NOVIOMAGUS REGINORUM

The most recent Leeds Savages writing session had the rather improbable topic of 'Chichester Fortescue'...!  Wikipedia informed me that the Right Honorable Mr Fortescue was actually a 19th century politician, but this didn't exact inspire me, so I instead wrote a short poem which is arguably 50% on topic given that it's based on growing up in Chichester.

Unfortunately tonsil troubles meant that I didn't get to hear any of my fellow Savages efforts to tackle the topic, but am hoping that some might have found their way onto the forum at www.leedssavage.com  as it never fails to amaze me how such a broad range of works springs out of each topic. There are some truly talented people in the group (definitely not including myself in this category - would instead define myself as 'rusty!') so it's definitely worth checking out the website. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll add it to your favourites....

Now, on to the rhyming.....!

NOVIOMAGUS REGINORUM

 

We often felt this was no place to be young

A haven for the blue rinsed but no hotbed of fun

We didn’t care for the long dead Romans

Their renowned walls and their feted gates

All we longed for was a bit of excitement

To travel on roads which were far less straight.

 

Not a second glance as we danced past the Arundel tomb

Upon which Larkin mused about love

To the choir stalls where we’d gossip and scheme

With little thought for the big man above.

 

Outside we’d congregate around the Cross

Where for 500 years our forebears had been meeting

Little did we appreciate the yet unrevealed truth

That the freedom of youth would be fleeting.

 

We’d bemoan the fact that there was nowhere to go

Unless tearooms and charity shops were your style

The nearest nightclub was a tipsy bus ride away

The nearest multiplex many a mile.

 

Most of us never grew into the ill-fitting

blazers bought to serve 5 years of school

Hitched our skirts bum-cheek high in an attempt to project

The slightest semblance of cool.

 

And most of our days were idyllic

Though at the time we hadn’t a clue

How precious were happiness, health, the freedom to build

The very foundations of You.

 

Until dark times taught us that the cards we are dealt

Are not always the ones we’d choose

Reality sets in and childhood is cast

Away like yesterday’s news;

In that time, in that place, in the history we made

We learned that life is built from light and shade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being not at all cool at least a decade ago....

 

Lurgy and Turkey

I’m in the process of recovering from a bout of one of those stomach bugs that strikes without warning and provides an uninvited detox, a ruthlessly efficient purge of the system to put any health kick to shame. The house reeks of the delightful combination of bleach and febreeze with which I’ve doused every inch in the hope of eliminating all traces of the traumas recently passed. Solid food is making a hesitant but welcome return and with it energy and the ability to stay awake for more than an hour.

Fortunately the lurgy didn’t strike until Thursday, so I was able to make this week’s Leeds Savages writing meet. I hadn’t managed to complete anything on theme (‘A New Start’ being the topic of choice, and one on which I have more than a few ideas that i’ll try to put to paper soon), however the five minute writing task at the beginning of the meet resulted in the following random little piece – the subject was ‘It was cold’ and inspired a variety of weird and wonderful stories and poems. This effort is neither but quite fun!

IT WAS COLD in the gloom

Of the ice encrusted tomb

Where Boris came to take his final rest

Frozen with claustrophobic fear

Too bitter to shed a tear

Or voice the horror in his increasingly icy breast.

Only yesterday morn at the crack of dawn

He’d been running ‘round without a single care

A quick wring of his collar and Boris was a goner

And soon they’d plucked him bare.

He always knew it was his duty

As a much vaunted thirty pound beauty

To come to such a tragic Shakespearian fate

And come December’s winter chill

He’d inevitably be topping the bill

The prize turkey on the honoured Christmas plate.

Not at all autobiographical.... (hmmmm)

A light hearted piece written for the most recent Leeds Savages writing group meeting...


'Me, My Sofa and I'

Top of Form

The rain beating outside made her feel
That staying in was really no big deal
Why pound the sodden streets in uncomfortable clothes
When you could be living vicariously through TV dating shows
Come Sunday's early hours no better place
Than wrapped in a duvets warm embrace
As she pondered the quizzes in Heat Magazine
She tried to convince herself that this was living the dream
Trying not question whether she was onto a winner
Living it up with a microwave dinner
But slowly crept upon her a nagging fear
That if it continued like this where would she be in a year?
If only she had a crystal ball to see
If she was building an inevitable destiny
Of no boyfriends, no parties, no semblance of fun
But online bingo, a dozen cats, less social life than her mum
She didn't want the epitaph when she came to die
To read  'True friends to the end, Me my sofa and I'

So the following weekend she lovingly polished her finest dancing shoes
Invited all her contacts out for a night of gossip and booze
Come 2am when by habit she’d be curled up snug in bed
She was downing shots and trying to ignore the swimming in her head
And at 3am outside Chicken Cottage crying into cheesy chips
Her paralytic friends were offering sage advice whilst thinking 'get a grip'
Sunday morning texts flew to and fro, filling in the gaps
That somehow she’d managed to almost forget, a convenient memory lapse
A cigarette burn in her favourite dress, an empty wallet and blistered feet
Her favourite shoes and dignity discarded on some unknown city street
Her appetite for a more exciting night, and her liver more than sated
By an experience she wouldn’t rush to revisit; living it up was clearly overrated
So when the next Saturday came round she decided there was no shame
In admitting that clubbing was really not her game
Ten years ago she’d have carved up the floor
But now she didn’t care who thought her a bore
Alcopops and sticky floors could never contend
Now she’d found the recipe for the perfect weekend
And she couldn’t care less if her gravestone read ‘She loved pinot, pyjamas, trash tv
But not the company of me, my sofa and I, but my sofa, my friends and me.’

A couple of poems

I've not been writing much in the way of short stories recently -whether this is due to a lack of time, the absence of inspiration or sheer laziness isn't quite clear.... Probably a combination of all of the above.

I have however written a number of poems for writing group tasks - here's a couple which were inspired by the topics 'Before and After' and 'Invisible'.


BEFORE AND AFTER

Before
 
The sun shone down
In an illusion of summer
A cool coastal breeze caressing bare arms
Palm to palm, fingers fused
No words.

Silent communication
From smile to smile
Knowledge shared, perfect understanding
This is it, you, me, us
Forever.
 
Airplane trails in the sky
The distant sound of children’s laughter
A discordant ice cream symphony
Other lives, other worlds
Spinning round
 
But I am here with you
In this time, in this place
Cocooned in the safety of impenetrable belonging
In your certain presence
In your certain love
Nothing can touch me
 
After
 
As a handful of ash
Thrown to the wind
Questioning all I held true
Alone in thoughts I stumble through
Darkness
 
Where did it go
That faith once held
The certainty of the seasons
Rebirth, light, life; consumed by endless winter
 
Separate souls spiral
In opposite directions
No longer recognising myself
Through the fractured mirror
Mapped with cracks
 
The sun still shines down
An illusion of summer
The cruel April breeze stings as I see
Palm to palm, fingers fused
You and her



INVISIBLE

Futures mapped only upward
Or treading a steadfast linear path
Through a blinkered lens they do not see
The cracks in the pavement beneath

Or comprehend how easy it is to fall

To a place where neither routine nor ritual holds
The alarm clock without dominion
The night without comfort

Unseen, unrecognised

Hers is an inconsequential existence
Not observed, never documented
Days pass without words

On the town hall steps symmetrical smiles

Embrace the beginning of a journey
Wellwishers wave them off
To that uncertain destination

Unnoticed she glides between

Picks the confetti off the floor

Each scrap, each token placed
Into the crumpled carrier bag that swings from her arm
Next to yesterday’s news.

Lady Icarus

A poem written for a Leeds Savages writing task with the theme of 'artificial'

LADY ICARUS


A little larger, perhaps, a little higher, perhaps
A little firmer, perhaps, a little rounder, perhaps
A little more like someone else
A little less like me
As little more than ordinary
Is the very worst thing to be

When you’re paying for perfection
There’s no point in second best
Take my money my soul my innocence
And give me a super pneumatic chest

My ma said count your blessings
But I was never blessed
With anything more than an ironing board
Two bee stings at the best

My ma said it’s how God made you
It’s how you were meant to be
Easy for you to say, I said
As an ample Double D.

Lift me shape me just remake me
A nip and a tuck so the boys will rate me
A little more like a glamour girl
A little less like me
Going under the knife to sculpt a new life
Make me the best that I can be.

My ma said don’t you dare forget
The place from which you came
Fear not, I said, I’m still the same girl
Just with better teeth and a more memorable name

Money might not buy you happiness
But it does buy real nice things.
And I know one day I’ll fly from here
With a pair of silicon wings.

Poem - 'A Tragicomedy'

This poem was written for a Leeds Savages writing group task with the theme 'Alcohol'.
Always fun to bring out the rhyming couplets....


A Tragicomedy


Chardonnay, Shiraz, WKD Blue,
Pint of Stella, Jagermeister, Lemonade and Taboo
She isn’t fussed by the taste, just chasing the sensation
Leaving responsibility behind for a night of libation
When she slaps on the warpaint, fake lashes, high heels
It’s not about the look but the way that she feels
She warms up with vodka so she won’t feel the cold
As she waits at the bus stop for the night to unfold

She likes a Malibu, Southern Comfort, that schnapps made of peach
A Woo Woo, a Cosmo, then Sex on the Beach
She knows no better way to forget all her troubles
Than a bright pink concoction with a cherry and bubbles
Dancing shoes buckled on and she’s ready to move
Hit the floor, wild abandon whatever the groove
She won’t give a damn what anyone thinks
As long as the barman keeps pouring the drinks

Closing time brings an exodus to the nearest cab rank
Girls competitively analysing how much they drank
She sidles up to him wide-eyed in the endless queue
“I love you” she says, “I really, really do”
“My feet hurt like hell and I barely can walk
Just let me hold you for a while, there’s no need to talk”
Yet this tall strong beau is immune to her charms
For you won’t get many kisses with a lamppost in your arms...

Elvis....

I haven't had time to write much over the past couple of weeks - have had numerous musical rehearsals and performances, been to the theatre to see Hairspray (great fun!) and been generally busy, though am promising myself that i'll get pen to paper for a few hours this weekend....

Here's a poem I wrote for the most recent Leeds Savages (http://www.leedssavage.com/) writing group; the task was to write something about or inspired by Elvis, and I decided to write a light poem featuring the titles of twenty of 'The King's' singles....


ELVIS



'I wish' she cried, 'you were more like Elvis
With those twinkly eyes and that exquisite pelvis
The way he moved got me 'all shook up', from my heart down to my thighs,
As I’d sigh and swoon to each sex soaked tune, Ma called him the 'devil in disguise'

I wonder if she knew that when I kissed my 'teddy bear'
I was dreaming of stroking those skin-tight jeans and running my fingers through his hair
But darling, those muddy trainers, well they’re hardly ‘blue suede shoes’
And that sorry attempt at a goatee beard I find quite hard to excuse

That awful shirt that you somehow adore I’d like to ‘return to sender’
You used to have taste, where did it all go wrong? And you used to be so slender....
I miss that hunk of ‘burning love’, I don’t want us to go our ‘separate ways’
But sometimes I wonder if you’re still that boy whose heart I set ablaze.

So if you really ‘love me’, if you want us to stay together,
Then baby show me a ‘good rockin’ tonight’, I swear ‘its now or never’.
He looked at her and gave a smile
‘I’m sorry I can’t compete with Mr Presley’s style

But from the first day that I met you, you were ‘always on my mind’
You set alight my ‘wooden heart’, put my lonesome days behind
I followed you round like a ‘hound dog’, all panting tongue and wagging tail
And at night would pen you ‘love letters’ that I would never ever mail

I hoped for a ‘little less conversation’ when we went on our first date
But you were always a ‘hard headed woman’ and you made this ‘poor boy’ wait
There was 'crying in the chapel' on the day that we were wed
All I could think of was the 'wonder of you' and how I couldn't wait to get you to bed.

But if you no longer 'love me tender', if I fail to give you thrills,
Then I'll put on a sparkly jumpsuit, knock back some pies and prescription pills
I'll be surrounded by girls less than half my age, they'd sell their souls just to hear me sing
But have no fear, for you, my dear, are the only one who’ll ever rock this King.’

A Very Savage Affair

Today is an exciting day as it marks the publication of the first Leeds Savages e-book, 'A Very Savage Affair'. The Leeds Savages are a modern day reincarnation of a group of writers, artists, musicians and 'kindred Bohemian spirits' first formed in 1898 and since their re-launch in early 2010 have been coming together to produce and share all kinds of creative works.

The e-book contains....

55 Pages
59 Fabulous pictures
17 Great stories
6 Stupendous Poems
1 Fiendishly hard crossword

and is completely free of charge! I urge anyone and everyone to download it and check out the diverse and original works by some very talented people (plus a couple that I threw together).
 
Download the e-book NOW at http://leedssavage.com/publications/ - you won't regret it!