UK Poet, Philosopher & Artist Ivor Griffiths' Official Website

Back from mourning

June 26th, 2011

It’s been over a year. A hard year. We had a hamster who died on the 3rd June 2011.

A year to the day since losing Bounce.

But it’s a new moon soon, and I’ll be fifty-one, so I’m back to writing again.

At least with Kindle I’m guaranteed a publisher. Even if it is only little old me.

I aim to finish the novel and publish an anthology of poetry before Christmas. I’m not sure if it will be THIS Christmas but I’ll try to get one of them done. Available on Amazon.

I’d thought that Kindle and the like would kill books but now I’m not so sure. The readers will have the power now rather than the publishing houses. They’ll decide what gets read. I’m hoping my background in website development and online marketing will help me promote the books. I hope to get round to fixing the broken links on the site as well.

Thanks for all the support and kind comments about my lost boy Bounce.

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R. I. P. Bounce

June 3rd, 2010

Bounce, a loyal and kind Stafforshire Bull Terrier, died today at 9:20 a.m. He had been getting weak for some time, not eating much and finding it harder to get about. He was fourteen years old and simply faded away in the end. He had a good life and was much loved by his mum and dad and his three brothers. He clung on for as long as he could, he wanted to see the summer and stay with his family, but in the end he just didn’t have the strength.

I know he’s only a dog but to me he was as human as you. He could read my mind and was the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ll miss him every day of my life.

New Planet

Rest in peace Bounce and I’ll see you again one day running through the woods, jumping for your ball and chasing rabbits. The sun will always be shinning for you now. Lie and bake yourself in it, we’ll all meet again soon.

Love Dad

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nEw YeARs Eve Pome for HoMeleSS & all Clodplay fans zzzz….

December 31st, 2008

~=: Beetle in a Basket :=~

A blowtorch, some pliers, some skin, and a scream,
C sharp pitch, the voice chipped flint,
smells of dry piss and fear of a cat; scraped off a shoe
a click prick’s will to politik, I think,


so spoke Zarathustra — to sign a tear in the lake –
to be remembered by a cured black-foot’s mind.

A melting totem carved in soap
and precisely positioned, gravity-wise,
relative to a legless one, who leaned and said,
“Wave, I can’t die,”

today anyway.

Then died anyway.


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Happy Christmas

December 22nd, 2008

Happy Christmas

Luck is the best bet

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Rough, Tough and a Sniffer-of-Muff

December 14th, 2008

Ernest Miller Hemingway (July 21, 1899 — July 2, 1961) novelist, short-story writer, and journalist as well as a member of the 1920s expatriate community in Paris; veteran of World War I and part of “the Lost Generation.” He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1953 for The Old Man and the Sea, and was a Nobel Prize Winner in Literature in 1954. Hemingway attempted suicide spring 1961, he received ECT treatment again, which he’d had some time previously to “treat” depression and which destroyed most of his memory: ECT was then an often prescribed “remedy” for depression. On the morning of July 2, 1961 and three weeks shy of his 62nd birthday, Hemingway died at his home in Ketchum, Idaho, from a self-inflicted shotgun wound to the head.

The Old Man and the Sea is a classic short story, up there with Land of The Blind and any short story you have ever read that you thought “Wow!” about. Read it.

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