Poems written by Trevor Maynard

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Trevor Maynard

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Trevor Maynard (1963) was born in Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England. He is the editor of The Poetic Bond series including THE POETIC BOND, THE POETIC BOND II, THE POETIC BOND III and THE POETIC BOND IV. Trevor's new poetry collection KEEP ON KEEPIN' ON is now available. He read Theatre Studies and Dramatic Art at Royal Holloway College and has worked for ten years in the theater, writing, directing and producing. Trevor is married to Jo and has four kids, six grandchildren, as well as a cat. Other works include FOUR TRUTHS (2010), a collection of four one act plays, and two single plays, GLASS and FROM PILLOW TO POST.

Biscuit

Biscuit short poem

I looked to take a biscuit from her mouth Just a crumb, on her lip, a leftover She didn’t even realise it was there But she caught me smiling at her Maybe I was not smiling, more smirking Yes, that’s

Diana

Diana short poem

I didn’t really notice her, to start with, A girl with too shaped hair and clothes beyond her years It wasn’t right, clearly not right Medieval in some respects An heir and a spare her task But a fairy-tale danced

Incessant

Incessant short poem

There is a clock that ticks At never closer than Eighteen minutes to six Of course I would never use a rhyme In a poem about time But there is this tick Just gone twenty to six Which ticks It

That Night

That Night long poem

The last corn popped expansively Unnecessarily loud, in a paper bag on a round glass base In a ten year old microwave (a good tool); Jennifer awaits, our first night in, alone together Her parents are at the cinema; her

Walking Time

Walking Time long poem

It was the Walking Time again The time on which to ponder Wonder, wander Across the wild heather and heath Coals, greys, hints of blue are above Looking down as if there is nothing beyond A blanket, envelope Surrounding and

Keep On Keepin’ On

Keep On Keepin’ On poetry books

From a biscuit crumb on your lover’s lips, to the death of a Princess, to the formation of galaxies far far away, human is our condition, life is our journey, and come agony, joy, or even world-weariness, people, let’s just

Answers

Answers short poem

Went looking down the watery path Leaves discarded, travel to a new heaven and Metallic green of mallard neck Catches my eye; what is this? The canal is split after the lock A weir takes the heavy current Sends an