Common Senses

I’d rather be a tenant

Than hold a tenancy.

I’d rather be a peasant

Than come from peasantry.

An infant betters infancy

A vagrant, vagrancy.

And surely we would all agree

A truant beats your truancy.

Because a tenant’s flesh and blood

And so’s a peasant, too.

An infant hollers loud and clear

And let’s you know he’s here.

A vagrant can be seen and heard

A thing of rags and tatters

And though a truancy is marked

It’s the truant really matters.

So keep abstractions under check

They’ll never serve you well

But use your senses, look and touch,

And listen, taste and smell.

Stuart Randall

Are You Really a Writer?

A title like that was hard to resist. It popped up on Pintrest - a recent on-line discovery for me with lots of things for creative people to explore. The link led to the poem So You Want to be a Writer by Charles Bukowski an American poet who died in 1994.

The poem suggests that unless the words burst out of you, unless you never sit at the keyboard puzzling about what to write next or ponder how to turn your idea into poetry or prose, you really should be doing something else.

Bukowski suggests that being a writer means being chosen and for the chosen, writing is effortless. If it isn't, the poem maintains, you're not a writer at all.

My heart tells me he was so wrong. My inner critic isn't too sure.

What do you think?

Do leave a comment. We'd love to hear from you.

Heather Shaw

Robert Hoyle

It is with great sadness that we record that one of the core members of Moorside Writers, Robert Hoyle, died on 28th December 2015. A funeral to celebrate his life was held on Wednesday 6th January.

1st August 1953 - 28th December 2015

Weather Watch

Yesterday a proper darkness,

modest, semi-starlit. Not too showy:

no conflict between Orion, The Plough

and solar-powered 'nite-lights'.

A little light rain for atmosphere.

Spectacles spotted, sight altered,

I imagine myself

a sideways-seeing insect.

Now, in front of the houses,

those tangerine street lights

become imperious giraffes

processing, stately, aloof.

A Tesco delivery truck

creates sound-waves

that pattern pavements pewter,

re-direct droplets

in an anti-gravity movement

to shivering shed roofs.

And soon the sky lowers itself

in a bilious tumble

as if the heavens need antacid.

Elemental energy

seemingly indigestible.

Blithering snowflakes

huddle for security?

not knowing there is no safety

in the winds irascible blunder.

The bird-table wears ermine,

car is re-designed by nomadic snow.

I shine a torch, landscape

has become a Mexican wave.

It's time for boots and sensible gloves.

Clean breath is softer than new love.

Then , in the future,

polished moon,

a sky perforated with brilliance

from the long dead.

This is a time of spirit,

heart and sense,

not head.

Rob Hoyle

'First Tuesday' 2nd February 2pm to 4pm

 'Lovely Lists'

 Presented by

 Alva DeChiro

Chesterfield Library

'First  Tuesday' Meetings are held between 2 pm and 4pm every month except August and are suitable for anyone  who is interested in discussing and undertaking practical exercises in creative writing - prose or poetry

They are held in the Meeting Room Lower Ground Floor - Next to 'Browser' Cafe 

No booking necessary- just turn up

Family Christmas Dinner - A Lament

I love Christmas Dinner

It's quality family time

Everybody is talking and

the laughter's a good sign

Aunt Mo is a Christian

Probably never sinned

But her brussels sprouts

Still emit toxic wind

Red faced Uncle George

Talks over his other half

His jokes are really crude

But they do make us laugh

Madge is back again

I've forgotten why she's here

but just like last time

She's drunk all the beer

Greedy Brother Bernard

An appetite hard to sate

Twenty roast potatoes

Piled high upon his plate

Sister Ann sings carols

and plays the bassoon

She knows all the words

But they're never in tune

Mum checks my cooking

but I wish Dad was here

but they can't be together

It's the same every year

Niece Mel blows smoke

While sporting a moustache

Hanging from the window

and dropping out her ash

Dear husband Brian

sups too much whisky

Winking at naughty niece

Hoping she is frisky

Son Jack is glued to

his new iphone six

When I had a mobile phone

they were just like bricks

Old Granddad Fred

hasn't moved in ages

wonder if he might be dead?

 Undertaker, check yellow pages

I hate Christmas Dinner

Pretending to be merry

I only just keep sane by

drinking all the sherry

http://www.chrisfewtrell.co.uk/fewtrell_writing.htm 

Happy Christmas to all our readers!

The original photograph for this image taken at Banksy's Dismaland Weston Super Mare September 2015

http://www.chrisfewtrell.co.uk/ 

'First Tuesday' 5th January 2pm to 4pm

Dame Edith Sitwell 

 led by

John Green

Dame Edith Sitwell was the daughter of Sir George Sitwell and Lady Ida Sitwell of Renishaw Hall in Derbyshire

 

Chesterfield Library

'First  Tuesday' Meetings are held between 2 pm and 4pm every month except August and are suitable for anyone  who is interested in discussing and undertaking practical exercises in creative writing - prose or poetry

They are held in the Meeting Room Lower Ground Floor - Next to 'Browser' Cafe 

No booking necessary- just turn up