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Glass Mountain Writers - Andy Senior
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Andy Senior describes his writing as 'eclectic', with some pieces using comedy, while others show a more serious side. Either way, his love of writing is always evident. Andy began writing short stories and plays for his two daughters when his marriage broke up. In recent years he has broadened his writing skills to include poetry. He says that he is really overjoyed that he joined the Glass Mountain Writers 'because they are such a great group to be with'.
A tower
A tower of two
Stood in a field of commerce
Proud and tall
Looking down on a city far below.
Then two iron birds
Descended
And the towers were no more,
Leaving the city that never slept
Silent.
No need to say the city’s name twice
On that day, nine eleven.
I think everyone said the name twice.
A once precious town
I see them every night,
As I hover over the twilight of this busy town.
First the homeless ones, clutching their precious bed rolls
And copies of today’s 'Times'.
And further on,
I see the young girls barely sixteen
Awaiting payment of a precious twenty pound note,
For giving pleasure to some old men.
Still further on,
I see drunks
Arms wrapped around a precious half bottle of cheap strong cider,
Snoring,
Asleep in a pool of their own waste.
I watch as a mother holds her precious young Child's hand,
While she asks for money for her next fix.
Is this what has become of this once precious town?
A haven for the destitute and down and outs?
I see them every night
For I am the angel of death,
And to me all life is precious.
Peter Pike from Heckmondwike
You’ve heard the tale of Percy Pike who rode around on his motorbike.
This is then the tale of Peter Pike, who also lived in Heckmondwike.
He liked to walk and loved to hike,
Did Peter Pike from Heckmondwike.
He set off one early morn,
Just as the sun was about to dawn.
With knickerbockers tucked inside his boots,
A sturdy stick, rucksack filled with wholesome fruits.
He went off that summer’s day, not even knowing what the way.
Set off walking quite a pace, the sweat was running down his face.
So sitting down upon a log he did sink; he was in a bog.
His epitaph did just say after that most fateful day.
Here lays Peter Pike
He liked to walk, he loved to hike
And he did live here in Heckmondwike.
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