Tonbridge Poetry Trail Poetry Reading

I walked the trail of poems in Tonbridge last weekend and was delighted to see my poem 'The Window Seat' up in the Beyond the Grounds café window. I enjoyed this moment, followed by a welcome cup of in-house hot chocolate on the very same seat that I have come to enjoy, with the views, both inside and out, that inspired the poem. 

Then this evening was the night where all Poetry Trail Poets available read their poems for the delight of the surrounding poetry lovers. The running order followed the Trail itself. I was a third of the way down. It was very enjoyable and it was nice to read poetry live locally, as well as hearing the talents of the fellow poets in town. I hope to engage more with this lovely and friendly community. 

The Tonbridge Poetry Trail

Poetry in Tonbridge is alive and kicking (or should I say 'walking'?) with the Tonbridge Poetry Trail organised by the 'Roundel Poetry in Tonbridge' group. Throughout the month of October, 24 poems written by 24 poets will be displayed in 24 participating shops around the town. I was fortunate enough to get involved by being asked to write a poem for the 'Beyond the Grounds' coffee shop by the river, which is now displayed in the shop window. It is entitled 'The Window Seat' and is based upon my experiences of using this same location to think and work in nice surroundings of a weekend. This was an exciting opportunity to get words shared beyond the written page.  Later there will be a Poetry Reading evening where the poets involved will share their poems, an evening that I am looking forward to in order to finally get connected with the other local poets in town.

Deeds & Words - A Festival of Women's Voices

I had the welcome opportunity to attend a poetry reading on 7th October at 'Deeds & Words Tonbridge - a festival of women's voices'. As part of the three day programme, two established poets, Elisabeth Cook and Rebecca Goss, read poems from their own published and soon to be published collections. Whilst listening to their stories through their words and looking at those present in the audience with me, I reflected how many people must write poetry but simply aren't published. If we all got published the world would be saturated with words, but would that be a bad thing? We all have stories to tell and we can all learn from sharing and listening to each other. Regardless of the merits of being published or not, it is great how writing poetry is so accessible to many. You just need a pen, some paper and the courage to write down some thoughts and see what happens. Granted, some  people will be more successful than others on a first attempt, but there are plenty of 'How To...' videos online to help. With a continuous view to keep an open mind regarding the theories of poetry writing (I tend to write mine automatically, like a personal journal), I attended the follow-up workshop by Elisabeth Cook: 'Starting to write: A Practical workshop.'

This was a great opportunity to hear a poet's perspective and try out a different approach. First of all, as part of the warm up, she offered some lovely observations about poetry: 'It's really important that we do give certain experiences a voice and recognise that they do matter.' - 'Don't dismiss anything as not exalted enough to use in a poem. At the heart of it is observation' - 'Things observed in a certain way have a sacramental clarity', and finally, 'You discover your feelings about objects by writing about them. You discover meaning. Let yourself play.' So we did just that. We observed our surroundings (quite a bland and dark indoor studio interior), focussed on a few objects and tried to write around them. This was my creation (of no title):

The shiny cavern of the curve of the chairs,

are looked over by the lights

as if to say:

'It is by my might, not thine,

that you shine so bright.'

The bright light of the beams of the lights so high,

are looked over and across at by the wires

as if to say:

'It is by my power, not thine,

that you shine so bright,

your glory I deny.'

The power of the wires that are curled so high,

are looked over and across and up at by the scaffolding all around,

as if to say:

'It is by my might, not thine

that your power flights,

that your beams shine so bright,

that your curves are alight.'

At this, they all agreed,

the sound resounding back

into the background of this scene

so yet unseen

by you or I.

7 October 2018

Copyright EH 2018

As part of the discussion, we also touched upon line breaks in poetry, something that has intrigued me before whilst writing or retrospectively. She offered these thoughts: 'In poetry, line breaks are incredibly important, the line becomes something you see, a unit of meaning.' This has given me fresh perspective on the allocation of line breaks and I shall mull further both as I continue to write, and as I re-read ones that I have yet to type up. 

The 'I Can't Sleep' Monologues

Here it is - after a sleepless night due to 'Storm Eleanor', I have finally created a stand alone section of poems called "The 'I can't Sleep' Monologues".  This has been a long time coming, the usual entries on this theme merely added to my 'Poetry Misc 2' collection. However, after last night's three poem splurge due to broken sleep, I decided it was time. This Met Office - Weather forecast video (1:08-1:28 mins in) describes the sleep disturbing weather I was experiencing:


It's fascinating to see the band of rain fly over at the exact period of time I was writing poems. Here is the first that I wrote:

11:45 p.m. (Wind – Overture)

Look, wind! 

How you blow against my window pane,

Leaves me feigning sleep

As I lie here 

Disturbed by your noise. 
The rain falls with inelegance,

For to you it's irrelevance -

How it falls from the sky,

Be it straight,

Or flat lined

On the panes of my window,

A mere shadow of its former orderly self.

It's lashings come by stealth 

To prevent my slumber.

It's a wonder there's no thunder

Given the efforts you make

To keep my sleep fake.

A slight dip, then awake,

Which repeats... 

My good mood at stake.

Ah - you've gone away

And peace weighs heavy.

Oh no, silly me,

You were just getting ready

To turn and replay this dull game.

And I'd gone to bed early,

What a shame.

Copyright (a tired) EH 2018

Poetry Unplugged

So, this evening I finally took part in an open mic event. I've read poems out at a local poetry reading before, and spontaneously at conferences or church events, but this was with microphone at the Poetry Café 'Poetry Unplugged' event in London. The poetry readings were in the basement below the café, so I bought a drink at the bar upstairs and went down below to sign myself up for a reading. The room was small, with enough seating for about 40 people. I noticed that I was number 35 on the sign up list, so I was in for a long night - though understanding the etiquette that you don't leave half way through once an evening has started, especially if you read in the first half. The small crowd grew and the buzz began to build. There were such a range of characters in the room: old / young; modern / traditional; student / professional; 'arty' / cool; and other such society sector categories. The young American next to me, here on a creative writing course for the summer, began practising his 'spits', taking the tension up to the next level. The man to my right was calmly reading over his lyrical creation, perhaps practising, perhaps choosing which to read. I had been informed by the MC that poets would have 4 minutes at the microphone, to do with whatever we wished. I began to mull over my own choices: should I bare my soul and read 'Disappointment' - a tale of heart ache angst, lightened only by the love that I feel from heaven, thereby exposing my faith, or stick to a more 'socially acceptable' theme - school or death, perhaps. Whatever, I put my hair up. It's going to get hot in here. 

And so it did, throughout the hour and a half of poet filled angst at the mic, I needed some air. It was half time and I hadn't been up yet. I had signed up just fifteen minutes before the cut off time after all. I made mental plans to sign up earlier next time. However, it turned out that the order you sign up, isn't always the order in which you speak. As one of the proclaimed 'Poetry Unplugged Virgins' I got to go ahead of the remaining regulars towards the end. Having heard a range of poets and points of view, I dived in and read 'Disappointment'. It was met with noises of deep appreciation from the front rows of the crowd. It was hard to know how it was being met whilst concentrating on delivery, but I was there to flex my poetic muscles and to find my voice in a place where any viewpoint would do. I was there to push through any insecurities about what I should and shouldn't read in front of others. They (the abused; homosexuals; God haters...) have a voice, and so do I. Their voice is no more important than mine and nor is mine more important than theirs. I have a voice and have a right to be heard. It was also good to find a place where poets were understood, where angst of the soul was accepted as the 'norm' and where sharing words was considered to be an evening out well spent. I have found my home: amongst poets.

Heaven Touches Earth

I'm finally typing up more poems from my poem journals. I'm way behind, typing up poems from July 2013+. I have a long typing session / sessions ahead of me! I've updated up to 605 poems, with more to go. Despite sounding like a laborious task, typing them up gives me the opportunity to 'live' them again, to feel how I felt when I wrote them, and to experience the presence of God that I felt in that moment. Sometimes it's an emotional experience, which I allow myself the space to press into. Others, they bring me joy again. I so appreciate the gift of words to express my journey with God. Heaven touches earth every now and again...

On a wider note, poetry is just one of the methods that I use to journal my way through the ups and downs of life. I love doodling in my sketch book and listening to music, both of which help me enter God's presence. Life is good when Heaven touches earth...

Easter Worship Day

It's been a while since I have shared a poem of mine, and as this is primarily a poetry blog, it's about time: Yesterday, whilst sitting and enjoying the chilled out vibe at the Easter Worship Day at Tonbridge Baptist Church, I took the opportunity to read through my current poetry note book. Towards the end, I found this poem which encapsulated for me, in the moment of writing, back in December, how words are inadequate to describe the depth and breadth of God, despite the richness they might try to convey:

Few Words

There are but few words that can adequately describe you.

Each word relying on the other

To bring another facet into play

To fully display

The fuller array of you.
For no word will do
To fully display you.

How words cannot compare
to this sight so rare
of you.
If my experience of you could be as rich
as the hundreds of words that exist,
I'd only catch a glimpse of you.

Oh how words fail to satisfy my desire
to convey you.

I could twist and turn,
I could tumble and shake,
But no sound do they make
In comparison to
the symphony of you.

Oh how could I stay true to the truth of you
with mere words,
despite their flooding to me
in herds?

Copyright EH 2013. 
All rights reserved.

It was great to revisit a poem and give it some 'air'. The worship was led by the youth leaders and returning university students. They set it up in the round with opportunities for others to lead as they felt led, whether pre-planned or spontaneous. Thank you to them for the opportunity to share some words in praise of our wondrous God.

The Relationship between Poetry and Art

And if the creative and cultural links that we are making this morning haven't been enough: I've just discovered, by browsing through my Poetry Products links on the right hand menu, the following quote by Leonardo da Vinci: “Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” Oh my word, and I thought Michelangelo was the poet. (I love the links between these two artists!) This reminds me of my poem 'The Pictures in My Mind' - see top of right hand menu. In this poem I express a frustration at not having as good an artistic talent as I would like, but also a gratitude for the gift of words that enable me to express what I see in  my mind at times. Leonardo's quote gives more weight to the communicative power of words than perhaps I am giving them credit for in this particular poem. (There will be others where I have waxed lyrical about their communicative power, however.) Perhaps Leonardo da Vinci wasn't actually a poet, but through his art came to this conclusion. I also presume he means wordless art, i.e. not the style of Stephen Raw in the below post. Nevertheless, I need to continue reading the yet unfinished book that I started ages ago 'The Battles' to see if it can shed some light. I'll blog again with any further in sight...

Thy Will be Done.

I've finally grown up and done it. I am making my will, ('Thy WILL be done' - get it? Do you see what I did there??), including the crafting of my letter of wishes. I am including some poems that I have written to be read out at my funeral. What an emotional process! To re-read a poem that you have written means that you re-connect with the emotions that were present at the time of writing. Nevertheless, I have to admit that I found it quite releasing as it afforded me an unexpected sense of freedom. (Or, at this point, do I have to be honest and admit that it is the sense of control from the 'other side' that has given me this edge? Oh, the continuous humbling journey we are on!). I'd include the poems here, but then that would spoil the surprise now wouldn't it? ;o)

In The Eye of The Storm

I have had a wonderful week: two days visiting my God son followed by a four day study residential with WTC. Studying God academically can be, for some, the path to creating a very dry faith based on intellectual debate and reason. However, I have found it to be nothing further than the truth. Studying Theology has simply brought me closer to Him. The increasing intellectual comprehension has merely served to widen my awe and appreciation of Him. Getting to know Him more can also help you discover more about yourself. It is exciting to say the least. In the past year I have met Him in ways that I had never met Him before, and I am enjoying continuing to listen out for His voice, in whatever form that may come. It also gives me great joy to serve Him in what little ways I can too. Yesterday's final morning worship session was one of those such moments. I offer the poem below to those who have requested it, which tied in with a picture that was shared from another student of the faculty and the teaching that we received on learning to live with 'waiting' and the process of being transformed through tough times:

In The Eye of The Storm

I stand in your praise

In the eye of the storm.

I’m feeling the strain,

My body is worn.

My mind is cluttered.

In my prayers I have muttered

Words of seeking

Of searching the dawn,

The answers, the guidance,

The knowledge, the sign,

To guide me to

The path that is mine.

I seek your face,

I seek your will.

And until then,

In the eye of the storm,

I stand still.

Copyright EH 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Rubbish, I can't sleep: 03:00 a.m.

Oh, Why Can't I Sleep?

Oh, why can't I sleep?

I haven't even had a peep

Into the world of darkness.

No sign of slumber

To take me under

To its lair.

Oh how I wish I was there,

But too awake to sleep

Too tired to reap

Any benefits from this late hour.

My dreams turned sour

Of a good night's rest

To ensure I'm my best

For tomorrow.

Copyright EH 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Retreat into Nature & #treetuesday

I recently visited Michelham Priory and its gardens. I haven't managed to go on a quiet retreat this year. So this provided a short but welcome chance to let my thoughts wander.

Silver Droplet

Silver droplet twinkling in the sun,

Your life only just begun

Lest the sun and its hot rays

End your days.

Yet you shine with all your might

In this glistering light,

Faithful to nature’s ways.

(Michelham Priory Gardens 03/08/12)

(Copyright EH 2012. All Rights Reserved)

I also note that on Twitter it's #treetuesday today! Unfortunately I am too tired and it's almost too late (23:49) to join in. However, here is a tree poem for the sake of being thematic:

There’s an Old Tree

There’s an old tree

Reaching towards me.

Its branches are strong,

Its reach is long,

But there’s a gap between it and me.

For it is I that needs to be

Walking more closely

To its girth,

To its range of earth

That I spy so wondrously

Spread.

One would think it be dead,

But the arms that are reaching for me

Do so so gently and lovingly,

It’s like it knew I was there.

With a branch to spare

For me.

(Michelham Priory Gardens 03/08/12)
(Copyright EH 2012. All Rights Reserved)

Thoughts of a Poet

This is one of my latest poems taken from my "Thoughts of a Poet" collection. When appropriate, I offer poems out to those to whom I feel the words might be a comfort if they are going through something which I have also experienced. My heart felt hope is that this will encourage them on their path through the trial that they may be facing and help them emerge triumphant on other side. However, at times this is a risky venture as when the words are "out there" they leave a window into my soul that is unprotected.

Naked / Carefree

Sometimes I don’t want to think like a poet.
I want to think normally, carefree

Without the depth of thought
From which I cannot hide the true me.

I want to be carefree
Without a soul that exposes the true me,

Laid bare, for others to see
Whilst I stand exposed and naked be.

These words express my frailty
Or my inner strength through the trials that be.

Yet, no matter which the side you see,
I still stand exposed and naked be.

(Copyright EH 2011.
All Rights Reserved)

A New Beginning

I cannot express how much I have valued and appreciated the last week that I spent at the Penhurst Retreat Centre in Battle, East Sussex. Such a beautiful and peaceful place where you can escape from the world and REST. I met some wonderful people too. Lots of love to you all in your new beginnings! Thank you also to Richard and Storm, and all the other staff at Penhurst Retreat Centre.

Well hello Mr Bee!
(Or another of He)
How honoured am I
To see you buzz by
Doing your daily rounds.

I don’t know why you are here,
There are no flowers near.
Oh but look, there is just one - no two!
Ah ha! A whole field for you!
So in fact your wisdom is sound.

(Penhurst Retreat Centre Orchard
13 Apr 2011)

(Copyright EH 2011.
All Rights Reserved)


The retreat entitled "A New Beginning" was led by Jen Rees Larcombe, author of the book "A Year's Journey With God" and many others.

World Book Night 5th March 2011

I'd only been to one poetry reading session before, back during Book Day 2009, and that was filled with secondary aged students eating their lunch with crumbs dropping into their laps as they eagerly listened to the next poem to be read. A kind audience. I braved reading one of my own poems at that one too. This time, however, on World Book Night 2011 the audience was comprised of seasoned poetry lovers, cooing with excited appreciation for the next "Betjeman" or "Keats". I discovered "Diary of a Church Mouse" to be rather entertaining when read with the voice with which it was intended. I also discovered that my knowledge of our poetry heritage was dire. (I need to either read up, or learn to nod or coo in the right places.) The local Book Night organiser, whose focus on poetry readings was responsible for enticing me in, via a good friend's invitation, read her selected poems like a stage actress whose pronunciation of vowels were all simply perfect (a history of elocution lessons it transpired). She put her heart and soul into each reading, not thinking for a moment to feel subconcious of the onlooking audience. She read with her whole body emphasising the roll of the poem's rhythm. I looked on in awe wondering if I had the same sounds when I spoke or if my lack of elocution would betray me. I jumped in when the chance came to read my poem with an announcement that I was offering "one of my own". (It's a hard job to follow Keats but someone's got to do it). I stayed safe with the first one "The Peace of 6.a.m. on a Sunday". Then later, once others had the chance to read too, I offered two more to give them some air, (there is no point in writing 479ish poems just to leave them gathering electronic dust on my hard drive): "For She Who Hates Herself Not to Eat" and "The Cycle that Turns", both based on my observations of young people during my time either as a teacher in a secondary girls school or as a volunteer youth worker. I had some good feedback and was encouraged to keep writing. This was a good day in my journey into the sub-world of poetry readings.

Poetry & Art

Inspiration has hit! I have been wondering for a while now how to turn some of my poetry into art to display on my walls at home instead of buying the usual high street chain wall art that is on offer which ends up being, whilst pretty at times, a visual image taking up my living space that has nothing to do with my background, experience or journey. Nothing to do with who I am. So I started searching for links to poetry and art and found a photographer's work on Flickr who had put quotes into a scrap book as a present for a friend. I shall have a go at something artistic and post it when done!

Here it is! Finally an update November 2010. I created this drawing to compliment a poem recently written (in the lower middle of image) and as a way to get into a prayerful mood as, often, my mind races too much to concentrate. I hope to do more soon...

Book Week 2009

Book Week 2009 at the school where I work was once again alive with book character dressing up days, favourite book videos and an air of enjoyment by teachers and pupils alike. I dared to take part in the poetry readings meeting, albeit sticking to a relatively "safe" poem - no pupil likes to see a teacher cry after all!


The Peace of 6 a.m. on a Sunday

The peace of 6 a.m. on a Sunday.
A bird is singing in the trees.
It’s his wake up call to one and all,
He says “Join me if you please”

Join me in this new day,
But there is no work to be done,
Because Sunday’s here, it’s a day to revere
Let’s praise the Lord it’s come.

I shall sing here from the tree tops,
I shall sing here all day long.
For I love the peace of a Sunday,
But it’s the morning that fuels my song

It’s at 6 a.m. on a Sunday
That I choose to start my song.
The rest of the day other sounds start to play
So in the peace is where I belong.

My song sings out in the silence,
For nothing else do I hear.
Wake up now, it’s time to get up
With my song I draw you near.

Wake up from your sleepy slumber.
Cast the dreams aside for reality,
But if you cannot yet bear to be aware
Then relax and listen to me.

The peace of 6 a.m. on a Sunday,
There’s a shrill sound in the trees.
I thank the Lord for putting him there,
The bird wakes me up with ease.

I turn over under my duvet,
I curl up in a ball.
There’s a warmth in there from which I choose not to tear,
But I thank God for that bird so small.

Copyright EH 2008. All Rights reserved.

Your Love for Me

This poem came out of a worship evening at church where my mind was going over all that God has done for me over the past two years or so. This one is for Him.


Your Love for Me

I dance, you lead,
You provide when I need.

Your love is astounding,
Amazing is your grace.

You stand when I fall,
I return nothing, you give your all.

When I cry, you weep,
You give me love - to keep.

You are a rock when I am frail,
I sink, you provide the sail.

Your love is astounding,
Amazing is your grace,

That I dare to look
Upon your face,

And the eyes that have love
For me.

Copyright EH 2009. All rights reserved.

From Clouds to Rain

The sermon I listened to last Sunday (6.30 pm, 11 Jan 2009) was about how God provides us with the grace that we need when we need it. In other words it is not in our own strength that we make it through our trials but, in allowing ourselves to lean on Him, God's power becomes perfect in our weakness (2 Cor 12: 7-10). He won't necessarily lift us out of our troubles but will be with us through them, often using the troubles themselves to transform us into the people he wants us to be (Hosea 2: 14-15).

Below is a poem that I wrote when I was watching some dark clouds in the sky, which were symbolic at the time, and realised that if we can just bear to sit still (it's a rocky road at times!) and take what comes our way we will become stronger as we are sustained by God's love for us. In fact the bigger the clouds the more God pours out his love and grace to us! By working through it we emerge triumphant the other end. The context in which I wrote it may be different from yours now, but the rain still falls from the clouds, whatever the context. So for those who need encouragement...

From Clouds to Rain

I love it when the pictures you give me
Come alive and true.
For here I am with stretched open arms
Singing my praise to you.

It’s raining outside,
There are clouds above,
But peace they bring
Like your willing dove.

For the darker the clouds,
The heavier the rain
To cleanse me with
Your love again.

I shall rejoice when I see them,
The dark clouds in the sky,
For although trouble comes
Your love shall also pass by,

To visit me
And sustain me within,
To shine a light
On any remaining sin,

To cleanse me of dirt,
To make me as white as snow,
To come again and again,
This truth I now know.

So come on then dark clouds,
Do your greatest will.
For triumph will follow
If I have the courage to sit still.

Copyright EH 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Time Out...

Having just returned from a day at the Clothed With Joy women's conference at St.Barnabas Church, north London I feel like I've had a breath of fresh air blown into my life again. These kind of days are so important to put aside time for in order to recharge batteries, reassess your direction and to be reminded, again, of how much we are loved by God, just as we are!

The women speakers were bold with their honesty, (thank you to Helen Shannon), and the worship was true to how wonderful, amazing and fabulous God is on so many levels (reliable, strong, forgiving, accepting... and endlessly loving). I was especially taken by the song that Jo Dore wrote especially for the event. Its words were so simple, yet together were so moving and true. The beautiful melody that accompanied these words created a worship song that was a delight to sing.

Carrie Grant (Fame Academy, CBeebies, "Carrie and David's Popshop!"), was again honest in her singing. It was a gift so humbly presented to deliver God's loving face in times of great struggle. The words "I'm falling..." comforted by the following song's image of God carrying us was powerful. Thank you for sharing.

So as well as the lyrics spoken of above, where did my love of words and communicating come in? Helen Shannon spoke of the power of words. Those that hurt and those that are spoken by God (when He speaks - change happens!). Anne Coles spoke of women's intuition and choosing the right moment to deliver the right words, and finally I am so grateful to Jo Dore for hosting the "Writing a Psalm" workshop. It was so exciting to listen to someone deliver their research into the various Psalms, exposing an enthusiasm akin to my own! However her research also took her into how Psalms are written. I've never looked at writing poetry or Psalms with a particular framework in mind before, and have often avoided doing so, so not to "box" my creativity as such. However I arrived at the workshop with anticipation and excitement at having the chance to do what I love most - communicate with God, and give him the time and space to communicate with me, either via words or pictures in my mind. The workshop was an interesting and effective one in that people who had never written a Psalm or poetry before were given the space, time and know-how needed to create a Psalm which communicated their own lament or worship to God. The women present were so brave and honest in sharing what they had created and it was an honour to hear their words.

I won't post the Psalm that I wrote in the workshop here for the moment (it is a long one!), however here is a poem that I wrote later in the day based on the same picture that came to my mind during the prayer at the beginning of the workshop (thank you Jo for providing the space which allowed God to give it to me):

Your face that I draw
On this page with these words
Comes to me in my mind
As they flow to me in herds.

It is your face that I see
As I write on this page.
Your colours of brown and gold
So clear, without haze.

Do my words do you justice?
Are my words to you true?
True to all the glory
That I see in you?

For I hope that they do
As I sit here with you,
As you absorb the pain
That I see is true.

True to this world
That exists
Without knowledge
Of you.

Copyright EH 2008. All rights reserved.