PAUL AIDAN RICHARDSON

Unlucky for some… born on Friday 13th August 1948

Born on Friday 13th August 1948, the second son of a Northumbrian vicar, Paul’s early poems reflect that period of having to act as an unofficial curate! Although he is quick to emphasise that he is no ‘bible puncher’.

Indeed many of these poems contain an element of questioning the spiritual life, questions that were frequently asked by parishioners, followed by Paul’s answers. Certainly poems such as ‘Who Will Bury Me’ are coveted by the clergy of all denominations. Even the shorter poems are used to convey people’s emotions by the publishing of them on the funeral programmes, an example being ‘Snowdrops’. Many readers emphasise with that simple theory that once a project, a period of life or life itself has run its course then there should always follow a ‘New Beginning’.

Paul’s rural upbringing coupled with that of his childhood enthusiasm for the cowboy heroes whom he admired when watching the old black and white ‘flicks’, led him to visit America on many occasion even to the extent that he now rears American Quarter Horses in the UK. His poems about the plight of the Native Americans are now becoming recognised in both America and the UK, indeed ‘Talulah’ a love poem is now a recognised standard at many wedding ceremonies.

All of Paul’s family have been associated with the Navy and certainly Lord Nelson ranks very firmly alongside John Wayne as his favourite heroes! The inspirational nature of the Northumbrian coastline, particularly of the home that Paul has inhabited on Holy Island serves as a background to his third ‘love’…..The Sea.

“With the Ocean one treads that fine line that separates calm from rage; the majesty of a storm from the quiet stillness. It brings forth life and takes life in return; the mysteries of the deep will remain for all time for she is always evolving, has a heart beat and personality that is reflected in our own inherent nature.”
Probably the most requested and read are ‘The Purifying Storm’, ‘The Drowning Of Jeannie McDonald’ and ‘Shipwrecked’.

A few testimonials below…

“…represents feelings that are understandable and identifiable in us all..”

Kevin Whatley, Actor

“…love and respect for the Native World view is palpable in the writings…”

John Fusco, Producer and writer of ‘Hidalgo’ and ‘The Young Guns

a Northumbrian vicar, Paul’s early poems reflect that period of having to act as an unofficial curate! Although he is quick to emphasise that he is no ‘bible puncher’. “…spontaneity only adds to the readability..”

Reporter, Berwick Advertiser

Vision, interesting passages…

Love doesn’t conquer all; it can weigh you down like a millstone around your neck. It can hold you in misery until it breaks your will to survive, leaving you empty of everything you’ve held precious.

Revenge! -that act can slowly eat away and destroy the innocent and make the guilty gloat.

Life has a habit of turning, going around in a giant circle and smacking you on the back of your head at a time in life when you don’t need a headache.

There are those who weave in and out of our lives without us knowing their intentions. They are able to fleece you by stealth, leave you vulnerable and without dignity, yet they smile and still call you friend!

You can rise and fall with the waves; you can taste the salt on your lips and run your hand through the green crystal water, swim and wallow in all its glory. The sea will make you think that you understand its workings; then it gets into your body, tortures the mind and eats way at your soul. You find that you can’t live without the smell of the ocean, you cannot die without its bidding.

The maelstrom of life churns up the good and the bad, so when order is restored you’re left with a hybrid that is of little use to anyone, yet it still manages to suck the nourishment from all it can latch onto!

We all die alone, our final cry, like our spirits, evaporating into the air, into nothingness. We die weeping for a future that no longer belongs to us, our dreams and aspirations spent, smothered by a world which is indifferent to our existence.

A peaceful scene can be marked with that precious commodity, silence. When silence is accompanied by  stillness then you have a crossing of that dividing line that separates a contented mind from that of a troubled awareness, the difference between contentment and unease which will undoubtedly turn to fear if the source of that calm is not fathomed.

A heart wrapped around with impetuousness is volatile, not only a danger to its owner but to others who share the same cause.

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