Poem of the week - Mars And The Milky Way

I wrote this poem about a faraway memory of when I used to stay the night together with my family sometimes at my aunt’s house, which was always exciting because my brothers and my sister and I would play mad, dangerous games with my crazy cousins, that sometimes involved jumping off bridges and running along railway tracks, pretending to be cowboys and Indians.  Strangely enough none of us got hurt… well not really hurt.  We were dirt poor, and so when we were bought chocolate it was a real treat.  Even then I was fascinated by the night sky and loved looking at the stars; dreaming probably of one day becoming an astronaut; a tall hope for a Black Country kid on a rough estate, but at that age nothing seemed impossible.  Anyhow, after a day of games and mayhem we’d all be crowded together, three or four in a bed, and on that particular night I just couldn’t get to sleep, so I crept downstairs and discovered my mum and aunt chatting together and scoffing chocolate..!

   

MARS AND THE MILKY WAY

I'm sitting on my mum's lap.

Two, maybe three years old,

The stars are spinning,

The stars are spinning.

I'm at my aunt's house,

My brothers and sister are in bed.

I can't sleep,

I can't sleep -

The red curtains that look like carpets, slake across the window,

But the moon pours in -

I'm awake.

I'm three years old,

I've been jumping off railway bridges,

I've been jumping off railway bridges into straw,

Listening for trains with my ear to the rail, like Indians do -

How old am I?

I'm two, no three - maybe four years old,

I'm sitting on my mum's knee - the telly's off,

The men aren't around,

Perhaps they're up the pub?

The conversation is soft and pink and funny,

I don't understand it.

My mum is eating some chocolate; she gives me a bite -

It's not a Milky Way; it's a Mars Bar,

Something different, more expensive -

Toffee, caramel...

My mum's eyes sparkle with love, like stars in the sky,

My aunt's childish laughter at my surprise makes me smile;

The stars outside, I know,

I know,

I really know

Are big and sparkly, and like big jewellery, sparkly...

Stars - shining.

I'm a kid hugging a mum,

And I don't know if I'm two or three or four,

But I'm eating a Mars Bar and the stars are shining outside,

And my brothers and my sister and my cousins

Are all asleep upstairs,

And I'm eating a Mars Bar with my mum,

And the Milky Way is spinning away, and Mars is big and red,

And Auntie Eileen says "He likes a bit of chocolate!”

And I take another bite of a Mars Bar, looking at my mum,

Who smiles back like the moon.

Poem of the week - Signing Love

This poem is from my Tango Apocalypso collection.  It’s called Signing Love.  I have worked for many years with people with learning and physical disabilities, and have sometimes (rather clumsily) had to use sign language myself to communicate, and have always been inspired by the beauty of signing; the movement of the hands when deaf people communicate, the expressive contact of their eyes and face.  As a few of the actors I was working with were deaf, it made me want to write a love poem about two deaf people declaring their love for each other through their own language of signing… I hope you like it.

SIGNING LOVE

Your fingers are lips

Your arms a ripple of passion

Your mouth moves

And I can hear your silence whisper to me

Your hands are moving so delicately

Like butterflies

Like birds in a bell-jar

You are signing your love for me

And it's beautiful!

Tough

My daughter recently graduated as a textile designer with a first class honours degree and I am so proud of her.  She has since exhibited twice in London and has been invited to a prestigious event in Paris this weekend as one of the top graduates in her field to exhibit there too, plus she has a fantastic opportunity interning for a company in London.  I am really excited for her, and I desperately need to be earning a decent wage to help with the rent of her flat.  However, work at the moment is in short supply, and a troublesome persistent cough has also sent me back to hospital for a chest x-ray.  I’ve lost about a stone in weight in a very short time, but of course it could also be down to stress (I hope so).  So, more hospital appointments, blood tests and so forth.  Life keeps throwing things at me; I get up ready to have another crack at earning a crust, but then something else comes along and kicks me in the face, and I somehow have to struggle to my feet and carry on again.  But I have to admit I feel weary at the moment, weary and tired, and just hope like my friend in hospital for a chink of light.  I so want to be positive for Lucy and be there for her, but in spite of me trying hard to fake it, I’m not great company at the moment.  Life is so bloody tough sometimes. 

Poem Of The Week - Autumn Is Coming

I guess everyone remembers where they were when they heard the terrible news of when two aeroplanes crashed into the world trade centre.  Today of course is the anniversary of that tragic and needless event that made the world a different place and lit the fuse for unimaginable conflict in the Middle East too.  I heard the news from my wife who called me on my mobile while I was walking through Wales with a friend and his dog, tracing the path of the River Severn.  We had to make a diversion for a while, and join the river at a different point, and I can remember clearly how beautiful and breath taking it looked as we suddenly walked through a coppice and began to descend into the valley below, where the sun sparkled on the river and made one feel grateful just to be there and see it.  Sarah rang me from the school where she taught, and said that parents were arriving to pick up their kids telling horrendous stories of a tower or something in America that had been hit by an aeroplane.  Sure enough when we eventually reached a small town and stopped at a pub for some refreshment, the bar was crowded with people staring disbelievingly as those now iconic images of the two planes crashing into the towers were played over and over again.  This is the poem I wrote that night when we arrived at our guest house.

AUTUMN IS COMING

The wind is keen

And the sky is bright and clear

The fields around are as green as Eden

The leaves on the trees in the nearby coppice

Tinkle a dry song

Apprehensive of the coming autumn fall

As I turn the bend over the hill

The river suddenly comes into sight

And it’s beautiful

The sun has dropped diamonds on the surface

And the river dazzles

Takes my breath away

Makes me stop and gaze

And be thankful that I am here

Feeling the wind blow around my head

Hearing the trees whispering their autumn song

Feeling the damp grass

Carpet my way down to the valley floor

To the banks of the flowing river

And I say to myself

Remember this moment

Remember where you are and how you feel

Remember how the wind blows around your head

How the trees sound as they sway slowly in the distance

How the grass feels like a carpet beneath your feet

Remember how normal and unique this moment is

How nature still endures

And surprises us with its magical paint box

Studding a river with jewels

Stopping a man in his tracks

Making him gaze with wonder and gratitude

Remember

For moments like these are as rich and rare

As a pearl rescued from the bottom of a cold, deep sea

Because the world is a different place now

And will never be the same again

Two aeroplanes

Two towers

And the world has changed

From across the sea

Thousands of miles from here

Where the trees whisper

And the wind makes the grass dance

Thousands of miles from here

Where a river in a valley shines like a rope of light

Far from here

Where the landscape breathes peace into the air

Far from here

A City is bleeding

Children are crying

Dust is falling

Their parents are dying

Autumn is coming

Poem Of The Week - It Is Time To Return To The source

 THE RIVER SEVERN POEMS

A series of poems commissioned by BBC Radio 4 in the voice of the River Severn, voiced by Jane Lapotaire for three plays called - Plays Of The Severn, including - A magnificent Prospect Of The Works by Peter, Roberts, Just Another Tunnel by Christopher Denys, and A Little Bit o' Bacon Fat by Martyn Read in December 2000. 

The plays charted the course of Britain's longest river through history and landscape; the voice of the river ran through each play.  The poems were also added to with a journey I later undertook to trace the course of the river from its source to the sea.  So this poem, It Is Time To Return To the Source wasn’t written for any of the plays, but was my personal reflection on walking the length of the Severn, understanding the purpose of a river; and I suppose it could also be seen as a metaphor for how seemingly small insignificant moments in our lives can also be important, and touch others without us even realising it as we all walk inevitably to our journey’s end.

IT IS TIME TO RETURN TO THE SOURCE

It is time to return to the source of the river

To go back to the beginning

Where muddy water bubbles up

through the soggy earth

And trickles its way over stones

worn smooth with the sculptor's soft caress

It is time to trace my way back

To find the meaning of a river

And see how a tiny cut

Bleeds a puddle into a stream,

into a river, into a sea

Here is a journey of patience

The earth has opened a tiny vein

To feed an artery

To fill the heart of an estuary

And breathe life along its way

And I can feel time

calling me back to the source

To see how simple things

can become grand and important

To see how a muddy puddle

can become an ocean

and make a whole planet live.

Poem of the week

I have written a great deal of poetry over the years; some was commissioned for various plays and projects, some were in the form of  poetic text in the body of a play, and some I just wrote because I wanted to.  I’ve kind of given up trying to get them published, and so I thought I may as well just put them out there and see what people think.  So I’ve decided to post a poem every week, and where appropriate include a short paragraph explaining the idea or inspiration, and from then on simply list the collection name.  So here’s the first one from a play called Tango Apocalypso - a book of poetry, commissioned for The Shysters Theatre Company for their play, Tango Apocalypso.  The poetry was there to inspire the action and plot, which was a mixture of mime and dance, and was about 'love' - the poems ranged from romantic to loss, from comic to tragic and everything in-between.  The audience were handed copies of the poetry at each performance.

YOU'VE GONE

You've gone

But you've left your print on my life,

I can hear you laugh through the roar of the traffic

And feel the touch of your hand

In the middle of the night.

I turn over, wandering how you can still touch me

Even though you're gone...

It makes me smile.

Clive Horrobin's Arse

Ain't blogged for a while, but loads has been happening.  I was fortunate enough to get selected from 1600 scripts for the channel 4 screenwriting scheme, and have spent months being mentored together with eleven other writers, and worked with a couple of brilliant script editors, and have spent a while writing and developing a six part drama series called Caring, inspired by work in children's homes.  I also wrote a play called Kidz for an Irish youth theatre, but unfortunately didn't have the funds to go and see it.  But below is the copy for the play...

"We're kids, and kids can be cruel.  We're all competing so much we forget how much harm we do to each other; there's all these rules about who you can be friends with and who's cool and who isn't and how you dress and what music you like and if you're good at sports, and a million other things...  It's tough being a kid, but one day we'll wake up and we'll be older and maybe then we can start getting on with our lives... I hope so anyway, because I've pretty much given up trying to fit in - it's fucking exhausting."

'Tackling weighty issues, including homophobia in schools, risky sexual relationships and bullying, Kidz takes an honest look at the exhausting rituals of growing up:  Painful, poignant, funny and sometimes tragic; a community of young people discover truthes about each other that will change their lives forever.'

I'm working hard at trying to get my work out there still, and pushing my script from channel 4, and I do actually have a meeting coming up with a company that may be interested, but it seems it's tougher than ever at the moment to get produced.  Recently my play, Canned Peaches In Syrup had a reading at the Joint Stock venue in Birmingham and the response was great - loads of laughter throughout and the feedback after was all really very positive.  Tessa Walker was there from Birmingham Rep and asked for a copy of the script; I've been sending stuff there for ages though and never get a response, but maybe this time something might happen?

            I did however, have to return to hospital again recently following quite worrying blood tests, and was subjected to yet more uncomfortable invasive investigations under local aenesthetic.  The consultant who was administering the endoscopy though was hilarious; he and the nurse were trying their best to distract me through the difficult and rather embarassing procedure, and so he asked me what I did for a living.  I told him I had a variety of jobs - a carer in children's homes, writer and actor.  It turned out he was a massive Archers fan, and when he discovered I played the infamous Clive Horrobin he grew quite animated, and so we discussed various Archers storylines and characters while stuck his probe up my bum and took what seemed like endless biopsies.  When he finished, the nurse quipped that he was always on about The Archers, and would probably be talking about this for weeks.  And I could just imagine him at a dinner party: "You'll never guess who's arse I was up last week?"  It doesn't bear thinking about!

            But seriously, the tests were unbearably worrying, given what I had been through, and the wait for results was excrutiating.  All was well in the end, and I was so relieved I went straight out and booked a holiday to Kephalonia; our first holiday abroad for many years, and it was just what we all needed: a restored Venetian house in a little harbour, great snorkelling, swimming, great food, and all with my two most favourite people in the world - my wife and daughter.

            I'm feeling great at the moment, and even helped get the hay in for a local farmer; really strenuous, back-breaking work, lugging bales onto a tractor and loading barns.  But the tests I'm afraid will continue, and I have another hospital appointment looming in the not too distant future.

            So as you can see, my life at the moment is complicated and bloody stressful; my work as a carer is not easy either; they're challenging kids, and sometimes things can kick off; I've found myself for instance running down a dual-carriageway into oncoming traffic, chasing after a girl who wanted to throw herself under a car.  I have also stood in the middle of the same road, stepping out in front of a speeding car that one of our girls had flagged down, and then had to face an angry kid with a steel bar in her hand and talk her down, while getting her to safety at the side of the road.  I've been kicked, punched and swore at, but sometimes I feel I've made a connection with a kid, and that just keeps me turning up for work.  But Christ, it's emotionally draining work, and after a difficult day with a kid with challenging behaviour I do wonder just how long I can keep turning up for shifts.  Be great if the phone would ring soon though, and someone would say - "Just read your script; you're a genius; we want to put your play on and pay you shitloads of dosh!"  Please?