Category: words

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learning to write poetry

Robin's first attempts at iambic pentameter

On a quest to develop my creative writing skills I have just discovered that I know nothing about the technical fundamentals of writing poetry. My bad, as the kids seem wont to say.

I have been lent an amazing book to help deflower my poetic innocence titled ‘The Ode Lesson Travelled‘. It is written by Mr Stephen Fry, a hero of mine who once promised me tea and cake in a letter but this never materialised due to his busy filming schedule!

…anyways, I have been having so much fun learning about iambic pentameter, enjambment and caesura I thought I might share some of my early efforts with the world!

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Removed from industry, the morning came
So silently my heart began to sing.

My marmite chops, already serviced by
The toasters toil, retired back upstairs.

Awake! Awake! Awake! Tell me what dreams
Do stir this soul away from sacred sleep?

At peace; the lists exhausted; now to my pen
I will go swiftly till we are found out.

Wanting for nothing, apart from another
warm body to hold this body to theirs.

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There we go, that was painless… now for chapter four.

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the ballad of hawkwood

An old traditional tune I learnt from Rachael Dadd called ‘Two Sisters’ set to new words of my own.

Written about the Hawkwood nursery run by my friends at Organiclea.

There is a fine gent christened Ru Litherland
Mulch, sow and then reap
There is a fine gent christened Ru Litherland
And he has green fingers on both of his hands
I’ll be good to the land and the land will be good to me

With the vicar’s fine daughter he dreamed a bold dream
To grow food for his kinsmen as nature decreed.

By the edge the forest they spied a fair patch
And to grow fruit and veg there a plan they did hatch.

The men of the hour dreamed of buildings not plants
A development would far more there profits enhance.

Our forefathers fought for this fair forest land
So now against the law was the businessman’s plan.

After two years had past did the council relent
So now we’ll work the earth as our forefathers meant.

Now if you past by here you may hear a tune:
Mulch, sow and then reap
Now if you past by here you may hear a tune,
The melody is old and the words will be soon.
I’ll be good to the land and the land will be good to me

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this ungodly hour

somewhere between
the cows and the concrete
the aphalt and the sky

thats where i’ll be
and if you don’t hear from me know that i’m doing fine

what defines me?
does this skin and bone
labour too hard to find

all of the dreams
that others forgo for sake of an easy ride?

perhaps that naieve
but of them or of me
well i’m not sure that i’m so sure anymore

i used climb trees
i don’t do that anymore

perhaps that cos i’m wiser now
or maybe i scared i might fall

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i awoke at half past four again
rolled over in my bed
what the hell am i doing awake at this ungodly hour?

the moon, he plays his part
why on earth can’t i play mine?
cos you are not here with me awake at this ungodly hour.

so lay me down in a field of heather someplace that’s far from here
i miss your warm body
i miss it most this time of year

the sun just hurts my eyes
i know that it gives you delight
but you are not here with me awake at this ungodly hour.

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younger looking skin

a bit of fun in one take with two of my guitar students – not quite sure why it goes out of sync but hey… this is not hollywood…

i think this song is going to be the first track on my next album. happy days.

oh and you can download it free from here as long as you give a copy to your mum!

Joseph’s in the forest looking for the man that they call Peter.
I am in the bathroom looking for the marbles that I’ve lost.
The pig if flew out of the window, landing deftly in the garden.
Elly is in Hampstead desparately hunting for some moss.

I don’t like your fashion business, mr.
I don’t like those drugs that keep you looking so thin.
I don’t like your fashion business, mr.
I don’t need no cream to give me younger looking skin.

Ruth is down in southern spain, talking to my long long twin brother.
I just washed my eyelids and hung my blue coat high upon a cross.
The fish and spoon returned with plans for getting married in the autumn.
Jakob’s leaving puddles in the bathroom for the bugs to skate across.

Making sense of wedsnesday is only rivalled by making sense of tuesday.
Tuesday’s only rivalled by monday and perhaps sunday too.
A drink, a fuck, some luck and maybe we might keep the boat a floating.
Patching up the scars with some cardboard and some karma just might do.

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these songs were begun one winter

After following some intriguing big arrows from Broadway Market in London Fields I randomly came across an awesome art exhibition back in December called ‘These Songs Were Begun One Winter’ which featured the work of a very talented lady called Caitlin Hinshelwood and some of her equally talented friends.

The exhibition was inspired by a poem of the same name by Brian Patten and has in turn inspired a song which I have just recorded also of the same name.

The poem can be found in Brian Patten’s Collected Love Poems (published by Harper Perennial). Here is the link to buy it from Amazon – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Collected-Love-Poems-Brian-Patten/

Caitlin will hopefully be doing some illustrations for modifythevan’s website and perhaps even some artwork for me in the future. Happy days. You can see more of her work at

http://www.caitlinhinshelwood.co.uk and http://whenthisyousee.blogspot.com/

Lyrics

This song was begun underneath the thumb
Of one who’s thickened by the cold
Listless, longer, bolder than perhaps he ought to be
Forgive quiet and then lie down here lengthways on the floor
Hoping that the blood with flow again

Easily forgot, what was lifted first felt
An anchor to the blood
Howling at the moon as the stars are falling fast
Leaves Wind Earth and Rain
We look forward to look back

These songs were begun one winter
On a window thick with frost her finger drew
A map of all possibilities

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the waiting room

I had the hillarious honour of being nominated for ‘Best Cover Version Of The Year’ award on The Waiting Room’s excellent podcast for my version of ‘There’s A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He’s Elvis’ by Kirsty MacColl.

I didn’t win but hey, my first nomination for anything since a certain school debating competition when I was fifteen…

If you haven’t discovered this gem yet do go have a listen at http://www.twrhq.com/ and check out the christmas awards special.