Wednesday 25 November 2009

Strictly


by Diane Langford

Oh sea, last week you moved so beautifully

Your kicks and flicks impressed at first

But in reality it was your partner, Wind,

Who was doing all the work

I see that now

You need to lift up more

And show us your wild side

Especially in the jive

From me you get a five

Sky, I notice you are overdressed again

The lightness you exhibited last time has gone

You really must stay clear to look your best

Focus, dear, for heaven’s sake

Your Latin was appalling

All over the place

You were close to falling down

A four is all I can award

Moon, what an improvement you have made

I loved your beaming smile

You were exhuberant, You radiate

You went the extra mile

Produced a stunning foxtrot

For which I give you eight

Stars, you disappoint

Where was your twinkle?

We thought we could rely on you

To bring a bit of glamour to the show

Buck up, don’t hide your glow

Come out and show the others how

I’ll give you four for now

Trees, your new outfit is nice

But I’m not sure that orange is your colour

The green was more becoming in my view

The same old problem, trees, still needs more work

You are too wooden

Is that a bird’s nest in your hair?

You just stand there

while Breeze dances all round you

Trying to please

You cannot fool the judges, trees,

A two

Sun, Moon totally eclipsed you on the night

You’ll have to brighten up your act

To get another nine

You’ve got to rise and shine, Sun

Last week your Tango was divine

What happened to your warmth and passion?

After such a weak rendition you get five

And now it’s down to folks at home

Will it be Sea, or Sky, or Moon, or Stars?

Will Trees rise up the leader board?

Will Sun be in or out?

It’s up to you

We hope you liked our little show

Pick up the phone and let us know

Friday 17 July 2009

Belonging by Fiona Thomson

Belonging



L

LG

LGB

LGBTQ

LGBTQU

Everyone But Heterosexuals, EBH, that’s better.




Fiona Thomson

July 17 2009

Wednesday 15 July 2009

Grief by Fiona Thomson

GRIEF

Droplets of ink not tears fall in pools around.
I wade to the shimmering bank, scramble up, drop down into the sand.

When I awake at first light a gentle breeze is dusting the clouds and I shiver with someone walking over my grave.

I tread the beach towards the place I call home and am scooped up with the first flight of swallows swooping and arcing, tempting summer from under hedgerows, through cobwebs.

I look back at my inky trail, the blot moulded in the landscape.
A big fat baby seagull pads alongside bearing witness to my tattooed grains of truth.

Yet blank page expression.

Sheets of white blowing in the wind not a trace or stain of anything that might have been, that was, that is.

Scrunched up as small as small can be tight in the bottom of the cupboard.
Sssshhh, don’t make a sound, don’t breathe a word.
How long will it be before they come looking for me?

Inhale exhale to the place you can breathe out no more.
That place is a space, a church for lost souls, harbour for storm beaten sailors, where children play and are touched through love.

Cheer up hen it might never happen.
It already has.

Fiona Thomson, 23May, 2009

Thursday 9 April 2009

A poem in memory of a much-missed group member and friend

Disembarkation ~ Frankie Green
(for Jackey)

I return to the place
you gave me
and walk the stony shore alone.
Along the bone-bleak beach
beads fall through my fingers,
clicking like shingle under the waves
worrying at the water’s edge.
How quickly the birds vanish
over the jade sea,
and a life ebbs away on the outgoing tide. 

Like all deaths,
it takes and gives
and cannot be borne
and somehow is.

 But now here you are coming up the road on your bicycle
in a bright blue waterproof, old leather shopping bag
slung over the handlebars.
Just off up the high street to do your messages.
We’ll have a coffee then,
sit on the sea wall
reminiscing about the Red Spider Café,
talking about learning 

how presence and absence, joy
and grief, come no longer to be
two sides of the proverbial coin
but the coin itself wears as thin
as a fabric whose warp and weft combine.
The line between dissolves so
wakes and weddings, birthing and dying,
sand and rock, bone and ash,
fresh water and salt
running into each other
with life’s long alchemy
might  be one
and the same, the same.

May Homework

Homework for May, as its a Bank Holiday, we'll meet on the second Monday - at Church Hall in Argyle Road, Whitstable
Title - Waitress Service - 500 words max



Tuesday 31 March 2009

Writing Exercises and notes

Don’t be intimidated by text.

Text is text is text…some people think all text is just stuff  - words – that are there for our enjoyment – it doesn’t matter whether it’s Proust,  Mills and Boon or a Sun headline.

Be alert to language –it’s all around you…

Signs around Whitstable -Trendy Fascias – notice on a dilapidated boarded up wall -– Naturism will not be condoned on this beach –  Note the context – A stranger may be puzzled by ‘off licence’ and ‘free house.’ -

Creative headlines – Gotcha – Beeb man sits on Lesbian –

Local headlines – Vicar Gives Birth, Picture

 

LESS IS MORE

Condensed ideas? Single words and phrases:

Telling stories, describing, labelling, listing, explaining

Metaphors – images – conveying emotions – loneliness – conveyed in words, poetry, or in a piece of art such as the work of Edward Hopper – desolate scenes, angst.

Words are at your command like any other ‘material’ – twisted, changed, cut, shaped.

Representation of concrete materials or vague thoughts --Jargon or clichĂ© can be used creatively too – IRONY – eg. Sadie’s postcards,

‘Russell Brand – Wanna see some Cellulite?’

 

Using quotes: Elizabeth Jolley, Self Portrait: A Child Went Forth.

 

There was a child went forth every day

And the first object he looked upon and

Received with wonder or pity

Or love or dread, that object he became…Whitman

 

Her opening sentence:

When I was seventeen I sold my doll and all her little frocks and coloured knitted things.

 

Paula Fox’s memoir, Borrowed Finery.

“After so long grief, such nativity!` – The Comedy of Errors.

Def: nativity: birth, esp. place, conditions, circumstances of birth.

 

Her first sentence:

When I was seventeen, I found a job in what was then downtown Los Angeles in a store where dresses were sold for a dollar each.

 

Fact or Fiction?

AUTOBIOGRAPHY – the fiction – what is ‘true’?  Dramatising and shaping material. Writing from the self – ‘I only use material that can be imaginatively transformed’ Elizabeth Jolly said. ==Self Portrait; Writing from the Self; Life Writing. Similar language to painting and drawing ‘from life.’

Universal experience; something others can relate to. Making something private into something universally understood and recognisable.

 

POINT OF VIEW - Third person – omnipotent view – as seen through the eye of God, - Diane went here and there. She did this, she did that…

First person, I went there and there, I did this or that

 

WRITERS VOICE – the inner voice -

Distancing – thinking of yourself as a character in a story

Finding ‘The other’ within yourself – you at different ages –

Reading old letters or diaries – it’s as if they were written by a different person.

 

SUPER OBJECTIVE – ‘What’s my motivation, Mr De Mille?’

Stanislavsky – over-riding compulsion or desire – finding peace of mind --

Or perhaps a burning ambition of some kind – or protecting your child – getting recognition of some kind…

 

Exercises:

 

Try to keep writing. If you can, keep your pen on the page, don’t look up…if you get stuck, try repeating the same word or phrase until you’re unstuck.

 

Finding your own writing voice:

Write down your earliest memories of learning writing and reading. Take a couple of minutes to reflect. [10 mins]

 

Finding ‘the other’ inside yourself. Thinking of yourself as a character in a story.

Write about yourself at different ages – don’t forget it doesn’t have to be ‘true’ – imagine you are a character in a story.

at  5 yrs; 15 yrs; 35 yrs – these are arbitrary ages at intervals, you can choose different ones if you like, e.g. 35 – 45 - 65

What did you feel intensely about? What was your super-objective?

Who did you talk to most? An imaginery friend?

Describe a place where you felt comfortable and safe? List all the things in the room, the light and colour, smells and sounds.

[5 mins for each segment = 15 mins]

 

Take a part of the body of interst at the moment and make a list of random

Associations - e.g. eyes - windows; lashes tears. [5 mins]

Write a short piece about this body part has changed over the years. [5 mins]

 

Write a love letter or poem to a despised or unsatisfactory body part?

Sometimes it helps to start by making a list.

[10 mins]

 

Point of View

Things that happened to you or your family – ‘The time when…’ e.g. The man upstairs died on New Years Eve when we were having a racous party….

Make a shortlist of stories, choose your favourite.  Get into pairs.

Tell it to your neighbour. Relate the story you have been told by your neighbour in the first person, as if it happened to you.

If you found this exercise useful you could follow it up,in your own time by inventing a character to tell the story. 

Monday 23 March 2009

Tribute to Tillie Olsen

Nine Eleven 2007 -

Remembering Tillie Olsen - Date of a celebration of her life and work hosted by the Feminist Press in New York after she died a few days short of her 95th Birthday

 

You gave out flyers on the streets

The Universal Declaration

Of Human Rights

Your credo

Your work made art out of our lives

YONNONDIO

 Broke the silence

 

You raged at all Official lies

Pretend Parental Guidance

‘How to survive a nuclear attack’

No child would walk home after that!

Your working class attire placed you - outside the pack

What could you wear - among the capped and gowned?

You were the only one

Confronting pompous polymath - John Kenneth Galbraith

Who told a seminar, Lord of the Flies confirms

human cruelty is innate

You’re wrong Sir,

Young kids are caring, that’s their natural state

He glowered but you were resolute

 

Your manuscript was in the trash

Consigned by learned schmucks

‘Who wants to read about a woman ironing?’

Retrieved, by chance, and published to acclaim -

You said, No writer’s work should have to trust to luck

 

The tragedy of everyday existence, Your spur to write and rage and agitate

When you felt dementia loom, you struggled to make sense

A slip of paper later turned up in the mail

A long howl to your dead parents

Help! Please come and find me, I’m in jail

 

Still you clung to your identity

Telling others losing memory

Never forget You’re a human being, that’s the truth

Your daughter placed your books upon your knee

And held you in her arms tenderly

She sang the songs you taught her in her youth

We shall overcome, I dreamt I saw Joe Hill last night

Recited Whitman Our beloved Dead