: About Me

whoops! can't reveal my age cos I'm a bit of a Peter Pan character, and this is a site where people can form relationships through thought, ideas and imagination, so age doesn't count. (my body is 64)
I love anything to do with reading - anything from celeb news to quantum theory. But I love literature best and it's wonderful that so much literature from different countries is being translated into English, which is the language I am must fluent in, though I cope with Italian, German and French.
However, I myself come from Malta, a tiny island in the middle of the Mediterranean, packed with history from neolithic times and surrounded by our tyrant sea, which binds us to our home despite the conspiracy of business people and politicians to call uglification 'progress'.
I write poetry both in Maltese and in English, love almost all types of music and colourful people.
I love life but am not afraid of death. Comes of being bi-polar, perhaps.
I used to be a University Lecturer in English (Malta) after studying here, in Cambridge (UK) and Heidelberg. Gave it up to bring up 3 children born in 2 1/2years and returned for 5 yrs before retiring

My passion is ...

being in love

I know too much about ...

nothing

My parents always told me ...

a smile is the best cosmetic

My childhood ambition ...

to be a writer

My favorite memory ...

my son's breaking the middle-distances national records

Why I write ...

because I breathe

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Laura Hird and June Hird - 'Dear Laura'

My first job ...

teacher

My best moment ...

too many to choose from

My inspiration ...

just about anything

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Death

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THE SMELL OF RAIN I followed every move of her leave-taking one hand in mine, the other in my sister's, she let me pace her going with the rhythm I stroked her with. Or else I learned the rhythm from every breath which hovered by her mouth waiting to see if she would sip it in. Instead it seemed as though, tilting her chin, she tried to hold her soul from slipping out ahead of time, before it slid forever through her lips She let it speak. Her eyes in mine were neither dull nor bright. Filled with strange longing they looked at me directly, yearning to leave yet sorry that we must be left ...

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