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My first book, Phrotose, is now published, Available in good bookshops and the internet. Overall its been well received, Although no vast royalties yet. At first, I was truly afraid, That I had left myself exposed and bare. Opened up too much about yours truly, That few readers would really give a care. Perhaps I’d been a little too self indulgent, Prose of my life, my values, my thoughts. Will folk readily identify with these musings, Or just regret the volume they’d bought? Then one morning listening to Phil Collins, Pondering, “who’s really interested in his nuptial woes?” Realised that worldwide millions are devoted, Heart on his sleeve fills all of his shows. Any artist of true sincerity, Be it script, music or sculptured craft, Must sacrifice a fragment of their core as a gift, Embedded to their creation they graft. Failing to meet this prerequisite, Doomed bland, uninspired and soulless. Mass produced as being market driven. So be strong, believe in your naked uniqueness. To conclude: I make no apology, For my sentiments that follow in this book. I trust you are amused and contemplative, As introvertly you are persuaded to look. — Philip Wood |