I asked the writephoto contributors if they would like to come over and introduce themselves. Without those of you who write and read the pieces inspired by the weekly photos, the writephoto prompt would not exist.
So, if you follow or take part in the weekly challenge, why come over and introduce yourself too? Being a regular does not mean taking part every week… so why not drop me a line?
Meet Jez Farmer of About the Jez of It…
A Cuppa and a Keyboard
“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” – Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
And with that opening line a writer was born, some years after in 2008, to be honest. Don’t panic, I am not 12, I was born in 1966, but the writer, the guy called Jez is 12. And the truth is I don’t really like discussing anything about me before 2008, unless it’s about my 30-something sons. Catcher in the Rye was one of the must-do books for my post-grad degree that kicked me into living.
I finished university with a doctorate in Classical Art and Literature and now work as an art journalist and virtual curator. I also write poetry and odd bits of short fiction as well as working on a couple of novels. In 12 years, I have come to terms with myself and reached the point I am happy to be me.
A country boy trapped in a town somewhere in Wiltshire, UK. I could moan about that but I am deliciously close to Avebuy and the ancient wonder of its stone circle. As bizarre as it sounds I have found not only enlightenment but solace and understanding in a monolith from thousands of years ago, which is nearly as much home as the Welsh mountains and valleys. Nothing will ever be as heart and soul home as Yr Wyddfa, Cadeir Idris, and the rest of Eryri. Yeahp, spot the Welshman.
That explains my fascination with Celtic verse and mythology, with the middle name Gwion it is the love of the Mabinogi too. I chose it, and it would have been my first name except I would get fed up having to spell and sound it out all the time. Spiritually, I come under the umbrella term of Pagan, my path is mainly Celtic and Norse. The ancient Norse figure of Loki is never far away.
I am no Celtic or Norse warrior, unless ecowarrior counts. I am all for protecting Mother Earth from humanity’s messing up. I also stand up for human rights for all human beings. I am part of a minority group and have tasted discrimination at its worse a few too many times. Sure, I accept my decisions don’t always sit well with some people, but they are my decisions to make. If I could have one wish it would be to wipe out the hate placed on being different.
As anyone who reads me on social media knows, I am a cat daddy to eight feline furbabies, that includes her royal majesty Cupcake, who I have raised from three days old, she’s now coming on eight years old and still as crazy as a kitten and she knows she is daddy’s babygirl. The cat gang rarely fight unless they get the wrong dish of food, yes, they know whose dish is whose better than I do. Their names are Cupcake, To-be, Ratzy, Swan, Thingy (named by my youngest son), Taliesin, and the new rescues, Buddie and his sister, Treacle.
As so many people ask me why I write and blog poetry I guess I should answer that with something other than ‘cos I can.’ The beauty of poetry for me, is I can bury a grain of truth in absolute make-believe which allows me to address that truth in myself and in my life. Some don’t take a lot of reading between the lines whereas others do, how deep I bury the grain is how it needs to be for me at the time.
Flight of the Phoenix
Form: Free Verse
I saw a phoenix fly today
and thought I was dreaming
as his fiery wings soared into the waiting sky
he carried my brother to freedom
to me it seems too soon
but that bird knows when we need to rest
as he comes to take a soul back home
I will keep the home-fires burning
for a little while
and when that bird calls for me
we’ll meet again – until then
fly well my little brother, fly well
Dedicated with love to my little brother, Nick
24 July 1970 – 7 January 2020
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