Sunday, September 5, 2010

A room of one's own

I wrote this poem when I was very fortunate to be given a space to write for a week in the glorious Chalkwell Hall, Southend-on-Sea, which has been lovingly renovated by Metal Culture. For more information visit

Bare feet on floorboards,
a room of one’s own.
I look out and glimpse the estuary,
all blue and brown and glitter lines
peppered with coloured boats and
half-butterfly windsurfers.
I hear peacock cries,
a dog barking,
the click and crack of
expanding plastic guttering
in the heat.
I hear the tap of my keyboard,
the stirring of tea,
and rustle of papers on the breeze.
I watch the solar panels lie like teenagers
sunbathing on the roof,
catching rays, faces up to the sun.
There is peace
and real quiet
and a coolness from
exposed plaster walls.
Flies buzz around compost towers,
and the trees that envelope the house
whisper and sigh.
I strain to hear ghosts of the past
padding on floors
and in the skirting boards,
telling me eighteenth century secrets.
The sleek Aga stands
head of the house,
sash windows a love-letter
to the past.
Turbines sleekly coil,
winking out to sea;
a reconstructed past,
a new life for old walls,
a labour of love.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Bugged: good news!

Some exciting news: thanks to the Bugged project I will be having one of my poems, a previously unseen piece entitled Sonny, published in an anthology of overheard quotes turned into creative writing.

For more information on the project, see or follow their nosey asses on

Thanks to Bugged and Jo Bell, the anthology will be published in October. Other writers include my current favourite new author Jenn Ashworth alongside heavyweight names such as Stuart Maconie. Wahey.

Ray x

PS. Also, credit to my Mum for telling me from a young age to write down what I overheard people say in the street. They teach that stuff on creative writing courses now, and I should know.