Hi. My name is Terry Trainor and I write poems.

Many many years ago the news ripped through the London Workhouses,
Through all Bethnel-green, Spitalfields and through the Minories,
Along Tower-hill and up to Shoreditch and Clerkenwell,
To the very purlieus of the Seven Dials, and across the water in Southwark,
Important news spread from ear to ear, overheard in chop houses, and cabs,
Blackberries are ripe, and there are mushrooms in the forest turf.

Like an electric thrill, it has darted far and wide, high and low,
In the great workshops, whether sweating over a hot iron, or folding,
Steaming dye-houses and hatteries or darting the shuttle amongst silken threads,
The bread moulders, or makers of coffins for the dead, or their nails,
To the farmers, the boys that roam the streets, and the hags in alleys,
Everywhere there is just one thought, the blackberries are ripe.

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• Thepapertiger1: AMANDA DUFFY RANDALL, Clinical Psychotherapist/Instructor, Eating Disorders Program, University of Nebraska Medical Center, Omaha, …
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1940s    1950    1950s    1960    1960s    a frost dawn    a rainy day    an alcoholic who when sober hates drinking but life is hard at the bottom who cares    and birds flying off for shelter near by waiting for a break to catch worms    autumn    beautiful to watch from a warm cottage window fire blazing misery living the dream    beer    blitx    bonds    by cottage doors and walls where the honeysuckle stoops    can you remember times walking great hills without a stop    carpenders park    children    clothes flying off washing lines like kites in the grayness of this hour    disease    do you remember the pretty girls that caught your heart and eye    do you remember when everything was honest true clear and good    doors rattled so loud it was like a madman at the door banging    drink    drinking    drunkeness    estate    everything outside was soaking wet ruined or needed allot of attention    family    farm animals growing scared with dogs barking at the falling rain    few minutes later water flowing down loughs capturing the good for the day    fields    flowers    food    forest    friends    frost    frost on my coat stiff with ice and dirt pockets full of nothing a brand new day    gin    glades    gray clouds touched the ground heavy with torrential showers of rain    heavy winds ripped around the thatch on the roof leaving gaps    history    holding hands very tightly skipping through meadows of time    laying on the edge of a forest away from people who hate you too shallow to care    leaves around the garden blowing paper bags into the troubled air    life    lightning flashed again and the field woods could be seen as a snapshot    london    love    meadows    meads    my eyes opened to a dazzling sunny morning a golden watery important sun in its sky    nature    nature love sad happy hardship kings    new    new culture    nostalgia    old culture    old man is there a feeling of joy in dreams of long ago    old man is there a feeling of joy in dreams of long ago    overcrowdind    overcrowding    people walking by disgusted some cross the road but a few will stop and give their change    picking up wood and leaves to restart last nights fire empty bottles of cider around my camp    poor    poverty    putting my hand on a big old oak tree to help me to my feet my body and bones painful    relations    rests in sunshine the breath of flowers enriching his day    rivers    run through fields of greenest grass greener than you have ever seen    rural    seven dials    sits an old man who has done his days work on this earth    skipping through meadows of time    slums    snow    some glass in the windows began to rattle the storm has arrived    south oxhey    spring    standing in the impotent sunlight rubbing my hands vigorously but they stayed white    streams    summer    sunny    sweets    the day was as dark lightning as bright as flashlight set the scene    then the days plan unrolled and the first thing to do was to go to the station and beg    thinking how cold i am frost lay a white carpet on fields and leaves around coat wet    transport    try to get some food will there will be some bins around the things people throw away    victorian    where warm blue sky adorns homes with beauty and sweetness    winter    woods    workhouse    workhouses    would you go back fifty years relive childhood dreams once again    would you like to have your first kiss first hug all over again