She Would

“She would die or him, despite the fact he would arrive late at her funeral, if at all” – Nick Lovell

She would try for him, despite the fact he clearly wasn’t interested, or even very tall,

She would lie for him, despite the fact he would be the first to shout ‘Perjury!’ at her trial, if called,

She would buy for him, despite the fact he would ignore her beautifully wrapped gift of John Lewis smalls,

She would sigh for him, despite the fact he couldn’t hear her slow exhalations of air through the bathroom stall,

She would cry for him, despite the fact he would ignore her gin-soaked prone form propped against ns the kitchen wall.

 

The inspiration for this – whatever it is – came from the one line quoted at the top from Swindon based poet Nick Lovell.

Nick Lovell is a part time van driver, full time romantic, half arsed anarchist, eternal optimist and sometime poet.  He currently holds 4 poetry slam titles from Nantwich to Hereford and enjoys writing for both page and performance!

https://www.facebook.com/nickpoetry.lovell.1

 

 

Summer Dreaming

Doombar, get in the van, drive to Rock, see what’s there. The sea crashing waves over there. The field, green grass. Tent, van, boiling potatoes. Chick peas soaking, hummus for supper. Where next? Drive down the road. New site, new sounds new places, new faces. The summer invites me and together we roll by.

Interview With The Gloucester Poetry Society

Interview With The Gloucester Poetry Society

https://www.facebook.com/groups/110539132750931/permalink/233784997093010/

What is your name?

James Laurie aka Shadow The Poet

Can you give a unique fact about yourself?

I swam in the River Sow on Christmas Day and the Usk on New Years Day.

When did you start writing poetry?

Around 2012.

What kind of poetry do you like to write?

I just like to write about life, either in a free verse or prose style stream of consciousness type of thing. I also like to dabble in Haikus and other syllable counting styles.

What are your inspirations?

Anything at all, although looking at the stuff Ive written it majors on personal themes, divorce, death, depression that sort of thing.

Who are your favourite poets / artists?

I love music and could tell you hundreds of bands I enjoy, some of the most influential in my work include the driving rhythms of Johnny Cash and the storytelling of Martha Tilston. Closer to home I enjoy Dave Dunwell’s poems and wish I could write like him, Hannah Teasdale, Tim Vosper, Tim King, Robert Garnham and Luke Wright are definitely worth seeing if you can.

What makes you smile?

Seeing the Malverns, the Welsh Mountains, walking into the woods and jumping in rivers.

Patience

I touched on an idea there for a moment
Of possession and repossession
Of dispossession and time
I reached out into the world
To lay the claim
And smooth my way through the pain
And yet still they lie
Coiled across the path
Taking away my life
And turning it into a tale
Of two halves.
Patience, my friend
Patience.

Say Goodbye To Me Gently

C                                                                G

Take me down, take me down to the water
Take me down, take me down to the edge
Take me down, take me down to the water
Lay me down, lay me down at the edge

Say goodbye, say goodbye to me gently
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me at the edge
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me at the water
Let me slip, let me slip gently out to the West

Take me up, take me up to the mountain
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me at the edge
Take me up, take me up to the mountain
Let me slip, slip gently off of the edge
Take me up, take me up there to the mountain
Lay me down, just lay me down on the ledge

Say goodbye, say goodbye to me gently
Take me down, take me down, take me down to the water’s edge
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me gently
Say goodbye as we slip down from the edge.

Take me down, take me down to the water
Take me down, take me down to the edge
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me gently
Say goodbye, say goodbye to me at the edge

 

Leaves

That every leaf that falls carries a story

Collect the leaves

When autumn comes

Collect the leaves

When autumn comes

Let them fall from my hands like leaves falling from trees

Let them grow,

Piles of leaves.

Leaves of a book

The leaves that talk in the night,

In the forest,

In the woods.

These leaves have seen it all

These leaves can talk

What story do these leaves tell?

Tell me their story

Way up high

On top

The tree top

Reaching for the sun

I climb

I reach out for you

I watch you play

I watch you grow

Leaves, leaves, leaves

What colour are you?

Can I hold you?

Save you?

Reach out to you

Reaching out to me?

Leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves

What purpose a leaf?

I leaf through my leaves

Looking for the perfect example of oak or maple or ash

Leaves

I’m still talking about the leaves

Not being the leaves.

I’ll just leave this here.

The Last Goodbye

I climb into the shower
And begin to wash her, you
From my hair.

It was
Just three short hours ago
When I, you held me tight
In our final Embrace.

A short, snatched time
Before your, my life continues
Outside, away
Here, not there
With you.

Hot water runs in rivers
Down my face, chest
Washing smoke and ash and earth
To my feet
And they still remember
Standing on your paths
Through the night
As the rain washed in rivers
Down your face, breast.

And when the sun rose
That, this morning
In your blue eyed sky
I knew my, our ending had come.
All that was left
Was to say goodbye.

And I waited, delayed.
Etching every detail into memory
From the way your hair, trees
Moved in the wind,
The line of your warm winter coat,
Desperate to be shed,
Crying out ‘Spring! Spring!’
Down to your feet
Planted so firmly
In that, our land.

I washed the last of her, you
From my hair
The smoke from your fires
Joining the salt from my tears
A torrent of grief that can never
Wash her, you from my memory.

20160313 - Embercombe

The Loneliness Project | Creative Projects | Theatre Cloud

The Loneliness Project is being run by Theatre Cloud in association with the touring stage production of John Steinbeck’s ‘Of Mice and Men’. In their own words:

Today, we still see many examples of people being isolated and discriminated against because of their circumstances and who they are. During the current financial crisis, we’ve seen attacks on the poorest in receipt of benefit allowance, as well as 744,000 people on zero-hour contracts. Meanwhile, in the current refugee crisis, people have been disparagingly described as cockroaches and swarms.

Society has changed in big ways since Steinbeck wrote Of Mice and Men. We now live in an information age, where many connections are made or continued digitally online through ‘social media’. We have hundreds, even thousands, of online friends or followers. We use dating apps such as Tinder and Grindr, scanning and swiping for someone or something. There isn’t even a need to speak to anybody when we buy our groeceries anymore (unless there’s an unexpected item in your bagging area, which of course, there isn’t!).

Take the opportunity to get involved by submitting a poem or duologue or just by heading over to the website and showing your support.

This Blue Journal

I stare silently at the pile of books beside me
Green Mindfulness, red pocket book, blue iPad,
Orange poems book
And this blue journal.

Sullenly I despise them all and what they represent.
Reading and writing.
The pressure to conform or to do.
The commitment to spend the required time reading and writing.

I breathe deeply and regularly
I observe everything about this room
The way the side curtain waves in the breeze
The two buttons on the back of my jacket
The kettle and empty crisp packet holding dead tea bags.

Outside, the grass and the sunlight
The sound of the wind through the trees
The two horses that died yesterday
Weigh heavy on my mind.

I begin to relax into this day
And I am pretending it is not happening
Little blue book knows nothing of the anguish and anger in my head
My thoughts, wondering how it can mean anything
And I know it doesn’t
Yet the shoulds and woulds and could have beens
Fill my head
And I guess I am being unreasonable
Or at least feeling unreasonable
Or ungrateful
For I am still here and have the power to still be

One more tea, then it’s time to go
One more tea.

– See more at: http://theatrecloud.com/get-involved/creative-projects/the-loneliness-project/this-blue-journal/1675

Source: The Loneliness Project | Creative Projects | Theatre Cloud