Social Chat on 'The Places we choose to Write' Tuesday 4th October
I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed the Social Chat this evening. We all chatted about where we choose to write and there were such brilliant contributions by everyone that attended. The discussions were diverse, thought-provoking, and always entertaining. There was lots of humour and mutual support which was really heartwarming. I learned so much too and will be looking up Cathy Rentzenbrink (thank you Judy Hudson for that). I hope everyone enjoyed it as much as I did.
P.S. I've just booked on to an Arvon online masterclass on flash fiction because of this evening's conversations. So. thank you all very much.
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Hi Everyone,
Following last Tuesday's Social Chat, I'm posting Rae's poems and photos by both Rae and Janet Gibson.
Children of the Parish Blidworth: 1908.
Cinder path, steadily climbs homewards from school. Pupils wait for stragglers, by twisted tree, where yellow corn sways. Legs of steel pierce clouds, with wheels Turn, deliver Miners underground.
Wait for each other; it’s what they do, those children raised as family by villagers, in the reign of a King, a Century that’s new.
Ribbons of roses scent the air with a summery musk, that rambles over brambles laden with berries, ready to pluck. Where rabbits chase then disappear, into long grassy reeds, swollen with seeds.
Play amongst rye; it’s what they do, those children, raised as family by villagers, in the reign of a King, a Century that’s new.
Beneath their feet, clay. Beyond clay; rich seams of black fossil, that meets the need for heat. Axes, wielded by hand. Boys become men ahead of their time, in dungeons of *danger, they’re taught to mine,
Dig and pick, it’s what they do, those boys, destined to follow paternal line, in the reign of a King, a Century that’s new.
Life as a wife is taught at the handle of a Pram. A pantry. A cooking pan. Girls become Mothers ahead of their time keep house, feed mouths, give birth, Keep Blidworth alive. Then the klaxon.
They wail. Wait; it’s what they do, those Wives gathered at pit top. Pray. Learn fate in the reign of a King. a Century that’s new.
Rae Gray Miner to Major project
Mrs Robinson:
It starts at her kitchen table, filling bottles with pop to quench thirsty Miners, jollying to Skeggie in Charabancs. Lemon, cherry, or orangeade, dandelion and burdock. She does this year after year. A pitstop for pit week.
To quench thirsty Miners, jollying to Skeggie in Charabancs, Mrs Robinson sets up her stall, smooths apron, and waits. She does this year after year. A pitstop for pit week. Boys and girls guzzle, run, jump, skip, swing on trees.
Mrs Robinson sets up her stall, smooths apron and waits Lemon, cherry, or orangeade, dandelion and burdock. She does this year after year. A pitstop for pit week. It starts at her kitchen table, filling bottles with pop.
Rae Gray Miner to Major