David was born in London in 1950 and went to several local schools there before moving to Dulwich in 1962. He Attended a Secondary Modern School, as it was known at the time, until he was 17 and left school with nothing much to write about apart from an English and Art GCE ‘O’ level.
He has been a civil servant, assistant shepherd, construction plant fitter until all his tools were stolen. Unemployed in 1995, he enrolled at Thames Valley University in Slough to take a Higher National Certificate in Business & Finance which he passed with a Merit award and went on to take a B.A. Business Studies which he was awarded in 2000. He had ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
David Wood Poems
Bluebells carpet the woodland floor Packed so tightly that insects tip-toe Softly and quietly between them. Their beauty unlocks a woodland door
The week after the funeral the house was cleared Memories taken to the auctioneers to be sold off, The polished sideboard and dining room table, The picture frames now empty of smiling faces.
Sonnet 88: Trees
There is never a sight more beautiful Or so amazing than that of a tree, In summer with branches and leaves so full With gently swaying boughs for all to see.
Married villages emptied to the call. Young single men from well-worn towns Changed from suits and flat caps to khaki. They changed their hob nailed working boots
Cherry blossom fell like confetti In the wind, but there was no bride Or groom only a pair of robins On the grass beneath the cherry tree.
Autumn prepares the earth for the cold of winter The warmth of the summer sun has gone Now chill winds blow autumn leaves from trees Making a patchwork quilt on woodland paths.
The life we had was all we had And the life we had was ours The love we had was all we had
I am your faithful friend, I cannot lie My silver charm waits upon your desire As I stand and wait patiently for you.
Sitting on the bed they once shared The old man opened an old shoe box He kept on the wardrobe floor. Inside were the memories of a
Ode to the Golden Daffodil
Daffodils in their twilight fade As May begins to shine Their fragrance lost for another year, A display both delicate and fine.
Of Golden Leaves
‘Tis time to mend this wounded heart Since it slowed to a miniscule beat To see with my eyes the face of the world And say ‘hello’ to all I greet.
The girl with the pearl earring
What was she thinking, sitting there? Her blue and gold head scarf hanging Down her back, that pearl earring, those Bright red lips drawn slightly apart.
As The River Flows Along
The field was dotted with them, Hay bales stacked high on high With field mice and shrews making hay Running and playing between the bales
Sonnet 87: Ode to spring
We wander aimlessly down a country lane Springtime daffodils perfume fills the air And holding hands with my sweetheart again As a couple we make an enchanting pair.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Bluebells carpet the woodland floor
Packed so tightly that insects tip-toe
Softly and quietly between them.
Their beauty unlocks a woodland door
With such colour of delicate blue,
And a fragrance that is heaven sent.
They droop their heads in the spring rain,
With their beauty making all things new.
Their magic weaves a pleasant spell
A sea of blue that meanders in the breeze
And floats delicately over the forest floor,
Their fragrance creates a delicate smell.
Nature now has all its beauty brought
To the fore before summer casts its ...