TOMORROW AFTERNOON !!! - Is There Poetry In All Of Us?

QUARTERLY HIGH TOWN WRITERS' WORKSHOP

SATURDAY 12TH JULY 2024

2 - 5pm

BRIDGNORTH LIBRARY

WORKSHOP LEADER - IRENA SZIRTES

TOPIC -  IS THERE POETRY IN ALL OF US?

A Pterodactyl Haunting! * by Jennie Hart

I woke in a stupor

My feelings were weird

I had gone to bed sleepy

Was the wine I declared

I had been in the bar

With a friend till quite late

Just a colleague from work

It wasn’t a date

I didn’t drink much

Only one glass or two

No reason for feeling

The way that I do

I sensed that a nightmare

Had caused me to wake

I was back in the Pleistocene Times

For goodness sake!

I felt I was flying

In some sort of form

Not a hawk or an owl

Swooping down for a worm

No! A huge pterodactyl

With fine scaly skin

That was me, waking up

In the bed I was in

I felt my arms flapping

Like wings on the bed

I flew to the mirror

And it has to be said

I looked very strange

Not ugly not elegant

Just a plain pterodactyl

Not a horse or an elephant

So lessons are learned

No wine before bed

Then you’ll sleep like an angel

Not a pterodactyl instead! 

*This was a warm-up activity in 2022 - A Word Maze. 

Between us, we chose 8 random words and inserted them into a story, poem or prose,

written spontaneously in 10-15 minutes

These were our chosen words:

stupor, weird, sleepy, elegant, bar, sign, wine, pterodactyl

Lullaby by Ann Reader

 

Let a wild hare run through your dreams 

In his  March madness it seems  

He will dance for you.  

Let a unicorn stand by your bed  

He’ll drive off the nightmares you dread 

He’ll stand guard for you 

There’s a nightingale out in the tree 

Drift off to sleep and maybe  

He will sing for you  

All of these blessings I wish on your sleep  

And over it all I promise to keep  

A loving watch over you.  

Let an owl stand at your bed head  

For his wisdom it’s said will see you through. 

Let a black cat sleep at your side 

For your luck and his warmth he will bide 

He will purr for you.  

See there’s a man in the moon  

Close your eyes and then soon 

He will smile for you.   

All of these blessings I wish on your sleep  

And over it all I promise to keep  

A loving watch over you.  

On an eagle’s wings you could soar 

Over hills or a steep valley floor  

He would fly for you 

On a gentle horse you could ride 

By a peaceful water side 

He would carry you 

Or perhaps you would like to be  

With the dolphins far out to sea 

They would swim with you.  

All of these blessings I wish on your sleep  

And over it all I promise to keep  

A loving watch over you.  

Into your dreams you could sail 

On a warm and pleasant gale  

It would blow for you  

You can fill your every desire  

On a cold day a warm open fire  

It would glow for you  

Take what you will for the night 

To see you through to the light 

And a day that’s new. 

 

All of these blessings I wish on your sleep  

And over it all I promise to keep  

A loving watch over you . 

June 2025 Meeting

British Ironworks - Oswestry

High Town Writers’ Workshop

Meeting: 7pm 24 June 2025

Venue: The Spirit Room, Peepo’s High Street Bridgnorth

Present: Jennie (Chair), Adam, Suzi, Irena, Anne, John, Ruth

Apologies: Liz, Sue, Stuart

 

Minutes

Jennie thanked Liz (not present) for continuing the public HTW blog (hightownwriters.blogspot.com) and thanked Suzi for her blog which she explained is private and can only be accessed by the password from Suzi. Suzi says it is successful and it is there for any member of HTW to use. The idea of the private blog is to receive feedback from any member on writing /parts of writing, posted.

 

HTW Workshop: Saturday 12 July 2pm led by Irena

Subject: IS THERE POETRY IN ALL OF US?

Cost: participants to share the £42 room hire between them

 

Kay’s Poetry evening: Theme Summer; Wednesday 16 July

Venue: 7.30pm Presteigne Memorial Hall

Cost: £7.50

Contact: hightownwriters@gmail.com if you wish to go. If you are able to take anyone who has no car or isn’t able to drive that would be helpful.

Suzi and Ruth are judging poetry already submitted but prose/poetry can be taken to read out if selected randomly on the night.

 

Stuart’s summer party for HTW: date to be fixed at next meeting

We are proud to hear that Irena is to study for an MA in Creative Writing 

We also wish to congratulate Anne on reaching 3 score years and 10 on 27th July. 

Two great achievements!

 

Note: Former member Alex Honeybourne asked for donations to dog-appeal but the link is not to be circulated as it is not writing- related.

 

Workshop

Subject: A Promise

Jennie spoke again about ‘Hooks’ brought initially to her attention by Irena. A ‘Hook’ is an opening sentence (or more) that draws you into a piece of prose, a short story, poem or novel, making you want to find out more. Jennie read a few examples and the group then created their own Hooks based on ‘A Promise’ leading into a paragraph which introduced and developed a character or something abstract. Each then wrote a further paragraph to show the development of that character towards the end of the work. Jennie said that those who prefer to write poetry could use the same approach writing first a key Hook and then a first and last verse describing a character or, if preferred, something abstract.

 

In a very short time, everyone produced interesting and exciting Hooks followed by paragraphs with extremely well- developed characters.

 

Next month’s homework: to fill out the story, prose or poem on A Promise, incorporating the Hook and paragraphs already written. The group should feel free to change and improve their original work!

 

Last month’s homework: ‘Sleep’. Those members of HTW who had written work on this subject set by Liz, read out their varied and fascinating writing. Adam wrote an acrostic based on Tywyn Wales. Ruth and Irena read their beautiful poems and John A-S read a weird and wonderful poem he had rushed off that afternoon Suzi read a Haiku and a poem she had written, both excellent, then had to go. Anne brought her guitar and played and sang her own song. She had written both words and music and it was lovely. 

 

Tributes:  for Suzi, Ruth and John who have recently had work either published or credited. John’s work went into the publication, ‘West of the Clee’

 

Next meeting: Tuesday 22 July 2025

Chair: tbd

Alliteration Nightmare by High Town Writers

credit  Gencraft

 One weird whisper

Two terrified tots

Three thousand thunderclaps

Four furious fairies

Five fists flying

Six slithering slime-trails

Seven sexy sirens

Eight aching agents ate

Nine naked neighbours in

Ten tempting tastes

Reminder - Meeting next Tuesday - 24th June

Next meeting : Tuesday 24th June from 7pm

in Peepo's Spirit Room

Chair: Jennie

Writing task is: Sleep - something inspired by this Travelodge survey:

or an acrostic poem inspired by the old Anglo-Saxon English word 'uhtceare'  meaning worries and anxieties experienced when you lie awake just before dawn.

UHTCEARE* by Jennie Hart

 Under the potent night sky

Hang threads of memories which linger till dawn

Taunting my restless mind

Constant feverish thoughts break through my half-wakefulness

Each moment extends into my never-ending moonlit hours

Adding to and multiplying scenes from times past

Reminding me of thoughts I need to bury

Empty from my mind; face another day

*Uhtceare (plural) is an old English (Anglo-Saxon) word for pre-dawn (uht) cares and anxieties (ceare (plural) or caru (singular). 

Trouble sleeping is clearly not a modern thing. 

In our May meeting for the warm-up task, we took this ancient word to explore some of the things we might write about for the June writing task on sleep.

UHTCEARE* by Elizabeth Obadina

 Under the duvet, in the dark, I lie still, making no fuss

Hearing the blackbird lead the dawn chorus

Tumbling out tunes that dissolve the night's grip - but

Cares then seep silently into my mind

Edging out beauty - that birdsong sublime

Aches of old age and stiffness of joints

Remind me I'm mortal and full of weak points and then

Every mistake made and all my fears re-emerge and amplify.

*Uhtceare (plural) is an old English (Anglo-Saxon) word for pre-dawn (uht) cares and anxieties (ceare (plural) or caru (singular). 

Trouble sleeping is clearly not a modern thing. 

In our May meeting for the warm-up task, we took this ancient word to explore some of the things we might write about for the June writing task on sleep.

UHTCEARE* by Louise Lee

 UNDER THE COVERS

HEAR MY HEARTBEAT

TIME STANDS STILL AS I STARE INTO DARKNESS

CREATURES LURK IN THE DOORWAY

EVERYWHERE SHADOWS MOVE

A SUDDEN JOLT AS I

REMEMBER

EVERYONE LAUGHING

*Uhtceare (plural) is an old English (Anglo-Saxon) word for pre-dawn (uht) cares and anxieties (ceare (plural) or caru (singular). 

Trouble sleeping is clearly not a modern thing. 

In our May meeting for the warm-up task, we took this ancient word to explore some of the things we might write about for the June writing task on sleep.

Bathtime Blues by Elaine Pearson

Ey, I haven’t had a bath in ages

And sometimes I wish that I could

‘Cos soaking in lovely warm soap-suds

Would surely do me good

 So, here we are at this posh hotel

With a lovely big bath ‘en-suite’

I thought I’d take advantage

And give meself a treat

 

Well, I managed to climb in alright

Sitting down was a bit of a struggle

Don’t know how I’ll ever get out

I’m in a bit of a muddle!

‘Cos I can’t reach to turn the taps on

And the water’s getting cold

I’m starting to panic just a little

I could be here till I’m old!

So with one almighty effort

I launch meself to standing

There’s me, and water all over the place

It’s running out onto the landing!

Oh, me legs ache, me back hurts, me neck’s stiff

I shan’t try that any more

I’ll stick to me shower in future

Me bath days are over for sure!

An Unexpected Smile by Michele Ross

The aching hole in my life

Has filled with

So many people.

As if they were waiting

For a sign

To let them in.

I was holding them

At arms length,

Not sure how

To approach the subject

Of our greater intimacy.

Now I am raw,

They see a way in.

They enfold me with

A warm hug

An unexpected smile.

And I surrender.

An excellent birthday gift!

It's my birthday today and my sister bought me this set of "Haikubes" - essentially, role the dice, pick your words, et voila!

The red words give your direction and theme (these are 2 dice), the rest are words.

A great tool for writer's block or just something to spark imagination.

Anyhoo, here's today's roll/cube pick:

Between dreaming, a

precious moonlight quickly calls

into which she rides

Not sure where she got them from but found a place that sells them if you wanted to read more about them.

An Unexpected Smile by Jennie Hart

credit Jennie Hart

She was a nun on a bike wearing habit and veil

No satin or lace or red leather

A ‘sit-up-and-beg’ bike with handlebars high

But in black to protect her whatever the weather!

Her knees had an angle of ninety degrees

From her limbs to ensure a firm grip

Her crucifix swayed as the pedals she turned

She didn’t fall off not a tumble or slip!

She had a wild look as she ploughed through the traffic

She swayed too and fro as she took the fast lane

She pinged on the bell and her dazzling cross dangled

Her speed was excessive she looked quite insane!

The road made a dip as with vigour she pedaled

She ceased to hold on and free-wheeled for a while

We stood on the kerb mesmerised for a moment

By her manic expression then Unexpected Smile!

A further encounter with God in his glory

Was a priest in a cassock who sauntered along

On the Mall on a Sunday in May in the morning

And the message he carried was heart-achingly strong.

He held an umbrella wide-open announcing

Wise words to the crowds who watched for a while

As all over the brolly was inscribed ‘God is Gorgeous’

And each tourist in turn gave an Unexpected Smile!

credit Gencraft

May 2025 Meeting

Nightime at the Hay Festival

 Minutes of High Town Writers' Workshop

7pm Tuesday 27th May in the Spirit Room of Peepo's

Present: Liz (chair), Adam, Michelle, Stuart, John, Jennie, Ruth, Suzie, Louise, Irena

Apologies: Fiona, Marie, Kath, Andy, Ann, Emma, Sue

We started the meeting with notices:

1. Emma is talking about her two new books 'Mary, Queen of the Forty' and 'Mercy' in Bridgnorth library on Thursday 29th May - tomorrow - at 1.30pm and 7pm - tickets from the library.
2. The Saturday quarterly afternoon workshop on 12th July will be called 'Is there Poetry in All of Us?' and will be led by Irena
3. Ruth and Suzie have accepted their role as judges for Kay's WI poetry competition in Presteigne on Wednesday 16th July. Everyone is invited to an evening of 'Prose, Poetry, Pudding and Pimms' at 7pm in the Presteigne Memorial Hall and everyone is welcome to read their own writing on the theme of summer. Anyone who wants to attend should email hightownwriters@gmail.com to let the organisers know numbers. Entry £7.50.
4. Peepo's Spirit Room is booked for evening meetings on Tuesday 24th June - Jennie will chair - and Tuesday 22nd July (the 4th Tuesday in July, not the last).
5. Stuart has invited all High Town Writers to a summer barbeque in his garden. We decided that most people would be around in August and thanked Stuart for his offer. Date tbc.
6. The next writing task is sleep related and based on this Travelodge survey:

Choose one of these findings to inspire a piece of writing (poetry, prose or drama):

The warm up activities related to the foundation stone of writing - word choice / diction.

We noted that good writers make careful word choices - even if they do not know the technical terms for their choices, which is not necessary to know. 

The two main word choices are meaning and how the word sounds.

We refreshed our memories of the main ways in which words can convey sound - and how the sound of the word can influence the mood or pace of writing. The four 'sound' choices we reviewed were onomatopoeia (when a word's sound echoes its meaning), assonance (when repeated vowel sounds a,e,i,o,u suggest internal rhyming), sibilence (when the soft 'c' or 's' ‘hisses') and alliteration (the repetition of the same sound - often a consonant - at the start of linked words). 

We practised finding alliterative words (and tried to make them relate to the sleep theme) by writing a One - Ten 'poem' 

Some of our alliterative choices, which could appear in the sleep task  were:

• ONE woozy, wild wondering, worrying, whispering, weird wild wave
• TWO talking teenagers, terrified tots, twinkling twilight, trembling trees 
• THREE thirsty thinkers, 
• FOUR fears, falling, fading, flying
• FIVE fitfully fidgeting, faraway fists fighting
• SIX sinful stories, soporific, somnambulists sickly sweating 
• SEVEN sorrowful, sexy, sleepy, sirens
• EIGHT aching agents aimlessly ate empty aeroplanes, eerie eels, elegant elephants
• NINE nerdy nighthawks noted naked neighbours, nifty nannies knitting knickers
• TEN terrible tantrums, tired toes, tumbling toads, tender temptress

We then looked at word choice. Getting the right word is so important - but it's also important not to confuse readers with too many obscure words - such as uhtceare  which could be perfect for the sleep task - if people knew what it meant! 

The Anglo-Saxons had a precise Old English word which meant 'pre-dawn worrying and anxieties' - uhtceare plural or uhtcaru singular. We used this as the base of an acrostic poem/prose to write about the dark time before dawn (uht) and the cares (ceare) we lie awake worrying about when we can't get back to sleep. Much of this writing was beautiful, amazing under the short time given for writing. Hopefully most people's Uhtceare (pronounced Oot Kay Aray) Acrostics will be typed up and shared on the blog over the next few weeks.

We finished the meeting with members sharing their writing on last month's theme - 'An Unexpected Smile'

If members who could not make the meeting want to share their writing, whether on a set theme or not, or try their hand at writing a sleep related 'Uhtceare' acrostic do send pieces to hightownwriters@gmail.com to be published on our blog - or publish directly on to the blog - you need a gmail account and an invitation - just ask if you want a new invitation sent.

The meeting ended at 9.45pm

Next meeting - Tuesday 24th June - chair Jennie

Next writing theme - something inspired by the Travelodge Sleep Survey (see above)

Celebration from the Air by Adam Rutter

credit: Adam Rutter

Paul, David, Ryan and Philip all stood on a hill, dressed in military uniform, overlooking the fields chequered in green and yellow. Rape-seed and grasslands were gridded by trees and hedgerows, like a picture frame. All four men watched an array of hot air balloons hanging in the air.

‘Look’, began Ryan. ‘That one is covered in the Union Jack flag’, he continued, pointing at the nearest balloon floating towards them.

‘I can see people inside the basket’, said Paul.

‘They’re waving at us’, said Philip.

They pulled their berets off their heads, and waved fervently at the passengers as the balloon flew over them. The passengers whooped and cheered. The burner seethed, blowing flames through the open canopy like a flame thrower. The balloon descended the slope-side of the hill, dipping towards flat terrain. The airmen plonked their hats back on their heads. They watched the rest of the balloons rising and sinking, growing larger, filling the azure-blue sky with red, white, yellow and dark blue gargantuan above. The huge floats drifted by like Chinese lanterns. The hiss of the burners rose, and dropped, giving way to a gloomy silence.

Church bells rang the tune, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’, which swelled, and faded in the wind. The airmen stood at ease. Philip had his hands behind his back. David looked down at a village. Tears welled up in his eyes; tears of grief and sadness.

‘Gran and Grandad will be celebrating this proud day’, said Ryan.

‘I wish my Grandad were here celebrating’, said David, sobbing.

‘Your Grandad would’ve been proud if he saw you standing here today’.

In the distance, there was a low hum. Five dark figures appeared above the horizon. The hum grew heavier, and thunderous. The figures became wider and more recognisable as they drew closer. Their distinctive shapes were unmistakably aircrafts. The aircraft in the middle was the biggest: the Lancaster Bomber, escorted by four spitfires.

‘Cadets’, began Philip. ‘Attention!’

The five aircrafts whined overhead. The airmen saluted.

What If? ... by Irena Szirtes

What if Polish soldiers rescued a captive Syrian bear cub during WW2? What if the bear became playmate, protector, confidant and comrade in battle? Sometimes the strangest “what ifs” are true. Wojtek (pronounced Voytek) was real; you can read about him in the book “Wojtek the Bear” by  Aileen Orr. The following relates how I first heard about the soldier bear:

    My sister spied them from the landing window: great coats and helmets tramping the lane, forever seeking Dad and now his tiny daughters, for he was Polish, they were not. Boots on the stair, blanket snatched away, barrel of a sub-machine gun; and as they squeezed the trigger, I awoke.

    I didn’t tell my parents, or run to their room; I cradled myself in Yorkshire dark, let River Rawthey’s song wash fear away.  

     My sole encounters with WW2 were Dad’s army coat, spread across my blankets, and his eagle cap badge, gracing the photo frame between our bedroom doors. Yet I shared echoes of his post-traumatic stress, unseen and unnamed in the 1950s. I can’t explain how Nazi uniforms stalked my sleep, how terror at being the Hunted infiltrated my subconscious. I had no idea Dad’s own dreams were relentless circles of escape and pursuit. It was as if I shared shards of his memories.

  Shards were all I knew in the waking world, too. He hid WW2 from his smallest daughter, like the shrapnel in his knee, except the story of Wojtek.

  “We had a bear in the Polish Army,”  Dad told me, as we drank hot milk in robust firelight, “a big brown bear called Wojtek. His name means ‘Happy Warrior.’”

“A bear? How did you get him?”

“He was a little cub, and the soldiers felt sorry for him. His owners were cruel and wanted to make him dance. So they swapped some food to get  Wojtek.”

  I snuggled to Dad’s heartbeat, slid sticky fingers round our terrier Judy’s  ears, as she settled on his lap.

“What did Wojtek do? Did he grow big?”

“Oh yes, he grew very big. He loved to play. He wrestled with the men and  drank beer. Just like naughty bears in stories, he sometimes helped himself to jam and honey. One day he stole the lady-soldiers’ washing, in fact he stole the line as well.”

My mind jumped to Mum hanging out our smalls, fielding Judy’s attempts to drop her muddy ball into the basket.

“Did he steal... their knickers?”

“He stole all their knickers, wrapped the line around his head!”

“Knickers on his hea-ead, knickers on his head!”

Dad was eager party to my giggles and squeals. Our exclusive moments of naughtiness always felt special.

“But the best thing,” he went on, as we recovered ourselves, “was that if a soldier felt sad, Wojtek knew, and would go and sit beside him.”

  I pictured this, fingering the shirt cuff that often escaped Dad’s jumper, recalling Judy's interest in my grazed knees and salty tears.

“ Like our little Judy?”

“Like our little Judy and lots of dogs, like lots of animals. They are all very clever, you know. And Wojtek would have stayed in the army if...”

   The sadness that sometimes lingered behind his smile settled, and instinct shook its head at my asking more. I watched sputtering flames spit sparks as charred logs snapped, and Dad offered Judy the remaining milk from his cup. She lapped it up before turning her attention to my busy  fingers. Nightmares were far away. I felt safe in my childhood world, too young to comprehend how Dad’s had been swept away a  few short years before.

   Shrapnel hid quietly in Dad's knee until he was eighty, when it moved and he underwent surgery. Facing anaesthetic caused a shift of memory shards too. There was no doubt Dad swore the Resistance pledge with his whole heart, that love for Poland embroidered his being. But after he returned from hospital, he confessed he’d saved two enemy lives. One had been a wounded officer struggling under fire, the other, a  soldier Dad encountered during his flight to the Polish Second Corps. He was ashamed. He was afraid we too, would be ashamed of a man who'd had compassion on his enemy.

“What was in your mind on the battlefield?”  I asked.

“I didn’t see an enemy.  All I could see was another human being.”

“ And the soldier?”

“ He was young like me, said he’d been taught Poles were ugly, like pigs, sub-human. He was surprised my German was so good. I’d suggested  we stop trying to kill or capture each other, agree to let each other go.”

I told my father I felt no shame.  I was proud, far prouder than if he’d watched a man die in agony, or mown a boy down.

“How did the young soldier respond?”

 “He was afraid, and he agreed with me. And so I got to the Polish Army in the end.”

“And to Wojtek,” I added, seeking to keep him from memories so sharp, he would not permit me to follow. “Tell me about the time he stole the ladies washing! I want the full version – you know - how he ran off with the line on his head, how scared the ladies were, how they softened when the men took Wojtek to meet them afterwards.”

We laughed, raised our glasses to Wojtek, remembering how I first heard his  story over hot milk in flickering firelight.

“You never get tired of hearing that one, do you?”

“Too right, I never do! And you can bet I never will!” 

Read more about Wojtek