Bourne poet to launch new collection at Stamford Arts Centre to help Boxes of Hope charity
A poet is hoping his latest collection of verse will go some way to helping people in wartorn Ukraine.
Philip Dunkerley launches his third collection of published works, Schrodinger's Eco-Cat, at Stamford Arts Centre on Wednesday, November 29 (7.30pm).
All proceeds from the first 100 copies sold will be donated to 'Boxes of Hope’, the Holbeach-based charity which sends aid to Ukraine and also supports communities in Lincolnshire.
Philip, from Bourne, put the collection together in July, inspired to do so by former poet laureate of Stamford, Teresa McLean, who volunteers for the charity.
“In my opinion she is the best poet to have held the position in Stamford and is also a fantastic volunteer worker,” he said.
“When Putin invaded Ukraine, Teresa started working for Boxes of Hope. Hopefully this will raise a decent amount of money for them.”
The book contains 49 poems which Philip has had published in magazines, websites and anthologies, and follows two previous collections.
It will launch at the monthly Pint of Poetry evening where Philip will give a taster of what readers can expect with a half-hour performance.
The collection shares its title with an environmentally-themed poem in the book which was inspired by his concerns for the impact on Bourne Wood during lockdown.
Knowing some people can be put off or intimidated by poetry, Philip sets out to make his poems accessible and diverse.
“They cover everything from the absolutely ridiculous to the profane and outrageous, to the thought provoking,” he explained.
“There’s no limit to what I can try and make a bit of verse out of, and I see nothing wrong with making people smile.”
Retirement in 2011 allowed the former geologist to take up poetry in earnest, self-publishing his first collection of 65 poems, ‘Sixty-Five’, that year around his 65th birthday before releasing a second, ‘As Red as Rubies’, in 2020.
More than 10 years ago, Philip set up a U3A poetry group in Bourne, which he still runs, and he also ran the Stamford Poetry Stanza group for five years.
“I’ve done a great deal of reading and eventually if you read enough poetry, you begin to get a feeling for it,” he said.
“Around 2014 I started reading a couple of contemporary poetry magazines and thought some of my stuff was better than some I was reading so I decided to send off a few and see what happened.
“I got some polite thanks, but no thanks, but persevered and began to get one or two poems accepted for publication.
“If they’re god enough, the chances of getting poems into magazines is something like one in 16, so the chances are quite small. So it’s very gratifying when someone is prepared to put them into the public domain.”
To buy a copy, email dunkerleyphilip@hotmail.com or via Philip Dunkerley’s Facebook page.
More Than a Game
Saturday morning, a fine day in June,
I set out in my car for the drive
to the golf course to meet with my old buddy Pete
and at ten on the dot I arrive.
We met in the clubhouse, got ready to play,
and were on the first tee by eleven.
I felt really good, selected a wood
and drove like a dream, it was heaven.
By a quarter to twelve we were at the fourth hole
and Pete was at on one under par.
I was one over, but just then I drove a
nice ball that went ever so far.
And so it went on, from the fifth to the seventh
— at the eighth, another fine drive,
down the fairway it flew, delightful and true.
Golf can sure make a man feel alive!
We got to the tee of the ninth and I drove
with a three iron straight in between
a pair of deep bunkers, and sweet as you like,
I pitched up my ball on the green.
Now skirting the green of the ninth was a road
that led to a chapel nearby,
and just as I settled, preparing to putt,
a funeral cortège caught my eye.
A hearse led the way, sedately of course,
and two or three cars followed on.
I paused in my putt and tears welled up
as I thought of the one who had gone.
And when the last car had vanished from sight
I prepared to continue my stroke,
but Pete interrupted, and said, “Mate I didn’t
know you were that sort of bloke.”
“What sort of bloke?” I said, he replied,
“The sort that would show such respect
to the dearly departed, so very kind hearted!”
I said “If I may interject,
“golf’s only a game, and you shouldn’t blame
me for shedding a few kindly tears,
it’s the least I could do to give her her due
— we were married for thirty-five years.”
