Trevor Lacey

Montreal, Que, Canada

Trevor was born and educated in England and Wales. His early years were spent in the English countryside, (East Anglia) and London. He played tennis for the University of Wales, served with the British Army in Gibralter, and boxed for his regiment while serving abroad. For the past 30 years this recently retired corporate executive has lived in Montreal, Canada, which he considers the world's most intriguing city. Trevors has been published in three National Library of Poetry Anthologies, in Motreal's annual Windows on Poetry contest and he has had a poem read in the Sound of Poetry tape. He is working on Invented Straws a collected edition of his poems to be published in 1997. His awards include the 1996 Editor's Award and his nomination for the 1995 and 1996 Poet of the Year Award by the International Society of Poetry. Trevor has written poetry as "letters to himself", since his teens. It is only since his retirement that he has sought publication. He hopes that his "silly, sad scribbles of thoughts, random and fleeting," may be deemed poetry, published for all to read.

Invented Straws

I put my mind aside
And talked of fate and even God
Who long ago for all things else
I ceased to wonder at.
I told my reason to be still
And not to answer back.
It could not end.
Self created, imagination fed
It grew to what I now called Love.
But soon my reason shouted back
My mind would not be stilled
And grudgingly I told myself
It ended long ago
And never really was.
How scarce the world is of love
That we must snatch even at invented straws
To save ourselves from sinking back
Into our too frequented world
Of long bleak stretches in between love
When heart and mind and soul remain untouched
And we merely exist.

Partings

Oh God! How old I have grown
That I no longer part from you with passion,
With pain, with scream of rage and harsh words,
With splintered glass and slammed doors,
With hate and lust.
Oh God! How feeble I have become
That sometimes I do not part from you at all,
But stay when I should go
Fighting indifference, feigning love.
Oh God! How old I have grown, how feeble I have become
That I now part from you with grace
With tranquil dinner for two
Softly murmuring words of sweet sadness
Over the pale glow of a vin ordinare.
With a chaste hug,
And a final, formal handshake.
Oh God!.