Greetings from the back room...

Howdy, I'm Kris aka the Closet Poet.

I used 'Closet' to denote the feeling of separation, of the remoteness I felt when first delving into the world of poetry, of 'coming out.'

I hail from an environment of working men, of looming oil refineries and of unrelenting piss-taking. An environment I was happy to indulge in. BUT there was a moment, an epiphany perhaps, that changed things, allowed me a window into literature:

I was working a job at a place called 'Universal Pipe Coaters' it wasn't 'universal', but it did coat pipes. Huge pipes, up to 20 tonnes in weight. It was a dangerous place to work, back then - early 90's there wasn't the Health & Safety that we have in place today (whilst I was there two people lost their lives) tragic and awful. RIP both.

One evening, i was working the night shift. A truck driver who delivered the pipes invited me into his cab, to drive the pipes up to be stacked in the immense yard. On his dashboard was a copy of 'Death of a Naturalist' by Seamus Heaney...