Issue 347 1st August 2014

Rising Brook/

Holmcroft/

Baswich/Gnosall

Libraries are

under threat.

Submissions for Defying Gravity the RBW 2015 poetry collection are now welcome. Please send in your short poems (no epics thanks)

as soon as possible. Once we are full we are full.

Registered RBW contributors only, sorry.

There are consultation forms available online or in libraries. Please, if you care

about free libraries then take part in this consultation. Thank you.

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It is really difficult these days, to get anyone to actively participate in anything!

How come a simple „yes‟ is no longer a satisfactory reply to questions asked on TV and

radio shows? Nowadays, almost everyone says „absolutely‟ instead. Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything. George Bernard Shaw

A number of charity shops were burgled in the town centre one night last week. The thieves caused damage and made a big mess for all very little cash. In some cases no

cash at all except for a few pounds worth of float in small change. Is this crime the low-est of the low to attempt to steal from charities which are trying to do their best to help

the dying and the homeless? The victims of this crime were the staff and volunteers, many of whom were reduced to tears. Very sad, very disappointing behaviour.

It‟s hot. It‟s hot and it‟s sticky. It‟s too hot to sleep. The air‟s full

of pollen which is miserable, but there are dozens of butterflies on the buddleia, Red Admirals and Painted Ladies and even the

odd Cabbage White.

Pride comes before a fall: Smugly, I had a go at The Guardian‟s grammar test suitable for 11-yr-olds and only managed 13 right

out of 14 ... (I was upset all day ...)

Random words : revenge, time, apple, brigade, fabricated, row-locks, synchronise, bazaar Assignment : The sun

Please note there will not be a library workshop on Monday 4th August due to the AGM.

There is a lot to get through on the agenda so please let us know if you are attending. Thank you.

AGM venue: The Sun Inn 12.30pm

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

NEW: 2015 poetry collection

“Defying Gravity” Submissions now open

Random words: Scotland, Jean, Deacon, Union, ship, mathematics, comfort

It was an unlikely union; Jean, brilliant mathematics graduate and high-flyer, who had

gained a professorship at Strathclyde university. She was a vivacious, lively socialite. John on the other hand, was reserved, quiet, a Deacon of a small kirk in Scotland. And

yet both had had isolated and lonely childhoods and gained mutual comfort from their marriage. An unexpected but perfect match.

Assignment : Participation

Thomas Barnardo was born in Dublin, in 1845. He went to Whitechapel

Hospital to train as a doctor; his plan being to become a medical missionary in China. Victorian London had many social problems. After the industrial revolution, the

population ballooned, and much of this increase was concentrated in the East End, where overcrowding, bad housing, unemployment, poverty and disease were rife. After

Barnardo‟s arrival, an outbreak of cholera swept through the East End. 3,000 people died and many families were destitute. Thousands of children slept on the streets and many others were forced to beg.

As a response, Thomas Barnardo set up a Ragged School where poor children could get a basic education. A boy at the Mission, Jim Jarvis, took Barnardo around the

East End showing him children sleeping on roofs and in gutters. So affected was he that he gave up his dream of going to China and decided instead to help the destitute children

of the capital. In 1870, Barnardo opened his first home for boys in Stepney Causeway. Boys

were taught a trade such as carpentry, metal work and shoemaking, so that they could

gain apprenticeships and employment. To start with, the number of boys who could use the Shelter was limited. How-

ever, one evening, an 11-year old boy, John Somers (nicknamed 'Carrots') was turned away because the shelter was full. Two days later Carrots was found dead from malnutri-

tion and exposure. From then on Barnardo vowed never to turn another child away and a sign was hung stating 'No Destitute Child Ever Refused Admission'.

One of the latest projects of the foundation is called „Participation‟, and this is a

scheme to encourage people to sponsor a child. Many charities such as World Vision, Ac-tion Aid and SOS Children have provisions for sponsoring a child‟s education etc in for-

eign parts, but Barnardo‟s scheme is designed to support disadvantaged children in our own land. This is what they say about their intentions:-

“Our mission includes making sure that children and young people are at the cen-

tre of all services. We want this to be true of our own company as well so we make sure we listen to what they say.

“For us, participation means making sure the structures, resources and processes are in place so that we and our workforce can take action, make changes and be steered

by what children, young people and their families tell us. “The decisions and plans made about the development and reform of the children and young people's workforce nationally, regionally and locally impact on the lives of chil-

dren and young people. Therefore we believe children and young people should be in-volved in the development and reform of the children and young people's workforce.”

Further reading: http://www.barnardos.org.uk/

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RBW 2015 poetry

collection

“Defying Gravity” Submissions now open. DO NOT DELAY Once we’re full, we’re full. Have YOU sent in yours yet?

6

The Gardening Tips series was produced by well known local gardening expert Mrs. FM Hartley as monthly gardening items which featured on an audio news-tape produced locally for partially sighted people. (Link To Stafford & Stone Talking Newspaper. Link To R.N.I.B.)

As such the articles are meant to be read individu-ally and not as chapters of a book. The articles were written over a period of some 7 years. RBW is absolutely delighted that Mrs Hartley has agreed to some of her words of gardening wisdom gathered over nine decades being reproduced for our benefit by son Alan.

Gardening Tips Week ending 3rd July 2013

Hello Folks

As you will know there is a very bad shortage of Bees this year that help with pollinating a lot of the crops due partly, to bad weather and partly the

use of poisonous sprays in gardens and fields etc. There is no real need for most of the sprays in the garden, because if birds are encouraged they will help by eating the Aphids. Other things like beetles and ladybirds will thrive as well if there are no chemi-

cals about and they will eat even more pests. If you must spray use weak, soapy water. We don‟t use any sprays at all in the garden and have lots of birds flitting about. Plants for drying, to fill empty vases in the Winter will soon be ready for cut-ting. Alliums make a nice head that dries well - just cut with a good stem and hang upside down in an airy place. Honesty, or Silver Dollar also makes a nice, silvery show. I shall try a few Geums, Teasels and probably cornflow-ers this year as well as look for others. Another one that dries well, but from a pot plant and not from the garden, is Aspidistra leaves. Herbs can also be cut and dried ready for use in the kitchen in the Winter. We use herbs in-stead of sauces to flavour things as it is a lot healthier. Cut the herbs and place the heads in a paper bag that should then be hung up until the seeds have dropped out and the store them in small jars. Oregano, Thyme and Parsley are easy ones, but why not try Mint as well. Some of our nurseries that grow cut flowers are strug-

gling to keep going now as there are so many cut flow-ers from abroad flooding our markets. We should be ask-ing for English grown ones instead. There is plenty of choice and you can put some easy ones in the garden

that will come up every year: - Margarites, Geums, Corn Flowers, Pyrethrums and Rud-beckia to name a few. There are plenty of other plants with flowers suitable for cutting that can be grown and that need only a little more attention such as Roses, Dahlias, Chrysanthemums and Sweet Peas. There is also a perennial Sweet Pea and Wallflower that are available now to save re-planting each year. You just them cut back each year

at the end of the season. In the greenhouse, if Tomatoes are setting, you should start feeding with a Potash feed such as Tomerite which is on offer at a number of places now and you must make sure that the plants never get dry, even in hot weather. If the greenhouse can be watered in the morning it is better than doing at night as water left on leaves can cause Mildew and then lead to other diseases. If the weather turns very hot it is better to damp down the floor as well.

Many years ago my husband had a Melon and Cucumber green-house built for me that was half the depth of a normal green-house with the roof above the ground and the other half of the greenhouse below the ground with a couple of steps down into it. The sides were actually about 2, or 3 feet above ground with the roof above and the gangway was dug in about 3 or 4 feet below ground level. In the Summer

when it was really hot, I threw a bucket of water down onto the slab floor for humidity and some days you could almost see the steam rise. We did have lovely Melons and long straight Cucumbers though. Well that‟s all for now. Cheerio Frances Hartley.

http://www.lovemeraw.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Melons.jpg

Ben Flowerday, Byron Bay, Australia

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http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=84

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters And on our Facebook page

Kit Marlowe and Rick Fallon span the centuries on the trail of murder and

mayhem surrounding the mysterious silver chalice which appears

and disappears every 500 years

I hope this will give an insight into the bloke who's writing this

blog and verses. I am trying to see myself as others may see me, in other words, a reflection.

He's had seventy years in farming, getting a bit long in the tooth,

although he's still got all his own teeth, he's moving a bit slower, standing a bit shorter, gone grey on top and when it rains, can see his scalp through thin hair, got no work in him, looked after

by his misses too well for his own good, and now got a new arm chair.

I Will Describe This Man I See I will describe this man I see, as best as I can judge, When he sits down to have a rest, job to make him budge, This he does each afternoon, till cup of tea at three, Then slowly moves and back to work, peel him off settee. (New chair now) He used to have to duck his head, to go through six foot door, Getting round shouldered, natural bend, don't duck any more, Gone all grey, and going thin on top, you see his scalp when wet, Forehead getting higher, no longer does he sweat. When he gets a grump, his lips turn down, jutting out his chin, Eyebrows drop and looks through them, to run you must begin, It‟s just a passing cloud I think, the sun comes out and smiles, Can just see his teeth, and the gap, nothing them defiles. Lazy comes to mind sometimes, but then he's getting old, Hasn't got his dad now, to crack the whip and scold, His own boss, do what he likes, no one to whip him up, All the ploughing matches been to, he's only won one cup. Another clue to who it is, he had an operation on his knee, Then he had another just the same, on the other you see, Metal joints he had fitted, these clues give you the key, Must be why I'm shorter now, for in the mirror, it's only me.

RBW FICTION PROJECT FOR 2014/15 NOTES: (Many many thanks to CMH for typing all this up from the storyboard roll)

Story so far. There isn't one! Not yet, just a few plot strands ...

We have a place, a few names, some with a few character traits. What we need is more input into the plot lines, a few sub-plots would help as well.

This is a listing of what we have so far as a thinking aid. Place: Sometime in the 1890s The Grand Cosmopolitan Shipping Line Chain: The Nasturtium Hotel (GNH) in Trentby-on-Sea

a place that has a similarity to Southampton, this fair city is twinned with Murmansk and has a decided international flavour about it. Despite recent squabbles with Russia, France and certain other countries all rich spending foreigners are welcomed – particularly those with £££$$$ and other currency in their purses/pockets/reticules/wallets.

Time Span: Between the arrival and departure of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. About 3 weeks.

Hotel: The GNH is owned by The Cosmopolitan Shipping Line and is the usual Victorian Hotel. It has three classes of accommoda-

tion, that are roughly: Suites [1st floor] for those with money and the POSH nobs. Rooms [2nd and 3rd floors] for the not so well off.

Accommodation [tiny attic rooms, top floor back] for anyone else Staff:

Basil Bluddschott (70's) – Manager Mrs. Cynthia Bluddschott (20's) - 2nd (trophy) wife of Basil

Daniel Bluddschott (40) – Son of Basil by 1st wife Miss Marian Bluddschott (35) – Daughter of Basil by 1st wife Mrs. Natasha Bluddschott (34) – wife of Daniel

Roberto Manchini - Italian chef; has the hots for Natasha who returns the compliment. Mrs. Buckett – Laundress There will also be a gaggle of sundry maids, porters etc.

Guests: Vera and Gloria – a couple of old biddies with a chequered past who are enjoying themselves [basically comic relief charac-

ters] Major Martin – May be the ADC to the Prince of ?? The Prince of ?? Referred to as Mr. Smith; even tho' everybody know who he is.

Daphne ??? - Writer Capt. Fowlnett – Recently appointed skipper of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. He may be a little short on experi-ence as his last job was skipper of the IOW ferry. [Hey! How difficult can it be to find India or China?]

St. John Smythe – Tea planter with holdings in Assam. The Maharajah of Loovinda.

The Sheik of Kebab. Trout Rushmandi – Travel writer for Thos. Cooke.

Music Hall turns playing at 'The Winter Gardens', Also staying the GNH some in suites some in the Accommodation class. Miranda Barkley – maybe mistress of the Prince of ??

Dario Stanza – singer Vesta Currie – hot stuff on the stage Cystic Peg – Medium / Seances

Dan Fatso – Charlie Chaplin type ALSO listed:

Opium – not then illegal Ivory Jade - A rare Jade Buddha with spiritual & heritage significance is specifically noted.

NOTES: CHECK THE DATE! Q. Victoria is Empress. Osborne House IoW is her fav. des. res.

1. Gas lighting or oil lamps – no public electricity supply about for another couple of decades; unless the hotel has its own generator, electrical lighting is out.

2. Horses and carriages in the streets, steam trains for long distances and on the dockside. Trams may be available in some areas. 3. Limited number of phones, usually locally between ministries or business offices. Messengers or Royal Mail normally used.

Telegrams are available.

Thoughts ...

It‟s a Cosmopolitan Hotel at the time of Empire.

We need to get diverse folks from absolutely everywhere into the storyline.

We need to reflect the times ... not our times ... their times. Money talks ... Same as ever ... It don‟t

matter where you‟re from if you‟ve got pockets full of dosh and you‟re a big tipper!

RBW Library Workshop group are working on a script for the next book. Anyone registered with RBW wanting to join in please come to group or let us know by email asap. The ideas so far include a hotel in the 1890s with as diverse a mix of travellers about to depart by clip-per for the far east as it is possi-ble to squeeze into the plot. Obviously the action will take place in Trentby-on-Sea, twinned with Murmansk, and the establish-ment will be managed by Basil Bluddschott and his new wife Cynthia. If you‟ve ever watched a Carry On film you will have had all the training you‟d need to join in.

The annual joint project ...

Why do we do it? I hear you ask and I‟ve often wondered myself ... But seriously the joint comedy is good practice in group co-operation,

character building, plotting, dialogue, storyline arc etc and besides it‟s hilarious to write.

What is more people actually read our free e-books ...

Some brave souls even give us LIKES on Facebook How unexpected was that ...

Once you‟ve written in one of our comedies you should be able to write

anything equally as challenging on your own.

The Grand Cosmopolitan Line‟s Nasturtium Hotel an introduction ... (PMW) The year is 1891. The place is Trentby-on-Sea, somewhere on the south coast very near Southampton. The setting is the Grand Cosmopolitan Hotel, or thereabouts. For those of our readers who do not know, let me tell you a bit more about both. Trentby is a bustling port, twinned with that most salubrious of Russian naval bases, Murmansk, whose ships are frequent visitors. The Grand Cosmopolitan Nasturtium Hotel is a red-brick, Victorian building, occupying a prime location on the seafront. It is part of the Cosmopolitan Shipping Line empire. To the front of the sprawling edifice is the har-bour area; to one side is the glue factory, to the other side, the railway sidings and the tannery, and to the rear, the sewage farm. The esteemed manager of this esteemed establishment is one Basil Bluddschott, aged somewhere around 70. He is helped in his management role by Cynthia, his con-siderably younger and infinitely better-looking second wife, the first Mrs Bluddschott having succumbed to a severe case of the ague several years since. The team also includes Daniel Bluddschott, elder child of Basil and stepson of Cyn-thia, and now aged forty; his wife, Natasha, and Marian, Daniel‟s sister and Basil‟s daughter, currently unmarried. Mrs Buckett takes charge of the hotel‟s laundry, and takes charge also of a rag-tag motley crew of silly, giggly chambermaids and gawky young porters. Last but by no means least, there is Roberto, the Italian chef, whose pasta, and myriad other things, are to die for!

BY JINGO ... And here‟s a bit of Shakespeare to show how the English thought of England, all that patriotic stuff for the 1890s when England ruled a colonial empire so big the sun never set on it: (How well did that work out?)

This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war,

This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house.

John of Gaunt's speech in Richard II.

RESEARCH: Historical background for book and ideas for characters (ACW) England and India 1890s VICTORIAN LIGHTING IN THE 1890s Gas lighting was in hotels, on trains, on ships and for the streetlights. Even the first cars had lights powered by gas. FASHIONS IN 1890s Women wore tight bodice with a corset underneath, with a long ankle length skirt gath-ered at the waist, to give an hourglass figure. Men wore their hair short, had a pointed beard and generous moustache. Grey suits (jackets and waistcoats), black trousers and cravats. RAILWAYS FROM LONDON CITY TO SOUTHAMPTON DOCKS The railway had already been built to link London with the Southampton docks long before the 1890s. Railway companies would also run steamships. STEAMSHIPS IN 1890s TO INDIA The Suez Canal was built by the French by 1869 and shortened the trip from London, England, to Bombay, India considerably, as before ships had to sail round the south of Africa to get into the Indian Ocean. The cruise route then was from Southampton to Bombay via Gibraltar, Malta, then through the Suez Canal and Aden. The voyage from London to Bombay took 12½ days in the 1890s. The steamers left London every Satur-day for India. Fares were £55.00 first class to India and £35 - £37 10s (37 Pounds and 10 shillings) for second class. MAHARAJAH character in the Jade Buddha plotline possibly…

Research: Golden Temple at Amritsar (central place of worship for the Sikhs completed in 1577 A.D) is one of Punjab´s principal cities, dating back in history over 400 years, north-western border of India WHAT IS A MAHARAJAH? Maharajah from Hindu means Great King. The British ruled India during the Colonial times between 1858 and 1947.

Queen Victoria was on the throne during the time of the book, in the 1890s. Included in the British Raj as the rule of India was called, were self-governing princely states, under the rule of the British Crown, via the Governor-General of India, either by treaty if the princely states were big enough or more directly ruled if smaller. It was the British Crown who recognized or withheld recognition of the ruling princes.

Online research: Rule of thumb guide to the SIKH religion (PUNJAB region of INDIA) Punjab has a long history. The people of the Punjab are called Punjabis and they speak a language called Punjabi.

Externally it seemed as if everyone in the Sikh area of India followed their religious ob-servance by sporting a beard and covered their head, predominantly with a turban. Sikhs respect other religions and do not discriminate against them, nor force Sikhism on non-Sikhs. Hindus do not wear turbans, except for special occasions like a wedding. They are not a wrapped turban, but a pre-formed hat. Men who wear wrapped turbans every day are most likely to be Sikhs, where men are required to wear them. Sikh women have equal status to men in every aspect of life, education, politics and worship. There were Sikh only regiments in the British Raj army in India during colo-nial times. They too wore wrapped turbans and had beards. (If anyone can expand this brief guide we would love to learn more …)

A CANDIDATE FOR A SIKH MAHARAJAH CHARACTER(?) There was a Sikh Maharajah who came often to Europe to buy jewellery during the 1890s. He had had British tutors throughout his life and travelled away from India every other year for long trips. There are original images online of this chap but unfor-tunately these have been stamped as copyrighted even though the original images are way outside of copyright. However, it follows that the plotline is not too far fetched.

Fashion in the 1890s: Clothes were noted for their long elegant lines, high collars, big hats and the intro-duction of sports attire. Fashionable women's clothing lost the over-blown extrava-gance of previous decades (skirts were not crinolined 1850s, nor bustled 1860s), but corseting continued in its wasp-waisted severity. Early 1890s dresses had a tight bod-ice with the skirt gathered at the waist and falling naturally over the hips than in pre-vious hooped years. The 1890s introduced leg o' mutton sleeves, which grew in size each year until they over reached themselves in the blooming ridiculous and disap-peared in 1896. The late 1890s returned to tighter sleeves often with small puffs or ruffles at the shoulder but fitted at the wrist. Skirts became a trumpet shape, fitting closely over the hip and flaring above the knee. Corsets in the 1890s helped define the hourglass figure: the corset elongated, giving women a slight S-curve silhouette which defined the body shape for the period of la belle époque. Hats were huge, OTT decorated and held in place by long silver hatpins. Button boots (needing button hooks) were definitely in. High class women could not dress themselves they needed a maid to do up their corset strings. Changing attitudes about acceptable activities for women also made sportswear popular, with the bicycling dress and the tennis dress. For men's fashion, the overall tailored silhouette of the 1890s was long, slim and athletic. Hair was generally worn cut short, often with a pointed beard and flamboyant moustaches.

And here‟s Cynthia Bluddschott .... will she be happy with her elderly husband now the fleet‟s in town and royalty of all sorts are staying at the Nasturtium Hotel?

The Belle Époque or La Belle Époque was a period in European history that is conventionally

dated as starting in 1871 and ending when World War I began in 1914. Occurring during the era of the Third French Republic (beginning 1870), it was a period characterized by optimism, peace at home

and in Europe, new technology and scientific discoveries. The peace and prosperity in Paris allowed the arts to flourish, and many masterpieces of literature, music, theatre and visual art gained recogni-

tion. The Belle Époque was named, in retrospect, when it began to be considered a "golden age" in contrast to the horrors of World War I.

In the United Kingdom, the Belle Époque overlapped with the late Victorian era and the Edwardian

era. In Germany, the Belle Époque coincided with the reigns of Kaiser Wilhelm I & II and in Russia with the reigns of Alexander III and Nicholas II. Most of European royalty was related to the widow

Queen Victoria living in Osborne House on the Isle of Wight within spitting distance of Trentby-on-sea.

Opportunity to Boast

Do you like the seaside, a walk along the

beach?

Where breezes catch your problems,

blow them out of reach.

Sand between your toes, if the weather

is good,

Or bundled round with scarves, firm hold

upon your hood.

Come and visit Hornsea, on the Yorkshire

coast,

Plenty to be proud of, opportunity to

boast.

The Mere in true magnificence through

seasons of the year,

Most glorious when sun sinks and seems

to disappear.

Black water painted shimmering gold,

against a dappled sky,

Flock on flock of noisy geese in forma-

tion fly.

Where lake and sea-side meet in accor-

dance with the tide,

Smugglers booty hidden where crumbling

cliffs subside.

Psalms echo from lost villages beneath

the salt-spray sea.

On Hornsea beach I’ll greet you, come

along and walk with me!

Bettison‟s Tower in Hornsea (built so ser-

vants could see master coming home and have hot meal ready on the table)

Up the Tower at appointed hour,

Bettison„s on his way. Run down the stairs

and tell the cook, no more can she delay. His meal upon the table

the minute he enters door, that‟s why he built the folly:

he‟ll wait for food no more. Look-out, see his trusty nag

come round the distant bend; if his meal‟s not ready for him,

cook‟s career is at an end.

If you want the evidence, because you don‟t believe

a man would build a tower so others would receive

return of stern task master, to eat his nightly meal,

come and look in Hornsea,

„Bettison‟s Tower‟ is real.

The seagulls here in Hornsea are driving me quite

mad, Raucous parties every evening, mornings just as bad.

They‟re squawking to each other in their own peculiar way, I don‟t know what they‟re saying but it goes on

every day. One of them is calling for his best friend, Paul, Another laughing yak yakyak, life is one long „ball‟

Can you speak in seagull? Tell them we want rid! And that Paul and friends are waiting, to welcome

them in Brid! (Bridlington)

Kathy Miles Wins Welsh Poetry

Competition!

The Welsh Poetry Competition 2014 organisers

have announced the winners of the 8th international

competition and the overall winner was Kathy

Miles for her poem The Pain Game.

„There was a very high standard this year so it was a

challenge to select the winning entries. The styles

were varied but whether they were rhyming, non-

rhyming, short, or long, what matters most is that

these poems were written by people with heartfelt

thoughts and feelings about the world around them.

„Whether they were big names in the literary world, or new and unpublished writers, each entry was judged anony-

mously and the winners chosen purely on merit. This has to be the most fair and genuinely open competition in the UK.

It's little wonder that its popularity is spreading and so many people from right around the world had decided to enter

this year,‟ said John Evans, competition judge.

The winners:

1st Prize – The Pain Game by Kathy Miles

2nd Prize – albatross by Robert Marsland

3rd Prize – Remembrance: All Hallows by Eluned Rees

John also choose another seventeen poems for the „specially commended‟ section with winners from all over Wales and

the UK, as well as from USA and Australia, which once again highlights the fact that the Welsh Poetry Competition is a

truly international event. All winning poems and judges‟ comments can be viewed on the competition web site –

www.welshpoetry.co.uk

„The overall standard was once again excellent and this year more than any other we've seen a very high quality batch of

entrants. We‟ve also had poets enter from every corner of the globe. All winning poems can be read on our web site and

we also have a fantastic anthology of previous winning entries from five years‟ worth of competitions, which is also

available from our web site,‟ said Dave Lewis, competition organizer. „To get involved with next year‟s competition,

keep up to date with what we are doing visit The Welsh Poetry Competition web site, join our mailing list, Facebook

group or follow us on Twitter.‟

Competition Web site - www.welshpoetry.co.uk Competition Judge – www.johnevans.org.uk

Organiser Web site – www.david-lewis.co.uk Twitter - @welshpoetrycomp

The Manchester Poetry Prize 2014 First Prize: £10,000 Entry fee: £17.50 Deadline for Entries: Friday 29th August 2014 “It’s a delight to give money to poets!” National Poet for Wales Gillian Clarke, Judge 2008 “Asking for a batch of poems rather than a single entry allows judges to look beyond competency and control in writing and to reward other virtues, such as risk-taking, inventiveness and sustained achievement.” Simon Armitage, Chair of Judges 2010 Under the direction of Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy, the Manchester Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University runs the annual Manchester Poetry Prize – a major international literary competition, celebrating excellence in creative writing. The 2014 Manchester Poetry Prize will award a cash prize of £10,000* to the writer of the best portfolio of poems submitted. All entrants are asked to submit a portfolio of three to five poems (total maximum line length: 120). The poems can be on any subject, and in any style, but must be new work, not previously published or currently under consideration elsewhere. To enter the 2014 Manchester Poetry Prize online, click here. If you have any queries, or would like to be sent a printed entry pack for postal submission, contact the Manchester Writing School at MMU, on: +44 (0) 161 247 1787/1797; writingschool@mmu.ac.uk.

The Dawn Casts My Shadow

My mind pushes back the dawn,

Eyes fixed on an easterly door,

An eye in the sky I wish to stay shut,

My heart tied to time‟s ticking clock.

One day I don‟t wish to see the sun.

No good can come of this,

Someone deserved, tell me what I‟ve done.

Here in twilight, memories and dreams stir,

Solitude tugs at my mother‟s hopes for me there.

A forced march to step from my nemesis,

A cursed luck to tread upon ghostly glare.

This bloody, muddy field lit by phosphorous,

No land for any man,

Let alone a boy.

Just seventeen, I lied about my time,

My age grew a beard eager to fight.

Bloody carnage, shell shocked,

Crazed by war‟s madness;

My wondering wits upped and took flight.

Here I stand with hands tied,

Propped to attention, my last post,

Head bowed but not in shame,

Eyes trapped in a bandage.

Rifles with thousand yard stares,

Cold steel fingers point in accusation.

Silence eager to spit out spite,

Biting, smoking muzzles.

A sentence meted out without words,

Justice discarded on a summary whistle.

My heart drums fast to drown my ear.

I ask once more why we are here,

Rhetorical pause, answered by a bullet.

To deafen the mouthed pleas of “No”!

Here I now lie,

Hands no longer tied.

Flower of youth scythed on windy sighs,

Flung with my dreams into this shallow pit.

The dawn sun still casts my shadow,

A sleeping soul stands over his double.

My fate staring back into the past.

Never white feathers, just falling snow.

26th May 2014

Tom Wyre

Staffordshire‟s Poet Laureate.

Outbreak (Part 1)

August 1914,

Autumn with a different face,

A mask with a secreted smile,

A new guise in something dark.

Cheers and youth running to the call,

A call for arms, brave souls,

A cull for all their hearts and limbs.

Recruits eyed in sights,

Blinking from their wrappers,

For round the corner crossfire,

Queued in rows to wear green,

Single filed like numbers on a page.

Lemmings over white cliffs,

Dive into the unknown,

For an abyss like trench,

For a gun-metal fish that swims in tears,

For clouds torn by propellers in tomorrow‟s hours.

Such a joy to join,

A chance to halt the Hun,

Maybe some mythical monster.

Innocence lost in future kicks,

Over a football, a swig of schnapps,

A bitter sweet bite of fry,

Lost upon a general‟s frown.

Hand shakes soon over,

Shell shocking shakes take over.

Three young Tommies on a match,

Dragging smoke spied by snipers,

Creeping gun-smoke snares its catch.

Gore given up at fever pitch,

Cloaked up clouds choke the sky,

Black as pitch,

Time burnt wielding its scythe.

Leaves falling along with dreams,

Bodies in a ditch, lain out and threshed like corn,

Peppered by machine gun, assaulted by gasps,

A harvest spilled for a blood filled moon.

Shadows strewn over ploughed fields

With sanguine seeds sown,

Since the doves have flown,

For four years of winter.

Some party that started out with fireworks,

Chrysanthemums in starbursts,

Ended with the flower dead-headed and crushed,

Under white hot glares.

Our sanity lost then blinded by flares.

Copyright Tom Wyre

Wednesday 18th June, 2014.

Staffordshire‟s Poet Laureate.

The Lost Brave

Roaming the mud pie whirlpools through black lilies,

Replaced by bloody poppies like floral blobs,

Seeping from a bandaged land and torn

Soil cut and tormented by twirling tracers,

Razors amidst the bruised sky.

A brazen bleeding backdrop canvassing cries,

A death knell sounded upon draping clouds,

Thundering iron clatters the stars in bursts.

Trees with branches shaken, limbs strewn,

A son forsaken, forgotten soon.

The sun stained opaque with mustard tears,

Strained rain screams out crimson,

Trenches and tunnels to the underworld,

Shuddering stares, wooden stairs cracked and bare,

Howitzer horrors and fiery flares,

Forked tongues lick imperial ghost of lies,

A snake never buried in time for Christmas.

Our soul marches and trudges in a trance,

Wandering in between night and day,

A twilight in war torn time.

Swirling bullets, scythe-like sink into the wind and make it howl;

Oblivious boy shocked by spat out shells

Whistles on the breath of heaven to drown bells of hell.

No sweet birdsong to greet this shredded day,

Mourning crow calls unanswered, float away,

With future seeds scattered on ploughed khaki fields.

Medals ribboned to flow in the wind from his lover‟s kiss,

Amiss with a smile, she sheds a tear as he falls from reach.

His eyes look upwards to fly a kite as in prayer,

Mercy please find me before the despair,

Too late for his dreams and bones.

Then all you can now hear in Ypres is silence,

The silence of innocence shocked,

Rocked to sleep through the breeze,

As shame peers down upon braying peers,

Choking back jubilance as they gaze at lost leonine hearts.

13/5/2014

Tom Wyre

Staffordshire‟s Poet Laureate

The Arrival

A telegram arrives,

Paper coffin hermetically sealed,

Stamped with wings and ferried through sorrow.

A punched out note that sinks its fangs into conscience,

A punch into one‟s senses from a steel blue second,

An envelope that wraps up a wife or a mother‟s world.

Three leaden bombshells masquerading as letters,

Sounds that draw tears, tear out and tangle heartstrings,

Tied by crushed barbed wire on Flanders fields.

Syllables that twist the knife and break the heart,

Cause the smiles to curl down into cries,

Make eyes well and thoughts run backwards.

With broken clocks, memories cast their ghosts.

Whispers turn to echoes,

Departing river flows from laughter,

Through happy days;

Such reverie now turned to nightmare.

A deafening cacophony of voices all shout,

Scream from the ether and bang your skull.

A statement that should never be,

An epitaph for youth who paid the price;

A wasted land where no man breathes.

The ones who packed away their troubles for good,

Those two pennies laid to rest,

Those three stones of words with gravest faces.

“Lost In Action”.

Copyright Tom Wyre

Thursday, 22nd May 2014.

Staffordshire‟s Poet Laureate.

Tom Wyre writes ... I appeared at the National Memorial Arboretum on Friday 11th July 2014 and performed my quartet of new, specially commissioned poems for WW1 in the Millennium Chapel for the poetry recital as part of the national centenary remembrance of the "Great War". I'm proud of what I've written in a relatively short time and just hope that I not only did the event justice with them, but also the dignified memory of those fallen that fought for us all in WW1. The four pieces although written in the 1st and 3rd persons are all thematic in as much that they follow through from the outbreak of the war in August 1914, through trench battle scenes to the further tragedy of troops shot at dawn and then finally concluded by the personal impact to loved ones through a telegram that became synonymous with the harbinger of doom to many families at that time.

Family Memories of WW1

Pictured here is Bernard

one of the lucky volunteer

„Tommies‟

who was gassed and injured in

trenches but survived and was

shipped to Cannock Chase

for recovery

and later served out wartime

at the Military camp.

Bernard moved all his family from

Yorkshire to Tixall in

the hope of a better future.

But tragedy had already struck

the Spanish flu epidemic had

already taken his two eldest sons.

Both toddlers buried in Bradford

on the same day leaving Florrie

bereft and alone.

In their new life after the war

Bernard and Florrie

had five more children.

Bernard died in the 1950s

but Florrie lived on to 87 years

and enjoyed seeing five

grandchildren.

-o0o-

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