Biography of Greg Davidson
I began to write poetry of sorts in my twenties. Occasionally, in times of either deep angst or quiet solitary elation a muse would gift me with words. These times proved to be a blessing, and oft times a catharsis, for the emotional chaos that bubbled over me. As distractions were added to my life; job, wife, family and the mundane priorities that accompany them my muse paid me very few visits.
After teaching mathematics for 35 years and then become “surplus to requirements” I have found the need to remake myself. I do not wish to be seen as another old man out of work. I have sought out my muse in desperation. Again I find myself in need of catharsis, of balm for the soul. I have found it here, both in the words of others and the joy of posting my own. I am posting both the old (some of which have a modicum of merit) and the new.. As I create the new me, revered poet (say I with tongue planted firmly in cheek) seems a much better alternative than retired.
I hope that you, dear reader, may find some enjoyment or encouragement in what you read. In the hope that you will, my self-esteem has begun its rebuilding.
- Mynah Birds and Passing Memories
- Black Dog
- Empty Rooms
- First Steps
- Medicine Is The Best Medicine
- Conversation Blues
- Words Are For Reading
- Fill Me
- A Collection of Haiku - Winter
- There is a Rain That Falls - Performance...
- In Lavender And Green
- Mountain Meditation
- A Short Verse
- An Introspection