dead?
Who are you; I asked -what do you want. Is this just a warning or - do you just want to
chat.”
No, replied the voice.. my name is Stat”.
I answered him -”Stat who, I have never heard of you. Leave me alone Go away-.leave
me be.”
And then- suddenly it dawned on me!
So, now you know, said the voice, And yes, it is your turn now..
you know me, you know why, and you know how!”
And then before me was a sight that I will never forget.
But I will change- I cried out. I will never smoke another one”.
To late! - the voice repliedthe process has begun”
But I will change, I repeated. I will try that thing I read about-the patch.
To late- was the reply-Your losing this match.
But why! I cried! Why now-why me? Why not, he replied-and I had to agree
Nobody had forced me to smoke all my life…regardless of the danger to the children
and my wife
I had seen the adverts -read the warnings but had ignored them, just the same.
There was nobody else but myself to blame.
Who are you, I asked, my conscience, or what?”Oh yes, he replied -I almost forgot!
my name is Stat - or statistics to you; you must have heard of me, or do you need a
clue?
This is nothing personal he said but I cant give you a break;
For I have my quota of people to take.
Perhaps then people will listen with every breath
and stop smoking themselves-to death.”
“This piece was written many, many years ago after an afternoons stroll through a
small park in Devonport, England. I have never been back there since, but I vividly
remember the occasion and how I met….”
The Wander
“In the same park, just a few minutes later…I came across a large marble
cross...partly hidden from view by some scraggy bushes. It looked so neglected and
so lonely...and it angered me that nobody really cared for”
The Monument
It stood in a corner of the park, partly hidden from view.
A tribute, in memoriam- yet clearly visited by very few.
It stood there, alone, rising up into the sky.
Upon it stood an angel - with a tear in its eye.
"I have been asked this question more then once but could not come up with any one
answer, simply because love, how we see it, feel it and need it, it different to every
one of us.
What--- is Love?
What is this feeling, that people call - love
is it really, as is said, a gift from above.
Does it bring with it, eternal devotion
or is it just, an over rated emotion?
Is it true, that church bells ring
“Addendum
In time I found that love that I searched for through the years
and it was worth the waiting, the loneliness and the tears.
For to me love is life and sharing it with that special one
and now my quest is done..
Love..is what you make it, but not just you
it is something that is initially shared by two.
It means being wanted and needed every second of your life
In the good days the happy days but also in times of strife
To me love is what makes my heart skip a beat
And what makes my life…complete.
“This is a story about life and death, happiness and sorrow, and anger and fear….but
with a twist at the very end:”
Lifes A Bitch
At first life was hard, and decent food was still very rare –
but I survived, with the occasional Rabbit or Hare –
or whatever I could steal, by courage or dare.
And then came that terrible day that I got into a fight-
I was attacked by a pack of dogs…it was late one night,
And even though I fought them with all my might
When they had finished with me, I was a terrible sight;
One leg was broken with a savage bite.
Friendships, especially those that are formed through the Internet and chat rooms,
can be brief and fragile, here today and gone tomorrow, or, in some cases they can
become honest and caring friends. You only know what the person you befriend
wants you to know, the rest is down to trust. Mistrust and lies inevitably lead to…
Broken Friendships
Who do you turn to when you are r feeling rather low?
Where do you head for when there’s nowhere else to go?
Who will always be there to cushion the blow?
A Friend.
You ask, why did it happen, why are e-mails never replied
has that special friendship, just died?
Why is her away sign, always on –
Where has that bond of friendship you once shared, gone?
“ This poem is simply a collection of thoughts that went through my mind, as I went
to a friends second marriage service. I had just become divorced for the second time.
As I watched them, and their six year old daughter I felt their togetherness, it lead
to”:---
Wishful Thinking
Against my better wishes I decided to go
To the second wedding of a good friend I know.
Though I was still recovering from a second divorce
I was drawn to their marriage by some invisible force.
Yes, that had been long ago, he would be much older now-
But still I ask myself, why - and how?
Many years have passed on since that lovely wedding day
And that marriage grows even stronger I am glad to say.
But my thoughts on that occasion forever more will be
Remembered in this book-and in my memory.
This poem is not one of my personal favourites, and the only reason it is appearing in
this book is at the request of friends and colleagues. It was written many, many years
ago when I was a lot younger it is full of loneliness and sorrow it was written at a time
when real men didnt show their emotions. It shows distress and desolation –
It shows in every word..
People.
I saw them, as I swiftly passed them by - yet I cared not that they saw me cry
For I could not hide my breaking heart
That breaks even more and more the further, we are torn apart.
As a sailor, I had faced many such partings through the years
Each time I had shed a million tears.
Yet each parting became much harder
Then the one before and I wondered- could I take much more?
People.
They did not see me as I entered my hotel room
the darkness of the night, matching my gloom.
They did not see me as I knelt beside my bed -and bowed my head
…in prayer.
They did not hear me as I prayed to God above
To protect the child and the woman, that I love.
The woman that I had married, just three short years ago…
And for whom the tears flow.
People.
They could not truly understand the way that I feel
Only these words, and these tears, can reveal
Just how much I long to leave, this life I spend at sea
To go home and find them, waiting there for me.
To be able to share all our lives together as normal families do –
Lord, is that to much to ask of you?
As I draw back the veils of time and look back over the last fifty years – I can
remember and relive wonderful moments, but I also some bad. I remember places
and people far and wide, from Bournmouth to Bombay, from Portsmouth to Perth. I
remember two marriages and nine years at sea…so join me now as I take a leisurely
stroll down…”
Memory Lane
Memories.
They are our personal journals of days long passed.
Some pages may be missing, but others linger and last
perhaps, to be remembered at some later date.
Some of my memories may even relate - to you.
Shirley.
In my book of Poetry Through The Years the very first piece was dedicated to my Mum
and Dad.
This piece was written many years ago when they were both still alive. Sadly, they
both passed away in the intervening years, but I still think this dedication, deserves
an airing. It is simply called..…
Thank you for the love that you both s freely gave.
Thank you for showing us how to be patient and brave.
For showing us the way, when-as often- we strayed
For showing compassion when tempers became frayed.
You were always there, in the good times and the bad –
You gave us a reason to carry on when we felt lonely and sad.
You were always willing to listen, and truly hear
Of a dream, a hope, or a secret fear.
Even Dad was there, though his duties meant month’s apart-
He carried our memories and our love deep within his heart.
Even you dear mother, in hospital and near death
We were in your deepest thoughts and on your every breath
We want to say thank-you, for so many any things
To our Saint without a halo- and our Angel without wings.
So many years have passed us by, since this poem was first writ
and every year now, a special candle is lit
in memory of a wonderful mother who had sadly passed away
yet in our thoughts and prayers, every day.
It can’t have been easy for Dad, to face the world alone
Though he knew we were always there at the end of a phone
Though we saw him as often as we possibly could
maybe not as much as we really should?
In time he passed away to be with his loving wife
Leaving a hole in every-ones life.
Who knows what lies ahead, what each NEW tomorrow may hold
We just face each day and each challenge as it starts to unfold
Though we cannot go back and live those days – as special as they may be,
I have been a friend of Allans for many years and he has asked me to write a short
piece about him and his life.
I have agreed to do so but let me warn you, there is nothing short about the life he
has led so far. Anyway, here goes.
…
Born in a small country village is West Sussex, England- he was the second of what
was to become a huge family of eight boys and one girl. He lived in this village for the
first eight years of his life, and despite the tender years he insists he can remember
people and places from that far back in his life.
It was shortly after his eight birthday that life changing events took place that were to
have an affect on the rest of his life. Firstly, the whole family uprooted and moved to
another leafy little village called Denmead, which was not to far from Portsmouth
where his dad served in the Royal Navy. It was also during this year that family life
was turned upside down, when his mother and a few brothers were confirmed to have
Tuberculosis - as a result of which, the family were split up and sent to three different
parts of the south coast. It was to be year before the family were reunited again, as
one.
It was during his teenage years and at Secondary School that he discovered his love of
the written word, from famous writers such as Charles Dickens and Denis Wheatley, to
the great poets such as Browning and Albert Lord Tennyson. He says this was also
time he received most of his education, including his schooling in love.
However, it wasnt until the early sixties, when, as a sailor in the Royal Navy he found
himself sailing away from Englands green and pleasant land, to places unknown. He
tried to explain this strange adventure in letters, but found he could put it better in
the form of a poem or prose. As he put it in an introduction ..I find it easier to put
what I am thinking onto paper then into words from my mouth”.
Although he wrote many poems at this time, most of it was lost after his first divorce
and his wife threw out any links she had of their marriage and his time in the Royal
Navy. In the 1970s he turned his writing from poetry to creative writing. He had
completed a 3 year postal course on Journalism and Creative writing but had had to
give it up before the end for financial reasons It was whilst serving on HMS Eagle, a
Royal Naval Aircraft Carrier that he took up writing in a big way. He had “adopted” a
local school in Plymouth prior to the ships departure for the Mediterranean and Far
East, and had agreed to write to several pupils on a regular
basis telling them about where the ship had been, what he had seen, ect.
About a month prior to their due return to Plymouth at the end of the commission, he
received over 20 different letters from pupils from the school, all wanting to know
everything about the trip, from how many eggs did the crew eat in a week, to what did
you do when the ship was in Singapore?
As many of the questions were repeated in other letters, he decided that instead of
writing to each individual pupil he would write a journal for the school. The result was
The Year of The Eagle.. which he wrote, typed, printed and put together 20 copies, in
less than a fortnight. Although there were some glaring errors in the end product, it
covered the culture, history, people and anecdotes from each place they had visited. *
A copy of this turned up 20 years later and he is now rewriting it and corrected the
glaring errors, if not the proof reading.
Just a year later, in 1971 he produced his first book of poetry entitled Just Me’. As for
the title, he says- that is basically what my poetry is all about, an attempt to put
down my thoughts and experiences on paper, so that others might understand, and in
some way experience themselves, the things I saw and thought about during those
many months and years away from home.
”
It was to be twelve years on, in 1983 that he produced his second book of poetry. This
time entitled From the Windmills of my mind which, he says, contained many of his
deepest and most personal thoughts, in prose and poetry. Many of the poems from his
previous book were rewritten and recreated in the new version.
He left the Royal Navy in 1987 and after a succession of short term jobs, he finally
settled down to work for a National Security Company, first as a Security Officer and
rising to Vetting and Training Officer, which also led him from Southampton, to
Reading, to Luton and to Milton Keynes where he then lived with his third wife June.
Unfortunately his health deteriated during this time and in 1996 he suffered a stroke
that left him partially disabled and unable to carry out any gainful employment. He
has also been on the Internet for many years, and a lot of his later work has written
during this time. He still lives in Milton Keynes but now lives with his lifetime partner
Sue, who, he says, has finally made his life complete and that she is the best thing
that ever happened to him.
This latest book, Through The Years is, he says, his final volume. It is all his work and
contains his favourite pieces and those requested by various friends. written over the
last forty five years. He is heavily involved in local community work and has also still
writing his autobiography, So I dont think that we have heard the last Of Allan
Stewart- --- not just yet.
David M
May 2005