Sawing Fallen Logs For Ladybird Houses

frontcover_sfl_300Dave’s third book is a poetry collection divided into five sections. Many of the poems should be read in conjunction with photographs taken during the writing of the book. To view some of these images click here.

‘From the first eponymously titled poem, we realise that Dave Lewis’s work possesses an energy and freshness that lifts his imagery and empathy way above the work of many less ambitious poets.

The element of surprise in each poem is even more startling coming as it does from such uncluttered writing. Last lines are an example, while phrases such as ‘trees as tall as ships’, ‘a severe lack of hares’, ‘the brittle grass of misunderstanding…’ will surely enhance the readers’ own perceptions of the world around them.

This collection’s structure too, works well under its five separate headings, and the diverse forms used in several poems adds visual variety. A wonderful read. Buy it!’ – Sally Spedding

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

Sample poems:


off the rocky coast,

sipping salty beer

the wind grabs my gaze

and hauls me off

across the sea

past Ireland and America

while towing in my

mackerel line

for supper safe

in dunes

by camp fire


Learning in Gaps

‘Sit down Williams you liddle shit!’

‘Shudent call im at sir’

‘Ease gaw problems sir’

said Ann Marie the slag

still twirlin’ her copper curls

through her tongue and teeth.


The day had started well

Irvine was absent,

the slappers quiet in the corner,

and the sun glistening

on the frost covered grass

outside the Biol. lab.



‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!’

‘Come ere mun,’ I said

as we lapped the desks

like Coe and Ovett.

‘No way sir, you’ll lamp me.’


The rabbit headed for the door

he bolted out into the yard

into the headlights of the morning sun

the whole room followed

like a pack sensing blood

but he’d gone

screaming up the road

a car did an emergency stop

as he sprinted past Legges shop.


Two days later he was back,

sat down at the front

calm as a sea

during an August

camping dawn.


‘Well… better today r we?’

‘Wha da ya mean sir?’

‘No more nonsense like Tuesday yeh?’

‘Wha dew mean mun, I havin’ bin ‘ere fa weeks like, yews trippin butt.’



the slappers in the corner told me

‘E bin unda the bridge sniffin’ aerosols’

‘Yew know, on Maggies Hill sir.’


It was then I noticed the good kids,

sat like Buddha,

exposed yet safe,

as parents wanted,



learning in gaps


like soldiers catching sleep in snatches,


and Ann Marie’s hand crept down

between her legs

and she winked when I started talking about

environmental pollution

on page 63.



city of the living

teeming, steaming, shimmering

mottled mint tea afternoons

shade seeking shade

arch beyond arch, ‘neath

a cobalt sky

shell-brown beauties

hidden behind black

creep closer, venture on

Past cropped jewels

pale olive

skin craving sunshine

until bats burst

and cobras are


the signal

for end of shift

and fires grow

and smoke fills the air

and passers-by

can only stand and stare

for a thousand thousand years

or more

Quite early one morning

‘Y’ Tumble

half past ten

a black and white


haiku’s the menu

‘black pudding, mushrooms or


as shepherd alcoholics

warn of Swansea


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