doncopolitan church view writer's anthology.pdf

7/27/2019 Doncopolitan Church View Writer's Anthology.pdf

1/38


2/38


3/38


4/38


5/38

Page 1 - Introduction by Ray Hearne

2 -Are you going to read my letters? by Mick Jenkinson

3 - Birds by Lynne Harrison

4 - Library by Christine Copeman

5 - Have I Got Gnus For You by Phil Sheppard

6 - Rebirth by Dee Ashurst

7 - Burn Backby Miriam Harrison

9 - More Lightby Ray Hearne

10 - The Green Man by Miriam Harrison

12 Habemus ferrum by Warren Draper

13 - Cage by Linda Jones

14 - Menagerie of Imagination by Michael H-Lewis

15 No private information by Mick Jenkinson

16 Beastly Machines by Diane Rout

17 - Lines inspired by the Terry Chipp Exhibition by Lynne Harrison

18 - The Incredible House on the Hill by Phil Sheppard

20 - Mosquitos defence. by Linda Jones

22 - Past Brodsworth (For Terry Chipp) by Mick Jenkinson23 Cutting Out Books by Phil Sheppard

24 -Anthracite under the Skin by Michael H-Lewis

25 - Pan Emergent: An Ode to Wood Smoke (& The Telling) by Warren Draper

26 Hookedby Ray Hearne

27 There's A Whisperby Linda Jones

28 - Wild Mountain Thyme by Ray Hearne

30 - Credits


6/38


7/38

The Church View Writers Group was conceived in summer 2012 out ofdiscussions between Doncaster Central Development Trust, Signposts writingproject, and some visual artists from the New Fringe who felt that Doncasterslatest cultural renaissance needed the addition of a literary thread to help pull adeveloping vision together more thoroughly.

Signposts has now been reborn as Writing Yorkshire and the group, whichestablished itself in autumn 2012 has taken firm root. We have twenty membersin total, coming from all corners of the borough, to meet on a monthly basis.Usually there are ten to a dozen of us around the table, reading out our work andtrying to improve our own sense of what makes good writing and how we mightourselves get nearer to it.

People bring along their poems and stories of every kind and complexion.Occasionally we devise a live writing session where we challenge ourselves towrite on the spot on some randomly agreed subject. Intimidating but strangelyexhilarating, if youre that sort!

And we have room for others. For you if you fancy putting into written wordsthat tale or that experience that needs recording. Or if you just want to hear thelatest in whats happening in poetry, story-telling, spoken word and sometimes

even song, in this bit of the of the world.

Heres where we meet. The one hundred years old, sumptuously refurnishedground floor of the Church View building.

If you want to know more contact Ray Hearne on 07903241947. Or [email protected]

Ray Hearne 23/10/2013


8/38

Are you going to read my letters?

Are you going to read my letters

Save them, keep them close to your heart?

Will they mean as much at their journeys end

As the significance I struggle to give them at the start?

Would you snatch them off the mat

Sneak off to read them in the loo?

The better to remain undisturbed

I have an idea that is what true lovers would do?

Will you hold them to your face

Seek out remnant traces of me?

Like the scent of ambered perfume I can

Conjure by closing my eyes, its your image I see

Where were we with each other?

Is it my sweet love or best regards?

Theres a message to be concluded here

Can a complicit glance be contained in ordinary words?

And so, imbued with hope and dreams

I drop them in the pillar box

Will any of that charm remain intact

At their journeys end when they arrive in your letterbox?

Mick Jenkinson


9/38

Birds

Our feathered friends of all colours and sizes

Parenthood, nurturing, they use all devices

Their beauty, flight and construction of nest

Would challenge us humans if put to THAT test

Birds are our winged amis, both clean and clever

Instinct and know-how inspires them forever

Some flightless ones are Emperors or Kings

Procreation and survival, are their lifes main things

Have respect for our chums in the sky

Sing in the mornings, hunt, live and die

Nature is wonderful, birds teach us a lot

Eggs hatch, some feed us, coq au vin or omelette

Lynne Harrison


10/38

Library

Such a fusty dusty smell but I am in my element. I onlymoved in about two weeks ago - never been disturbed.I know every nook, crevice and splinter and I have beenintrigued by the knots in the old wooden shelving andlittle worm holes.

The persistent ticking of the clock, the echo of theheavy wooden doors with the resounding sound of the

broad metal latch dropping took a while to get used to.

It is eerily quiet this 1950s building considering howmany people visit, hushed voices interrupted bysomeone of authority who takes it upon themselves tostamp on every book that disappears and re-appears onthe shelves below.

As long as this authoritarian does not get a ladder up tomy abode I will be fine, a flick of a duster and my webwill be destroyed.

Christine Copeman


11/38

Have I Got Gnus For You

The gnuIn a canoeSaid "I love you".Gnu

Number twoSaid "Shoo!"The gnu

Felt blue.

Phil Sheppard


12/38

Rebirth?

Long gone is the fear of 'Old Nick' appearing overyour vain shoulder as you sit in front of the mirrortesting the fluttering false eyelashes and bright greenlipstick.

Now you can sit and do nothing for as long as youlike, alone and peacefully knowing that the devil won't'make use of idle hands'.

You can go to bed long after eight oclock with noconcerns about Wee Willie Winky shouting throughthe letter box.

You can jump straight into your warm bed withouthaving to firstly kneel on the rabbit -skin rug with"Hands together eyes closed" shivering your waythrough those 'God bless everybodys'.

You can listen to the Sunday afternoon SalvationArmy band on your own without having to Stopfidgiting and sing up".

You can enjoy your porridge with a thick layer of sugaras well as treacle on top pick Yorkshire puddings upwith your fingers eat with your elbows on the tableand peg your clothes on the line with more than two

pegs on each item if you want to.

You can happily live your life on your own and enjoythe contentment. . .

but I'd love her ghost to visit me sometimes!

Dee Ashurst


13/38

Burn Back

Sharp focused through the shardOf shattered glass,A little scorching burnCaused the soft peat loamTo smoulder with resentmentAt being used as mere kindlingFor the holocaust to come.Ignition spark to witheredParched, tinder dry,Snuff brown bracken,Gathers into a searing sheet of wild ruin,Which races and rages-

Sweeping away the old historyOf the hillside-With ruthless devastationAnd incandescent purity.Devouring the redundantOvergrown, useless chokingDebrisOf past seasons,IntoHeaps of blackened ash.But,

Sieving through the embersThat lie in shifting, siftingDrifts,Fragile as scattered gossamer,The tide turning wind sighsAs it gently caressesThe scorched earth,Its breath carryingThe pungent green perfumeThat scents of new growth.Then feel the spirit stirring,

Surging again withSuch eager singing needTo be reborn,Renewed.To inhabit the fire freedSpace.Seizing its momentTo burst throughAnd live.

Miriam Harrison


14/38


15/38

More Light

Ten or eleven Id have beenEvery night we played out on the streetsUp, down and back on our push-bikesFull of victory tales and defeats

The sun must have been slowly sinkingWe paid no attention or gorm

When a bobby stepped into our visionLike a beekeeper into the swarm

Youve got no lights on your bikes ladsIts half past eight, and its darkI shall have to report you, Im sorryHis bite rankled worse than his bark

He went through our names and addressesAnd wrote them all down in his bookThen he left us to stew in our juicesWalked off without even a look

We werried and fretted and sweatedWhat would my dad say and do?Id churned myself into a tackinWhen some headlights bloomed into view

A works van stopped by the causeyMy dad was prostrate in the backThe trench had collapsed and a boulderHad fractured his knee with a crack

What happened between us and the bobbyWas something or nothing and goneAnd we never received any summonsThe bugger was having us on.

Ray Hearne


16/38

The Green Man

Older than time,

The Green Man stares out through stag wild eyes,

Feral, free, full of the watchful knowing

Of his wicker-woven world,

And the cycles of his dominion.

Verdant shooting fronds of fecund green

Form and frame his sacred space,

Bursting forth from his tomb, his womb

Cloaked in dank, decaying vegetation

That cradled and nourished his dark hibernation,

The guardian of the green world awakes.

Natures promise renewed.

He sheltered me as if I had true worth,

Treasured me

Protected me, under the all-embracing canopy

Of his love.

A weaveworld of whispering leaves

Where I, like the parasitic mistletoe

Idly passed by some careless bird,

Knitted and entwined myself

With urgent, needy greediness,

Cupping into his barky shield of skin,

Where the pulsing green vein of rising sap

Fed and sustained me as he held me safe,

My pale smoothness pleasing him.

So we intertwined, warped and wefted

Weaving and leaving our unique pattern

On the loom of life.


17/38

We followed the seasons as naturally as breathing,

The joyful exuberance of our springtime promise,

Pledging our lives in careless heedlessness.

Summer's extravagant, glorious excesses

Of blossom laden branches

Coyly hiding new life secrets beneath

The pretty, frilly flirtiness of their ruffled skirts.

The abundant autumn came bouncing

With rich ripened fruitfulness,

But

Your stag eyes were now dark and moist,

Reflecting the reservoir of ancient waters,

For the harvest is in, the leaves have fallen

And nature waits for you.

For her eternal cycle, innately wise, cannot be broken,

So you plunge, descend,

Embedded deep

Into your winters grave,Reconnecting you with the primal essence of your source,

Lie fallow and regenerate again in the deep earth magic,

Dying to be born again.

But as the world mourns its hunter gatherer lord

Your leafless tree

Standing stark as a crucifix

Against the brooding backdrop of the sky,

Hosts the bright beaked black bird,

Keeper of the gate,

And a bush of burgeoning mistletoe,

White, waxen berries,

Pearly in the misty dawn,

Shine on to greet again

The once and future King.

Miriam Harrison


18/38

Habemus ferrum

Of former world and future,

The crimson in the vein,

Celestial corpse reborn in blood,

Destined to die again.

Warren Draper


19/38

Cage

Threatening grey skies the mountainous clouds bloom and spread. Still theres no relief from thesultry heat.

Trapped in my darkened room I can only wait. From my window I despair at the pulsing raindrilling patterns on the dry earth below. Water gushes over road and path, a pond now where onlya few minutes ago a child laughed and played.

Flashes of blue so fast they deceive the eye... until the booms of thunder roll across the skyechoing and echoing... A river cascades down the hill ebbing and flowing over kerb and grass,forming an instant barricade. Frustrated my fingers itch to take up their work. No light nomachine, all life has ceased.

Except...

Astonished I stare up through the teeming rain, to see tiny bodies darting and swooping, climbinghigher and higher. The sky above the house is now a melee of wings and tails, weaving in and out,as though the thunder and flashing strikes were of no consequence!

The skies are truly theirs for the taking.

And I caught in my brick and glass cage, with my nose pressed firmly to the pane can only watchand wonder.

Linda Jones


20/38

Menagerie of Imagination

Bolted, Wired and welded.

Moulded, Manipulated and melded.

Discarded, Ditched, tossed away everyday items.

One Citizens rubbish anothers riches.

Kinetic, Metaphysical, Metamorphic, Mechanical Menagerie.

Michael H-Lewis


21/38

No private information

Unwarranted government surveillance,

Said Sir Tim Berners Lee,Is an intrusion on our basic rightsA threat to our democracy.

Theyre checking your digital footprintOn Menworth Hill and GCHQ.You always were the private type,But oh, the stuff they know about you!

Dont confuse the needle with the haystack.You have nothing to hide, no need to watch your back.Big brothers little brother has a message thats clear:You dont need to know that hes already here.

Phone, text, search or chatEach digital interactionCollected, collated, searched and storedTo the intense satisfaction

Of the gravitational pullfor the clear security justification

to achieve total surveillance:there is no private information.

Your emails are in a file with a graph ofWhat you like to buy, your taste, your style.On your solitary walks, your meditation,The GPS has your location.

So dont get caught where you did not ought,Or keep inappropriate political views

Share any inconvenient truthOr be found wearing dead mans shoes

All of the signals all of the time,In 2008 was the challenge, the betThe implications grow ever more profound

Now the spooks have mastered the internet

Michael Jenkinson October 2013


22/38

BEASTLY MACHINES

"This is a beastly machine," she cried, slamming her fist down on the table."One minute it works, the next........well ya know wot I mean."She turned to her husband who was busy reading the newspaper."Are you listening to me?" she snapped, ready to throw something at him if he kept on ignoringher."When are you gonna fix it?"All she got in reply was a grunt and a rustling of paper. For a couple of minutes all that was heardwas tap tap, click click, then,"Wot the hell is wrong with this thing!"Calmly but with trepdition he asked,"Have you changed the batteries?"

He didn't need to see to know the look she was directing at the back of his head. The clicking andtapping began again.

He was looking forward to a calm and relaxing evening in front of the telly after his busy day atwork. As he stepped into the hallway, his wife was coming through the kitchen door."That hoover is a beastly machine," she complained, "it just conked out halfway doin' thevacuumin'. You'll have to fix it."Sighing, he asked, "Did you empty it first?"The flat look she gave him sent him scurrying up the stairs.

He was enjoying his meal in peace and quiet until his wife piped up,

"That washer is a beastly machine. I only got half the bedding done before it packed up. You'regonna be busy this weekend fixing that.""Did you shut the door proply?" he asked.A disgusted tut was all the answer he got as she collected the dinner plates and headed into thekitchen.

He was rivetted to the evening sports when his wife came through into the lounge. She plonkedherself down on the settee sighing,"This is a beastly machine. I've tried downloadin songs onto it but it won't have it.""Did you use the right connecting wire?" he asked.Another sigh and a louder tut greeted his question. She headed out the room into the study.

That weekend as he ate his breakfast wondering what to fix first, he had a brainwave. A few hourslater back at home he stood in the middle of the lounge holding a remote control. As his wifestepped into the room he clicked a button on the remote."She does everything you could ever want doing." he grinned,"No batteries to change, no fiddly wires, repairs herself. Now that is wot I call a BEASTLYMACHINE."

Diane Rout


23/38

Lines inspired by the Terry Chipp Exhibition

Brevon Art

1 October 2013

Faces in places

Spirits to oversee

Ward off evil

Squint and see

Lamplight, sunlight, moonlight shines

Night and darkness hide, outline defines

Boats may be boring in shadow and shade

Sunlight with hew, fire and glory invade

Blue is cold

Theres warmth in gold

Red is warm

But ALL have charm

Jigsaws, shapes, spaghetti junctions and mazes

The Dancers move and rest tho still

Knots and twines are drawn but real

Mixed emotions one can feel

Moonlight casts its silvery beam

On the field and lonely barn

Clumps of leaves form a dark cloud

The chill of night becomes a shroud

Lynne Harrison


24/38

The Incredible House on the Hill

Up on a hillSurrounded by waterLives a man and his wifeAnd his son and his daughter

The house he builtIs all they needTo eat, to drink, to love, to liveTo live the lives they lead

The roof gathers heatFrom the sun and its light

That keeps the house warmThrough the cold of the night

And for their morning showersThe sun comes out againTo heat up all the waterThats collected from the rain

Pipes twist and turnCollecting all the airTo power up the vacuum

And dry the daughters hair

On the hillside eating grassIs a chicken and a cowAnd a horse thats always readyTo pull the farmyard plough

To plough the earth and soilOn the side of the hillFor the vegetables they grow thereAnd the corn for the windmill

The windmill makes the flourTo make the daily breadThe cows milk makes the butterThey grow fruit to make the spread


25/38

Wind turns turbinesAnd the cogs in-betweenThat put the shave in his shaverThe wash in the washing machine

And the washing machines waterDoesnt go to wasteIts used on the vegetables(It doesnt change the taste!)

And when its time for bed againAgain here comes the night

The suns power is used again, againAgain they use its light

The man looks out his windowAt the sea, the stars, the skyHe cannot help but wonderWonder why, why, why, why, why...

Why did they not listen?Why did they not see?Why did they not listen?

To what he said would be?

Up on a hillSurrounded by waterLives a man and his wifeAnd his son and his daughter

Phil Sheppard


26/38

Mosquitos defence.

It was in courtroom three that the trial resumed

The centaur crying order, from the bench,

Wave that tool at me again young cow

Itll be thistle stew for your lunch.

But Centaur Sir, the pig lawyer replied

Our case has gone array,

That pesky villain bit my wings

So now I cannot fly!

Without young dog alive to tell his tale

The case it will not stand

And both Gnus in canoe have fled

I fear defeat is at hand.

Enough excuse. The Centaur exclaimed.

Bring forth the villain to me.Mosquito, I ask you one more time

Explain this sickness if you please.


27/38

Now Centaur what crime can I possibly havedone

When all I did was to eat

The tiniest bite a lick with a suck?

Really it is not clear to me what you seek.

What defence can you offer your client Thrush?

Roars the centaur, his horn all aflame.

Why none, he replies from his motorised chair,

His whole family are doing the same.

So your guilt you admit then the sentence is clear.

Honey Bee will declare to the court now.

To be buzzed straight from here and squashedunder hoof,

With immediate effect by the cow.

From the ceiling the pig takes a bow to the court

While the centaur cries And how high the score?

Oh sir that was only case one hundred and seven

Left with nine trillion seven million one hundredand four.

Linda Jones


28/38

Past Brodsworth (For Terry Chipp)

It starts with a tightening of the throatPrickling of the skin of my scalpAnd the hairs tangibly on endAlong the back of my arms and neckI am re-living with sensory overloadMy Gran tugging at my coatPulling me against the windAlong the Roman Ridge

Before the railways marked the land

Before the mines reconstructed our domainGo back and back as far as you dareTo see what then was thereThrough famine, plague and floodThrough affluence and plentyIncursion and invasionThe slow collecting together of what we are

This is where it beganWhere they paused and they observed

The crossing of the river and the lie of the landAnd they put down tentative rootsFashioned shelter and protectionBrought their children, gods and animalsInto this valleyThat we now call home

I must have looked so very confusedBut she was patient and persistentLook out past Brodsworth towards those moorsAlong the lines of those treesThe ebb and swell of that ancient terrainYou will see traces and remains of what made usIn the light down the valley, the air above the fieldsAnd the prints of your shoes

Mick Jenkinson


29/38

Cutting Out Books

Phil Sheppard


30/38

Anthracite under the Skin

Blast from the Scary past.

How long could it last?

Bland yet filling cake.

Stork topping, no sugar to bake.

An emotional reminder in Village.

Remembrances of 80`s Rape n Pillage.

Soup Kitchen lasses said it all.

Glee club comeback, curtain call.

A joy, a pleasure to recall.

Rachel`s performance, Massive! Yet small.

Brought back thoughts of Relatives plight.

Strife, Hunger, Cold, yet shoulder to shoulder in the Fight.

Injustice and Destruction, the name of the game.

Back in power, nothings changed, policies causing pain.

Play of days of old, about Yorkshire folk.

Blood sweat and tears, Industrial chime smoke.

Coal! Under the skin, in lung, vein and blood.

A river of Anger n Hate still runs, So it should.

Michael H-Lewis


31/38

Pan Emergent: An Ode to Wood Smoke (& The Telling)

There are some truths which can only be glimpsed by firelight.Shadows hold the secret of the void.

Tungsten, Halogen, Neon,

Reveal nothing of the darkness

She must be embraced in order to be understood.

/Through the smoke, and embers, and the sting of burning green ash

I see him.

Goat. God. Man.

His odour is my fear midwife to my prayers:

Oh Prophet of the pastures. Prince of Arcadia. Lord of the lingam.Hairy, hoary, horny, piper at the gate.

Deliver us from these crowded places, and return to us your sweet ahuman dreams.

Warren Draper


32/38

Hooked

Pulling on the woolly rope of a flying-boat rideI am rolling the penny of childhood memory backTo the Crown field, to the fair at WhitsuntideSky is a treasure chest in the nights black

Heaven is onions frying on an outdoor panBlending in the stench of generator fumesAnd Im flying higher than Ill ever think I canThe petalled earth beneath the moment blooms

Upside down above a waltzer carSeeing what Id have seen if I had lookedSomewhere between the Jockey* and the Star*That duck Ill always miss, Ive gone and hooked

*Two pubs in Rawmarsh near the Crown field wherewe lived in our caravan!

Ray Hearne


33/38

Theres A Whisper

Theres a whisper on the wind, things can change.

Road encircling, life improving: freedom found?

Tarmac black the lines in rude monotony range,

Toward the myriad concrete isles cut wholly round.

Without a thought the shop in mindless haste exchanged,

Speeding past the busy street tyres used to pound.

Theres a whisper on the wind, things might change.

Road encircling life improving: freedom found?

Childish chalk the art on footpaths new found slate,

Absent fumes, a prize in boundless measure applauds.

Soaring price a hope of cold pecuniary fate,

A landlords venture first time buyer can ill afford.

Theres a whisper on the wind, things will change,


Lingering drink no fractious warden to berate,

New found choice the gift in empty bays renewed.

Boarded shops in dole-full silence stand and wait,

Watch the lines to tarmac black and market queue.

Theres a whisper on the wind things have changed.


Linda Jones


34/38

Wild Mountain Thyme

Outside my grannys cottageOn the Waterford RoadIm introduced to PattysHusband, Uncle Sean

Tall, lean and broodingAn awful quiet fellah

With a look of the cocksure cowboyThe good one who saves the day

A hedgerow of hair toppingThat skelped back and sidesLeather jacket hanging openAnd hands wide as my eyes

Hands a tomcat could inhabitHuge enough to hoistUp a bewildered nephew

Into bird-merry air

With a step, a swoop and a yankIm lifted in flightTo the chesty-nasal honkOf his mighty delight

And everything in mes acrackleThe seamless squeal of the longMoment not even frayingWhen Patty says Sean, thats enough

And abruptly in the way Ive learned sinceThat a song needs to feelIts own feet, I amGrounded abruptly again


35/38

And grown up attention restoredTo the matter in focusSeans celebrated motor-bikeMotionless there on its stand

Maverick handlebars aslantCylinder, gasket or piston ring

Something or other has conkedAnd he needs it at home to fix

We watch as his mate with a tractorArrives they hook up a trailerAnd Sean single-handedlyHeaves the bike on to the back

Youre a big strong man Uncle SeanIm reckoned to have said.

When I sang at your grave-side SeanI was twining that very same thread.

Ray Hearne


36/38

Signposts (Writing Yorkshire)

Doncaster Central Development Trust

Doncopolitan

Special Thanks to:

Warren Draper

Ray Hearne

Michael Hinks-Lewis

Copyright : each writer featured in this anthology asserts their right to be

identified as the author of their own work in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Anyone seeking to reproduce

works featured in this anthology (in full or in part) should seek the

permission of each relevant author.


37/38


38/38

doncopolitan church view writer's anthology.pdf

Documents