I.

I carry this secret
In me, in The Cure, in The Hammer and Sickle, in these stuck out ribs
It weighs be down after entering the wrong atmosphere

I carry this bundle
Of cures for everything apart from The Secret. I wait it out
Build a wall, The Secret is away and we are one.

You dangle your secrets
In front of my eyes, like carrots, bunny dear
They are small and not dangerous, just annoying

If only you knew
When you wrestle me in the fortress, away
The secret wakes up
                                  and comes out to play.

II.

It's the embodiment of another
It is the weight of nostalgia and something new
Like mutual need for distance but relentless laughter

I just want you to know
How hard I'm trying this time to keep
This fortress whole

Don't go adding to the
Finds, the fires, the tsunamis that It brings
Throw away the carrots and stop playing God


-T

Article I wrote for the school paper about us :)

We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action – F. Tibolt

The action for me was going on a poetry course in Ty Newydd, where I met other young poets who went on in their separate directions to all, each in their way, continue to bring poetry into the everyday. Once you realise you are not alone in your passion to write, to read and above all, to be heard, you can’t go back to life that doesn’t involve sharing your love for writing.

When I came home after the course, an idea emerged. Why not create my own writing society, where everyone has a right to share their writing and gets the weekly incentive to develop new ideas. There had to be a purpose to it too, which is what I outlined in the first meeting – we were all to become self-published authors on a blog that I created ashbycreative.blogspot.com , where everyone agreed to post things that they’d written in the meetings.

So, every week on Tuesday after school we meet in B18. Normally I come up with the concept for each meeting, be it rhyming tournaments, haikus, the theme of love or any other writing exercised that I can find. These I’ve found on the internet and from English teachers, but the majority I think of myself. For instance, this week’s exercise is that each member gets a sealed piece of paper that has a certain perfume/herb/surprise smell that the recipient has to identify with a word. Then the seal is broken and the real name is revealed. Then, a paragraph is written about what that smell associates with and why it is different/the same as the original.

In addition to the weekly meetings, we have writing-related film nights. Last year, I hosted a fancy dress creative writing party that allowed us to be inventive in a more relaxed atmosphere. I tend to vary the location of the meetings as well – in the summer we often have picnics, or in the winter we enjoy the comfort of the heated flooring. Mostly, the meetings take place in a ‘squirkle’ of tables – square that seems to help everyone be involved in the discussion, also relative to the name of our blog - Quirk. At the end of each session, we read out and peer asses each other’s work.

Finally, Quirk has been a place for opportunity to participate in writing competitions, to go on poetry workshops and even to perform at The Curve theatre and Leicester Love Festival.

What I was looking for in this project was other people in the school that have passion for writing. What I found was so much more. The club started out as a gathering of my friends and grew, letting me meet amazing people with touching, beautiful, quirky, funny, inspiring, frightening and amazing stories to tell. There’s so much talent here. Come and see for yourself.

Bare bone, white speckled
Poise, spine
Sky,
today - grey,
yesterday - the colour of wine.

what does a leaning ladder know
About those bending braids?
 - still
Then Whitney Heuston's hair

It knows momentary solidarity.

-Tallie

Results day

Agitation

Makes skin crawl

Makes the whole hall

Waver

Like the way air waves

In heat

Of waiting

Cold sweat draining

From our bodies

Notice

Further in the line

The first person looks

At the paper and

Cries

And others step 

Away

With the paper folding

Holding fates

The Bridport Prize

A competition that gave a name to quite a few famous writers, with a large pool of money to give away!

http://www.bridportprize.org.uk/

Until

Until the time.
I'm no longer alive.
Until I'm.
Up in the sky.
Until I.
Give up and die.
I hope you'll, always be mine.

Until the day.
I'm lain in my grave.
Or my body, is covered in flames.
Until I'm sent on my way.
I hope in my arms you'll stay.

Until I'm, for the worms.
And I can, no longer learn.
Until I'm left to burn.
It's only you, for who I yearn.

Until my heart stops beating inside.
Until the blood in my veins has dried.
Until all the years have flown by.
I hope you'll be by my side.

Until I no longer beathe.
Until my eyes no longer see.
And I buried beneath the trees.
I hope you will never leave.