Michael Gibbons had the common touch, as they say, the love of others and the ability to express this love in the way he moved, talked and wrote poems. He discovered poetry later in life but it had always been inside him like an orbit of energy that wanted to come out, and finally did. When that happened, he wrote as if it were as natural as breathing. He breathes deep in this book of poems that was written in spurts shortly before his passing. He seemed to know that he was a poet of praise seeking to re-unite himself with the vibrancy of mother nature. Many of his best poems seem like songs and he titled the book Rambling Boy partly because of this, but also because he was, in fact, a rambling boy, who went round and about the world seeing and praising the simple, elemental beauties that others, maybe in too much of a hurry, missed. Now he is the one missed, but thankfully we have his poems.
