Tag: Poem

Buzzword: Beeston – poem by Jade Moore

Beeston (part one)

It’s lying in bed and knowing exactly which train just went by
(because I live in the Rylands and the train tracks are right behind)
it’s the 25 past going to Matlock so I stay in bed till half past.

It’s the too early too loud sound of a helicopter going over my house
and I’m thinking it’s gonna land on the roof
when really I know it’s going to that field between the tram and train tracks.

It’s multiple texts on my phone from my mum saying ‘are you coming up Beeston?’
And it’s arranging to meet on the benches by Tesco.

It’s being half-dressed (or half undressed) and wondering if I’m being looked at
like in that novel The Girl on the Train, a book that was strangely relatable.

It’s walking down my street passing houses I grew up with
most of them with the same people inside
and it’s seeing my ginger cat race by because instead of leaving, I should feed him.

It’s sticking my headphones in and listening to the same songs I
did when I was a teenager, walking up to Beeston a one person Black Parade.

It’s knowing, from home to the high street, where all the unlucky three grates are
and avoiding them automatically.

(yeah I’m one of those people, blame my sister she started it)

It’s waving to the driver of the Eighteen bus as I go over Plessy bridge,
and seeing the love of my brother’s life as she’s on her way to co-op for a shift.

It’s waiting at the Queen’s Road crossing knowing that when the cars behind me move,
the green man will come on soon and I can continue

and end up walking by that window decorated with seasonal displays: it’ll be Hallowe’en soon
and I can’t wait to see what they create.

It’s looking at my reflection in Amores and saying I’ll go there soon
but I never do, cause I guess I’m too romantic and I want it to be a date.

It’s getting to the traffic lights just before Tesco and feeling sorry for the cars who have to wait
because look there’s a tram coming, and which one’s it gonna be?

Is it D.H. Lawrence, Alan Sillitoe, Vicky McClure, or any of those other big local Nottingham names?
I feel a rush when it speeds up then I look to my left

and the 36 is on its way, I’m not catching that one today but I still appreciate all those journeys I made,
the books I read, the friends I bumped into and the conversations we had.

It’s walking by Tesco, and that empty bit of land,
and it’s seeing my mum sat waiting, just where I knew she’d be.

It’s calling those benches Bench Club, cause we’re there all the time,
and it’s saying hello then sitting down beside her for five minutes
before we both get up and walk down the high road…

Beeston (part two)

It’s hearing the price of strawberries over the noise of people buying them,

it’s walking into WHSmiths and looking at books even though they’re cheaper at Tesco,

and it’s going into New Look cause they’ve always got a sale on,
and coming out with two t-shirts: one that says ‘boys whatever, cats forever’ and the other:
‘I need space’.

It’s waiting in Boots for some tablets, or browsing make up I don’t wear,
then ending up in Poundland buying everything I didn’t go in for.

It’s looking in the windows of Rudyard’s in case I see someone I know,
then forcing myself past Thornton’s because I’ve got plenty of boxes at home.

It’s buying a new diary from Ryman’s, because that’s where I’ve always got them from,
and hoping they never get rid of that notebook, because I’ve made a home in those pages.

It’s telling myself I shouldn’t go in Oxfam Books, cause I’m there on Wednesday’s anyway
and I’ll only buy more books, but I go in and look at the poetry
and they still don’t have any e.e.cummings.

So in frustration I go across the street to what was the Beeston Bookshop,
and is now Book Land
and I pick up a tome for £1 that’ll sit on a pile at home for a while
but still isn’t e e cummings (and they don’t have him either.)

It’s ending up where I always end up, in The Bean.
And it’s getting loads of stamps on my card because I’m there every day.

And it’s writing, or reading, or meeting, or just drinking,
but here I’m surrounded by people who know Beeston.

So it’s being on my own in a cafe, and knowing I’m not alone,
because I get my shopping from Sainsbury’s,
and I buy too many books from Tesco,
and I have to divert to Lidl for the pastries,
and I’ve never known a high street without a beeman,
or a small town with so much going on.

So I stick my headphones back in
and pretend I’m a performer and that the whole of Beeston is singing along.

 

Jade Moore

Buzzword: A Poem For Beeston Winner (Under 16s)

What do you see? 

When you look at Beeston, what do you see?
I see a kind community,
A diverse group of people,
All being friendly.

I see a handy, handful of shops,
Sometimes selling things you
didn’t know you needed,
Or something you want but can’t find,
To buy some strawberries you will be pleaded.

I see an arty, army of artists,
Ready to take on Paint a Pot,
Always getting a glossy coat,
But watch out, the kiln can be hot.

I see a busy, bustle of builders,
Rushing to finish the trams,
Having a coffee and an egg cob at breaks,
The tram weighs a few thousand kilograms.

I see a meaningful, mob of musicians,
Ready to show off their confidence,
Blocking out any bad comments,
Just wanting to make a difference.

Now go back to the question,
When you look at Beeston, what do you see?
I hope this poem has changed your mind,
Because I hope you see the same as me.

Ava Waring (aged 12)

Buzzword: A Poem For Beeston Winner (Over 16s)

The Beekeeper

pays much attention, receives little,
despite his years of witness to the bright parade –
babies, boffins, students, shoppers,
meeters, makers, workers, walkers –
the whole brilliant buzz of you.

He has learned the Art of the Chocolatier,
knows intimately the Land of Books,
the stories the clicks of your bicycle wheels
relate, the shush of sheltering leaves
above your fragile heads.

All hours, all weathers, he watches over you,
glad from time to time of your sweetest gifts –
red pom-poms for his heavy boots,
a blue balloon to dangle from his resting hand,
a traffic cone to warm his cold stone head –

keeps safe, perched on his knee,
someone’s drunken midnight daughter,
welcomes the small boy who stares
into his inscrutable eyes
to find his one and only  need –

for you to stop, just once,
let go your busy work and settle here
beside him.  Sit. Be still. Be stone.

Cathy Grindrod

 

Buzzword: A Poem For Beeston

We’ve come over all poetic. And no, that doesn’t mean this entire issue is written in verse. Instead, we’re eager to find a poem befitting of Beeston.

This month we are launching our very own poetry award, Buzzword: a poem for Beeston, in a bid to discover some hidden talent and quality poetry.

We know you’re out there, and it doesn’t matter whether you’ve never written a poem before in your life, if you can express your thoughts/memories/insights/feelings about Beeston in something resembling poetry, then you’re in with a shot.

And don’t worry, it doesn’t even have to rhyme. Take your time, think it through. The right words will surely make their way to you…

This isn’t just a competition for competition’s sake either, you could win £100 (or £50 if you’re under 16), an actual trophy to show off to your friends and family, your poem will form part of an anthology and you’ll be a published poet!

So what’s the catch? Well, there isn’t one. You don’t even have to live in Beeston! As long as the limerick/haiku/sonnet/epic etc. relates to Beeston in some way, it will qualify. You can submit more than one entry if you find yourself overcome by the urge to write…and it won’t cost you a penny because it’s free to enter.

We’ve got some star judges lined up to cast their eager eyes over each entry, and trust me, they’re just as excited as we are.

Our lovely writers here have also had a go at writing their own Beeston poems to provide some inspiration (by way of being terrible), and you can find them here with more details about the award.

Have a peek then take up your pens, readers, and write us a poem (or two)!

JM

Buzzword Poetry Competition

Here’s all you need to know before taking up your pen/pencil/keyboard/quill:

The winner will win £100, a trophy, inclusion in an anthology and much more.
Under 16s will win £50 as well as the other stuff. Judging alongside our editor Christian Fox will be a panel of professional poets:

• Tommy Farmyard, organiser of Hockley Hustle and Nottingham Poetry Festival
• Jenny Swann, co-owner of Candlestick Press
• Alan Baker, editor of the poetry publisher Leafe Press

It is free to enter, and you can send as many poems in as you like.

The winners will be announced on National Poetry Day (28 September) at a special event.

HOW TO ENTER:

Email your entry to: buzzwordpoem@gmail.com
Or alternatively, send it to: The Beestonian, 145 Meadow Lane, Beeston, Notts, NG9 5AJ
Submitted poems consent to future publication in The Beestonian. Please state name, contact details and if under 16 to ensure entry into correct competition.

DEADLINE FOR ENTRIES: THURSDAY 14 SEPTEMBER

Our poems to get you thinking:

The home I’ve always known,
the place that’s changed almost
as much as I’ve grown:
sufficient to make a difference,
but not enough
to lose its touch.
Jade Moore

Here’s an Oxjam stage with an artiste on;
Station platform, has no arriviste on;
There’s the parish church aisle with a priest on
And a playground with kids just released on –
Beeston:
What a sight here for our eyes to feast on!
Colin Tucker

I like Beeston,
I like the bees.
Last weekend I burnt my knees.
I wasn’t wearing any sun cream,
and now I can’t wear shorts.
Because it’s embarrassing.
Dan Cullen

Beeston, it’s never about bees,
Nor is it ever about Dan’s knees.
Lots of places for beer,
Pottle to the weir.
Though don’t get me started on Breeze.
Darren Kirkbride

JM

Letters to the Mind Project

A Beeston project aiming to raise mental heath awareness

PMeJ3uWn

In November I began a project that was inspired by a poem I had written which addressed my mental health directly. I wrote to my anxiety: this helped me to view it differently and I realised that writing poetry is my main technique and coping method when it comes to dealing with my anxiety.

I wanted to share this with others and give people the chance to use writing as a coping technique. As soon as I voiced my idea I received positive feedback. I set up a blog and since its inception the project has received 19 contributions which range from poems to bipolar and eating disorders, to letters to anxiety, a drawing, and more personal accounts of experiences with mental health issues.

Jenny Marie, who contributed her letter Dear Anxiety said: “When I began, I didn’t quite know what to say. But the words kept coming, and it felt like I was pounding them out on the keyboard. It was therapeutic for me to write this. It’s healing for those with mental illness and helpful for their loved ones to read.”

A huge part of this project is not only to help people but also to try and combat the stigma surrounding mental health. Writing to the illness immediately distances it from us, and allows us to look at it in a way that can help people realise that they are not their illness.

We have to stop hiding and bring the taboo into light and teach the people around us that within our hearts we are all the same.

Mental health problems can drive people apart, whether they are family or friends. This can make the illness worse as the one suffering believes they are at fault, when really there just needs to be a bit more understanding. I hope that this project can reach people who need that understanding, and want a fresh way of trying to come to terms with their mental health. This is why the project encourages friends and family members who are impacted by mental health to participate too.

My editor on the blog, B. L. Memee, said: “It is my belief that every person’s story and experience matters and that in sharing our stories at Letters to the Mind we will educate the uninformed and with education comes understanding and with understanding stigma begins to fall ill and eventually dies. I want to see that happen in my lifetime, but to do that we have to stop hiding and bring the taboo into light and teach the people around us that within our hearts we are all the same. With Jade seeking out contributors and media in the UK and I doing the same in the US we are making a fine start of it. But we cannot do it alone. We need those diagnosed with a mental illness to be courageous and join us in our efforts. We need family members to share their stories as well because as a support person, the impact on you can be just as intense and people need to understand about your struggles and hardships as well. As human beings we are meant to accept, support and care for one another. So please take the first step and share this story with your friends and families that you think might be interested.”

Issue 41 of The Beestonian contained an article about Steve Plowright and his poetry writing. I attended a Time to Change event at Middle Street Day Centre and told Steve about the project. He kindly agreed to be a part of it, and shared his poem Cruel Jailers with me, which he is happy to submit to the project, as the poem is written directly to his depression and anxiety.

In celebration of National Time to Talk Day on Feb 4, Time to Change hosted a free event called ‘Time to Change Village 2016’, which ran during the day at Trinity Square, Nottingham. It gave the public the opportunity to speak to volunteers and organisations about mental health. There was live music, children’s entertainment and a health and beauty pampering zone.

If you or someone you know suffers from a mental health problem then spread the word to them about the Letters to the Mind project. Contributions can take various forms: a letter, a poem, a short essay/blog post, or artwork. You can visit the blog at: letterstothemindblog.wordpress.com where you will find more information about the project, and details about how to contribute. Or you can send a submission straight to: letterstothemind@outlook.com

An Open Letter

To Anxiety,
Shall we begin with where you began?
No, first I’d like to ask you about
your master plan:

Did you hope that I would fall?
before I opened my eyes to it all?

Did you want to make me scream?
enough to make me miss out on my dream?

Did you intend for me to cry?
long into the night while
life passed me by?

Or did you in fact, want me to react
so that I might find hope
along with ways to cope?

You helped me to climb
and make the most of my time.

You helped me to realise
the importance of advice.

You taught me that tears are fine,
although born of sadness, they are mine.

You allowed me to think with a clearer mind
and discover the happiness you never
thought I’d find.

In the beginning all I felt for you was hate,
but gradually I became patient and able to wait
for that moment when the bad becomes good…

…the moment at which hate becomes love.

Jade Moore

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