Darren Whitehead

Biography

I was born in 1968 and was raised as an only child in a small village just outside of Bolton, Greater Manchester, England. (Back then the county was Lancashire). I come from a working class family background. My father, Jeff, was a self employed window cleaner (full time) and a martial arts instructor in his spare time. My mother, Norma, worked in the factory industry in a variety of roles. I went to Bolton South VI Form College where I gained an A level in theatre studies, although one A level does not make me an academic. As I grew up I progressed through the grades in martial arts, coached by my late father, eventually earning my 5th dan black belt. I travelled to the US, Spain, Gibraltar and around the UK teaching martial arts and running tournaments and coaching seminars with my father. As a teenage boy, I enjoyed writing comedic poetry with my father and we both shared a love of the written word, 'though neither of us took it seriously until later life. Upon his retirement from the martial arts, my father joined Bank Street Writers in Bolton, where he became inspired to write again. This reignited my passion for writing also and together we began to write poetry. I also started to write children's stories (mainly in verse) and song lyrics. We became regular visitors to Write Out Loud. I am now a middle aged man and enjoy writing more than ever. I still lives in Bolton with my wife, Angie. Between Angie and I we have two grown up daughters. Whilst being very family orientated, our circle is shrinking. My father sadly passed away in February 2009 following a two year battle with cancer. My beautiful mum passed away in 2016 and we lost Angie's mum in 2017. Life is short and I really must pursue further my writing career. I do have a tendency to let life get in the way of pursuing creativity and I regularly stagnate. An example of this is the fact that my last update of this profile (prior to this one) was seven years ago. I really must get brain fit and body fit.

Samples

They came too late: He clasped his blooded neck with shocked round eyes. Scarlet liquid decanted to the floor. They came too late to hear his woeful cries. He tried to flee but running was unwise. His legs just couldn’t hold him anymore. He clasped his blooded neck with shocked round eyes. His vision blurred with horrible surprise. With shattered hope he looked towards the door. They came too late to hear his woeful cries. He prayed to God, but naught was in the skies. The devil’s hound was thirsty now for more. He clasped his blooded neck with shocked round eyes. The hound was licking, drooling for its prize, It crunched and ripped and growled and snarled and tore. They came too late to hear his woeful cries. The growls drowned out the sound of his demise. They found him bathed in red upon the floor. He clasped his blooded neck with shocked round eyes. They came too late to hear his woeful cries. "Deep Down" is a song that I wrote when feeling very unsure about my marriage. I didn't know at the time that my wife was having an affair. Now I know and it all fits into place: Deep Down: I see the admiration that sits deep in your eyes. I see the love shine brightly, I hear your magic sighs. I feel anticipation, each and every time we kiss, I see the wishful daydreams as you look at me in bliss. Deep down, I make you happy. Deep down, I make you smile. Deep down, you’ll deeply love me, If only for a while. I saw the admiration that was once deep in your eyes. I saw the love shine brightly, I heard the magic sighs. I felt the nervous quiver, of a lover’s first soft kiss, I witnessed all your barriers come down in hopeful bliss. Deep down, I always loved you. Deep down, I always cared. Deep down I always wanted, What simply wasn’t there. Now I see the disappointment that sits deep in your eyes. I see the dull regret and I hear the troubled sighs. I feel the nervous worry, in your loveless lonely kiss. I witness all your barriers, when I try to reminisce. Deep down I should have seen it, Deep down I should have known. Deep down you wouldn’t love me back. I’m cut deep to the bone. Now I face the disappointment that accompanies your sighs. And I simply cannot turn back time by looking in your eyes. No longer can I win you, with a soft and soulful kiss. And sadly I have learned that it’s too late to reminisce. But they say that time’s a healer, They say it fixes holes. But I know that time can separate, The closest faithful souls. Your love is just a habit, That you’ll soon learn to shake. Eventually we’ll face the truth, And admit to this mistake. Now I know the disappointment, that waters my sad eyes. And I feel the dull regret and suppose it’s all been lies. I remember how a lie feels, on a cold and hopeless kiss. Now I put up all my barriers, when I start to reminisce. Deep down I should have seen it, Deep down I should have known. Deep down you wouldn’t love me back. I’m cut deep to the bone. Deep down I should have seen it, Deep down I should have known. Deep down you wouldn’t love me back. I’m cut deep to the bone. Deep down you couldn’t love me back. I’m cut deep to the bone. Deep down you couldn’t love me back. I’m cut deep to the bone. Miracle of Deliverance: The brave English heroes plan our retreat. Wincing as whistles graze by my head. Will history judge these ten days as defeat? Dressing in lines as we wait for the fleet. A disciplined force but half of us dead. The brave English heroes plan our retreat. Polish and bull, shit we have to look neat? “Give the men something to do”, Major said. Will history judge these ten days as defeat? Standing like statues, the shattered elite. Eyes shrapnel black and legs dead as lead. The brave English heroes plan our retreat. Backs to the channel we cannot compete. The shells in the sea reiterate dread. Will history judge these ten days as defeat? Fire in the sky burns my face with the heat. Empty men floating with love left unsaid. The brave English heroes plan our retreat. Will history judge these ten days as defeat? Unchained Melody: My time won’t come. My time can’t see A better world, a world more kind. The day my people will be free. My days are shattered, stinging me. Master’s whip, I’m much maligned. My time won’t come. My time can’t see A place with love and harmony, A world that’s simply colour blind, The day my people will be free. No chafing chains, agreed decree, No white man’s boot or trader’s mind. My time won’t come. My time can’t see The day I have my liberty, A chequered earth, black white combined, The day my people will be free. Shackles are my destiny. I’ll die in irons, left behind. My time won’t come. My time can’t see The day my people will be free. Baggage: The clock face stares back As I wait. The seconds drag, yet steal my precious time. As I wait. As I wait. The life of an estranged father Is tangled with guilt. Competing affections of A new love, a new life A child not of my loins. A smiling child hungry for affection, Stomach rumbling in anticipation Of a new love A new life. Will time ease the guilt I feel towards my own? Will time make affection come more naturally? For the seconds steal my precious time. As I wait As I wait. But the clock never gives. Just takes. Just takes. And now the time has come to bond with my own And I await her arrival. My stomach rumbling in knots of guilt As I wait. As I wait. Her smiling face, Her loose pony tails, Her childish wit and exuberance Wash the knot loose And we laugh. And we laugh. Her giggles ignite in me a love that is not surrogate. One so small yet strong enough to lift me higher than anyone can. Strong enough to lift me. To lift me. Our time together precious Stolen by the clock As the seconds race away Like falling water lost in the rapids Water that I can never taste again. And we play. And we play. Until the clock has stolen the time we had. Until her giggles turn to goodbyes. Like the rapids she rushes on, Never looking back. Takes for granted that goodbye kiss that she forces When reminded. A tidal wave of fun that leaves silence in her wake. And my stomach knots with guilt. As I sigh. As I sigh. As I turn back, To my new life. To my new love. As I turn back But never turning my back on the giggles in the memory of my heart. The life of an estranged father Is tangled with guilt. A carousel full of cases, Travel worn And bursting with guilt Awaiting collection from Terminal Three By me. So I’ll drag behind me my cases. To Terminal Two Where I try to offload them to you. But you have some too. So together we drag our cases. Together we carry our knots. With some sideways movements but little progress. And we wait And we wait And we wait.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.