Prasenjit Maiti

Andrew  Proudfoot

   Andrew Proudfoot was born in Hertfordshire, in the UK, in 1962.

A voracious reader of Science Fiction and Fantasy from the age of twelve, Andrew’s first attempts at writing were in a similar vein.

He was first drawn to poetry in his late teens – initially inspired by the work of Robert Lowell and John Betjeman and later by Roger McGough (all of whom remain favourites to this day), although it wasn't until 1994 that he first penned his own verse. There followed a barren eight-year period before he discovered an internet writing group in 2002 and resumed poetry writing.

Andrew is motivated by the everyday and the mundane, and is “absolutely terrified of the empty page and of the responsibility which goes with it”. His work is featured in the forthcoming anthology Routes (BeWrite, 2004). A Civil Servant working in IT, Andrew currently lives in Plymouth with his wife, a teenage daughter and four cats.

Ten Ways to Wear Snow

1. Majestically. Like mountains. Cathedrals.

2. Softly, gently. Fresh sheets. A new lover.

3. Playfully. Like angels’ wings. A snowball, mid-flight.

4. Heartachingly beautifully. Your face.

5. Festively. The morning after the Christmas Eve before.

6. Dramatically. Like an avalanche. A village. A small hand.

7. Like guilt. Whitewash. A clean slate.

8. Quietly. Like a whisper, a blessing. A shroud in waiting.

9. Silently

10.

My Assumption

I assume if I arrive too late
the store will have sold out;
I take the long way round.

I assume it rained all day
because I was not happy.
I assume it will rain tomorrow.

I assume you are angry
because I am less than perfect.
I assume perfection in others.

I assume there is no rest for the wicked;
I will sleep well tonight.
I assume there is no time like the present;
Nevertheless, I wait.

My words assume stony ground;
I keep to built-up places
and assume long silences.
I keep mum.

I assume you will never read this.
I love you.
I assume you have better things to do;
I make my excuses.

I assume all this
is a cross I have to bear.
I assume this position.

I assume the means
will justify
The End.

This is my assumption.

Mary

Mary, don’t you believe
That age comes like winter
Whispering around corners?

Do you really think it wise
to listen too closely
At my time of life?

Mary, don’t ask me
To climb above the snowline
With you one last time.

You must know by now

I prefer the valleys,
not tempting fate.

Mary, I must decline
Your kind offer to move North
This year, or any year.

I travel South with the seasons.
A little latitude
Is all I ask.

Mary, why have you dressed
Me in warm coat, boots,
My hat, my scarf?

Where are you going
So happy
In your summer dress?

Mary, don’t tell me you are leaving
Now that snow falls quick and deep
Before my eyes.

Please Look After this Poem

I found this poem
on the bus,
on the vacant seat,
the beautiful stranger having gone.

And I found this poem
in Starbucks
at the empty table.

I found this poem
wide awake
at three in the morning.

And I found this poem
half asleep,
daydreaming,
in the middle of the afternoon.

I found this poem
Difficult,
like a teenager.

And I found this poem
Tender,
and afraid
I found this poem
full of hope
and the fragilest words
(like hope and fragilest).

Please look after this poem