LifeTimes by Tim Taylor

I’m delighted to share this lovely review of LifeTimes from the PoetryParc website. You can hear me reading from the collection at a Zoom event on Friday 27 May – email me on if you’d like the link and/or an open mic spot.


A Graph Review

isbn 978 191350824 1 published by Maytree Press in 2022

Price £7.00. paper


These short poetry books are commonly known as ‘pamphlets’ but that belies the production values of today’s publishers and printers. Despite being only 36 pages, Maytree (and others) can now publish these as fully-fledged paperbacks. Slim, yes, but with full-sized innards. In Maytree’s case they have even managed to put author and title on the spine. (A debate of ‘do or don’t’ on such narrow spines.)

The title ‘LifeTimes’ offers expectations, as does the assortment of old family photographs on the cover. Maybe a gentle ride through the ages? Nostalgia threading through each poem is what you might anticipate. You will certainly find your own feelings crowding through these poems as you recognise personal or universal situations. Each poem tracks a moment or event, accurate or not to your own memories you feel the…

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Welcome, Susan!

Today I’m delighted to host this poem from Susan Cossey, a fellow member of Holmfirth Writers’ Group.


It seems wrong to long for spring
When winter’s beauty shines
When red holly berries gleam from spiky green leaves
And robins and rose hips bring cheer to grey days
I love to see the mercury sheen of water on bare branches
And raindrops jeweling spider webs

The globes of mistletoe high in hazel trees

It seems wrong to long for spring
When winters beauty can be felt
Under my fingers
On the silky smoothness of silver birch
On the braille bark of an old sweet chestnut   
On the soft caramel caps of velvet shank mushrooms
And the jelly brown of jews ear
On a fallen log

It seems wrong to long for spring
When I can watch a bevy of white swans
And  their cygnets
Glide gracefully on the rivers’ iron grey 
Hear the fortissimo song of robins 
As I walk along the lane

And hear the yip of a fox seeking its mate
Under a full winter moon.