Nigel King

Nigel King grew up in Essex, studied in Kent, but then came to his senses and headed north.

His poetry is influenced by Great Aunts, travel, science fiction, gothic horror, cats, and the effects of eating too much cheese late in the evening.

He was encouraged to write poetry by the good fortune of having Adrian Mitchell as writer-in-residence at his school.

King lives in Almondbury with his family and (of course) two cats.

From Adam and Eve being tempted by a Bramley apple crumble, to the sounds of distant planets that we listen to ‘as if to mariners’ tales/of unknown continents’, this collection is replete with wit, wonder, and that special quality of ‘what if’. In King’s poetry, mythical monsters meet the politicians’ favourite voters in ‘Alarm Clock Heroes’, daleks are admired for their ’emotional honesty’, and rites of passage are memorialized through a prog-rock classic. This is a collection that is utterly accessible and intelligent, funny yet moving, both lyrical and down-to-earth. It is riddled with the joy of being here, now, alive. King breaks down the Keep Out barriers lesser poets often erect – and he does it with elegance and wonderful panache. Read these poems – they will make your day.                       Keith Hutson

In Nigel King’s poems there are tender, sometimes poignant, recollections of his formative years in a domain inhabited by great aunts and grandparents, but peopled just as vividly by characters and worlds of his imagination. There are myths ancient and modern, classical and personal, set down with sensitivity, wit and linguistic precision.                       Bob Horne

What I Love about Daleks

is their emotional honesty.
If it’s universal subjugation you’re after
at least – like them – do it with glee;
their pepper-pot tops swivel,
their eyestalks waggle
as they ratchet up the octaves
on their four favourite syllables.

What I love about Daleks
is their persistence.
Their plots demolished like Lego houses,
their tin asses kicked
from Skaro to Manhattan,
back they come, tooled-up, re-styled,
yet essentially unchanged.

What I love about Daleks
is their vulnerability.
Their egg-whisk arms
disintegrate foes at five-hundred paces,
their battle-fleets crack open a planet’s core,
but creep up behind
you can topple them into a swamp
or jemmy off the lid, exposing to the stars
something soft and utterly helpless.