Neil Fawcett



Born to a soul-less suburb of South Manchester in  ’62 .

He peddles songs and poetry political and personal to a paltry

audience. He wasted years as a feckless facilitator in a failing

educational establishment and now sits in damp silence in a

shed at the bottom of his garden, slaughtering a noble art,

He often wanders the stony trails of Greece hearing rock falls,

cicades, the lap of the azure and Ritsos while sharing the chocolate

of the carob with mountain goats. Well, to be honest, he’s tried it once or twice and the taste is ……



1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s