Valentines Night at Big!Poetry

555F0200-D7D1-4B89-843A-580D8926CF21Big Poetry returns and – it’s Valentines Day! And what better way to spend the evening than a headline set from Tom Denbigh!
Also on the bill will be a hand picked assortment of some of the finest locally sourced poets and performers including Julie Mullen, Rose Cook, Shelley Szender and Ross Bryant. The evening will be hosted by Samantha Boarer and Robert Garnham. Seat reservations can be made at robertdgarnham@gmail.com. £6, Doors open at half seven, show starts at eight!

❤️❤️❤️

 

The year turns…

The Year

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 18501919

What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That’s not been said a thousand times?

The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.

We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.

We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.

We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
And that’s the burden of the year.

 

photo Rose Cook

For my Grandad a hundred years on : the First World War centenary

 

With much love for my Grandad, Thomas Clarke, born 1896, who fought with the Sherwood Foresters, Nottinghamshire & Derbyshire Regiment 1914-1918

 

Show me a greenhouse

and I catch my Grandad’s face

turning, as he bends to his plants,

his calm back rounded away

from trench war and toil.

I recall his gentleness,

the pungent hothouse smell

of tomato plants and the soil

quick with growing.

 

Kindness itself, he was always quiet,

would sit smoking, stare into space.

A survivor. How was it to return, to carry

those memories to the end of your days?

He never spoke about it, except to say that

the pack-mules had to be attended to first.

He was sent home with trench fever,

which saved his life.

 

At the eleventh hour the guns fell silent –

on the eleventh day of the eleventh month.

My Grandad’s birthday.

 

 

Rose Cook