Paul is not quite sure where or when members of his family got into Jazz. His uncle Des Boon played jazz with George Melly when they were both in university, and his Grandfather Fred Boon ran the local silver band. He has little knowledge of the musical tastes of the generations before them, but has a feel that the love of Jazz has been with them for a long long time - especially Weird Jazz.
Paul describes himself as a writer / musician / producer and sprout eating Bilko fan from Yorkshire.
Paul describes himself as a writer / musician / producer and sprout eating Bilko fan from Yorkshire.
Poetry & Fiction
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The following two poems are from my 'Cranberry Purple' collection.
WINTER SCREAMS Winter screams, long and high, Snow deep frozen gullies, Bitter wind across the valley. Minus numbers on the thermo, Icicles along the weir, Cattle shelter behind the barn. No passage for the mail van, Pheasants huggle in hope while Water shines like a mirror at dawn. Dull cloudy skies above, Few blackbirds brave the weather, Dipping, pecking, squabbling and foraging. Cold hollow slumber of the sun. Sharp shivering mornings. Kettle time in the hamlets. Breaking ice for the sparrows, White footprints on the lawn, Bitter but beautiful landscape afar. |
PERFORMANCE You look like someone I used to know When I was hiding beneath the sofa, Watching Doctor Who, before it turned to mush. Creeping beside the purple stage Waiting for the curtain to rise on James-Tobias Norrington at Tiny Tim’s opening. Chocolate covered confetti among the ticker tape When the performance is over. Shades of Elvis in the dressing room ice bucket. Rain pouring on the evening sidewalk, Reflecting and burning images and memories For generations to follow when the moon is full. Late night fish ‘n’ chips from the place where lovers meet For what’s left over from emotion’s turmoil. Good night starlight dreams. Another smile is born. |