Terry Collett - Member pages, Big Pond Rumour

Horsham, Sussex, England

Terry Collett

Breaking Silence

Terry Collett is a 58 year old writer who was a Benedictine monk for a short while way back in 1971. Terry is married with eight children and eight grandchildren.

He has been writing since 1972 and had two slim volumes of poems published in 1974 and 1978. Then he went into hibernation for awhile. Terry earned a B.A. degree with hard slog between 1988-1995 while bringing up his eight children.

He recently rediscovered his muse. Since that time he has published a number of poems in various anthologies, magazines and newspapers.

He currently writes poetry, short stories and drama. Of the stories, three are due out in 2006 in three different magazines.

Contests:

Just As You Like It. (2nd Place Fiction). Summer 2006 Premiere Issue: Big Pond Rumours.

Periodicals:

Terry's poems have been printed in a number magazines including: Antimuse; Cordite; Dance To Death; erran publishing; OutPosts and a few others.

Books:

Sound Me Out. (1974, poetry) Regency Press: London & New York.

Words shaped In Their Season. (1978, poetry). 2nd printing, Horsham Press.

Offer your response to Terry Collett.

Tell him you saw this page at Big Pond Rumour.

Bring On The Death Clowns

Bring on the death clowns

And their brunette loves;

Bring on the hand-clapping,

Cheer-leading, all too soon

Bored to tears girls in white,

With their shallow dreams

And none too sure of themselves

Husbands, with their false smiles and goodbyes.

This is the night show

To beat all night shows.

This is the death camp side show.

This is where the audience stand up and leave.

This is where the lights go down

And the show begins to fade away.

This is life’s demise.

This is it. The show must go off.

Judge Not

“Judge not,” said Preacher Judd,

His voice high like a woman squeezed,

His face flushed like ripe tomatoes.

“Because how you judge

Is how you’ll be judged.

Hard with hard, cruel with cruel.”

And running his fingers around

The black rim of his felt hat,

He pushed through the crowd

To the thin knickerless girl

Who’d been caught in copulation

Or some such operation

Or so was rumoured,

Amidst stone holding and jeering

And human touch as this.

And placing his hat on his dull head said:

“What’s needed is love

And close looking at each to each,”

And strolled off with the girl and his hat

Rising and falling like a ship at sea.

Put Your Fingers Here

Put your fingers here,

Touch the holes of infinity

Which love has caused,

And see the dark spaces of night

Where your lack of light has burned my eyes.

Place your fingers elbow deep

Into the wounds of my heart

Where your loveless words

Have crept and made a home.

Dig deep into my being

And feel the dripping sounds of tears

That your deceit has touched

And watch the whole space of eternity

Turn on just one word of your goodbye.

Text Box: This webpage was granted as a prize in the Big Pond Rumour Summer 2006 Issue Contest ~ Vol 1:1 ~ July 2006. Terry Collett won 2nd Prize for Fiction.

A member since July 2006.

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