Gordon Scapens has been published over many years in a variety of magazines, journals, anthologies and competitions. He lives in a suburb of Preston with his wife, who is friend, critic, muse and editor. He plays acoustic guitar averagely.




Poems for morphrog26






Closed-down shop doorway
is the stage that hoards
his small pile of coins,
gives shelter from the wind,
a howling backing choir.

He plays and sings blues,
his sadness peeping through,
to those taking notice,
but he’s not been on T V,
so donations are meagre.

The words have feeling
but meaning slips away
in city-centre bustle,
the song owning up to be
the man himself, juggling
his faith in life.

I drop coins in the hat,
an answer to nothing,
and he nods imperceptibly,
his fingers saying enough.
He watches me watching him
with the face of a man
whose heroes are all dead.

© Gordon Scapens


On a beach designed
for a day such as this
father and son stand together.

The boy`s shoulders
take the weight of the wind
as he wrestles with strings
of a straining kite
seeking the judgement
of its own sky.

The youngster can`t accept
that a kite is nothing
without the pursuit of freedom
and his touch transmits
the power of possession.

Unaware of time’s trickery
the father watches his son.
In a few short years
that he’ll forget to count
he’ll be engaged similarly
in an inevitable freedom struggle
all parents have to face

and lose.

© Gordon Scapens