We all know our hard writing newsman Lyonel Doherty. Armed with camera, pen and paper, I’ve tried to read his handwritting, not a chance, we see him everywhere there is a story to tell. But why does he write? How did he get started?

A poem by Lyonel Doherty written when he was 17.

Ripples

Ripples, ripples

Ringing there

On the lake

A child’s stare

Like china glass

A fish’s eye

A sailing leaf

Hurries by

Something calls

But is never seen

On forest trails

In evergreen

I throw a stone

In the blue

With troubled thoughts

That ripple you

Across the world

They cry to me

They come so far

By shallow sea

Until the shore

Of ancient sand

Ripples die

In someone’s hand

Lyonel Doherty