I have long been fascinated by clocks and time itself and this is reflected in many of my poems. I am reblogging one such, “Time”, which first appeared here back in 2015. The clock in question still sits, in pride of place, on the bookcase in my living room and adorns the cover of my collection of poems, “My Old Clock I Wind and Other Poems”. Incidentally another clock (which sits on the dresser in my living room) appears on the front cover of my collection, “The Writer’s Pen and Other Poems”.

This is a very interesting question. As a child, my grandfather spent many hours reading to me which did, I believe implant in me a love of the written word. Our walks in the woods close to his home also developed in me a love of nature which does, I think manifest in some of my poetry. Likewise I had a wonderful school teacher, Mr Delacruz who had a store cupboard who’s shelves groaned under the weight of books. My grandfather’s love of literature and Mr Delacruz’s love of the art has been passed down to me. As to the question whether writers are born or made, I am wary of nailing my colours to the mast on this matter. In the past Marxist determinists said (or strongly implied) that the environment was responsible for almost everything in the shaping of the human personality. This deterministic outlook has, in some circles, been replaced by the equally deterministic perspective that its all down to genetics. Both views strike me as highly reductionist and it is, I suspect a complex mixture of nature and nurture that helps to determine whether a person becomes a creative, whether as an artist, poet or author.