It was after the workshop we did for Refugee Week where everyone wrote poems that I found I had some words on the go too. So, on Sunday morning I figured out a piano accompaniment and recorded a sketch of it on my Walkman.
I typed it up, but no title yet…
© 2013 Louise Duffy-Howard
Running
Hearts beating
Can’t look back
Leaving everything behind
Escape
By Lorna W.
Ilona wrote and read these beautiful poems at the My Ancestors were French Refugee Week workshop at Creator College…
Heart
Emotional mirror
Squeezed so tight
Will it ever recover?
Shattered
Forget your mother tongue
And accept strange sounds as yours
No choice left for you
Three Word Poem – The Air
The plain lands
And doors open
The air here
Smells so different
Vast flowery meadows
Lively smelly farms
Bread just baked
All is missing
Instead of all
Smog and dust
And fish shops…
So very strange
Why would you
Leave all this
And swap it
To such uncomfort?
“Some things happen
Time to go.
Try to find
Eager for experience”
Letters
Through the door
They pop inside
To make me
So very happy
“We send you
All our love
Just stay strong
‘Til the end”.
Every single postman
Bringing the letter
Made every morning
So much bearable.
Then the letters
Slowly got rarer
‘I’m still here!
I still remember!’
No more letters
To fill me
With home strength
For the end.
Yet, can’t stop
Thus I’m made
To find strength
Closer to me.
Ilona Urbikaite
We had a fabulous session at the My Ancestors Were French Exhibition, Workshop and Gig for Refugee Week on Wednesday. A big thanks to Alan, Mal and Sally at Hull’s Creator College for hosting the event.
There were some amazing and very evocative poems and art produced in the workshop that Louise & Amanda ran in the afternoon. Adam Wilson is the artist in residence at Creator College. His is not an illustrated poem, but a poemed illustration, ‘Stranger’.
Adam’s Poemed Illustration
Strangeness made Stranger
Language gap broadened
Nuances subtly lost
Meaning crisply missed
It’s a poem, set to music, have a listen…
My ancestors were French,
And, for what it’s worth, faith ruled their lives.
Me, I’ve never been to church, and I haven’t been good.
But I’ve made my mark,
And I got in trouble,
Listening to my devil in the dark.
Y’know I’ve always landed on my feet,
And I’ve got a sense of history.
Yeah I’ve always landed on my feet,
And those flowers take me back…
The devil inside, he’s sittin’ on my shoulder,
Pushin’ me out so I’m sittin’ on a boulder
In the middle of the lake.
And the devil can’t swim,
So I’m feelin’ brave and I’m gonna get him.
It’s gonna get colder, if he falls in the lake.
He’ll be off my shoulder, off my back.
There’ll be no more trouble,
Gonna make a fresh start.
Stop listenin’ to the devil…
Gonna listen to my heart.
Gonna listen
To my heart.
© 2012 L. Duffy-Howard, Corey Clough-Howard
Home – anon
