Layer Cake

frontcover_layercake_300After many years of writing, a few magazine submissions and many rejection slips from publishers, Layer Cake was Dave’s first book. Inspired by attending a number of excellent creative writing classes with famous Welsh writer, John Evans.

Dave’s first book was a poetry collection that spanned 24 years. Published in March 2009 by Ponty Press the book was well received and earned great praise by John Evans and many other writers.

‘His poetry is honest and direct. Each word is effective. Each word is easily understood. Unlike so many others today, he writes from the heart and soul, from raw emotion; he has drawn on his wide ranging knowledge and experience to evolve a style, an elevated poetic diction, which eschews artifice and ornate language. To do otherwise, to court obscurity, to write for just a small coterie, would be for him to miss the mark. Dave Lewis’ poetry is for everyone, not just the metropolitan intelligentsia, or Arts Council elite, or pseudo University academics.’ – John Evans

This book can be purchased as a paperback direct from the author or as an e-book for Amazon kindle.


Sample poems:

Miners Dog

High home summer hill

Straining, sucking, sitting

Staring, stopped and stick-

A pit-prop tight and gripped.

The trees across the valley

Much higher than he can go now.

I pant to reassure him

In time with his withered eyes.

His tongue, tombed gritty green

He’s faithful, though he’s fading

Bones in death-grey jumper

Where will he lead me next?


Tenerife Club Singer

Alone at the bar

Two packs of cigarettes

Are stacked like long lost friends

The club singer sits alone

Constant in his loneliness

As transit tourists chat

For two weeks at a time

His world, their world, complete

Alone he sits and smokes

Smokes himself to death

Only home for the NHS

Bald ‘neath his cowboy hat


Human Nature 

“Hey man!”

grated the Californian

“You left your Howl behind”

“Wow!”

“Did you hear that?” said Paulie

 

“Only in this city man,

and leave it to me,

I’ll get the man to sign it yeh,

and if you don’t hear from me

let me know and ask

me to send the fuckin’ book”

 

I left my friend a note.

My best friend in half an hour.

 

“Send me the fuckin’ book man!”

I wrote.

He laughed.

 

Now I wait in the rain in a land devoid

of oranges

for the postman.


Afternoon Shift

The lino shiny dead

cramped crocodile

choked hand

bread and dripping

at the cupboard towers

arthritic apron

dogs at feet

her petal splits

cuts like crusts

she knows you know

sliced chestnut

men at work

the knock on wood

saltwater drips on fur


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