Potlatch Collective Poem #22

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stonewheel

The stone wheel spun with a sound of thunder

The demon arose from that place of hell

My demons adding their furious cries

I raced out into the daylight, but I couldn’t escape.

High fences blocked me, bringing me up short

This robbery is turning out more difficult than I thought

Perhaps, there were other ways to make her happy

Unknown to me and strange

Written in the lost book of the libraries of heaven

Thoughts, memories that will last the test of time

Are set in stone.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

This poem is the final one in the series of random writing put together at the Literary Potlatch event, held at Strood Library in March. We’d like to thank all the participants on the day, who made it such a wonderful, surprising and inspiring event. Credit where it’s due to:

Judith Norwood          Carl Jeffrey          Maggie Drury          Pauline Odle          Sam Hall          Barry Fentiman          Maria McCarthy          John Abrami          Teresa McCann          Alison Ryles          Graham King          James Queay         Millicent Bevan          Bill Lewis          Steve Stubbington          Michael Heritage          Jan Triuuist          Heather Burgess          Tom Marshall          Sarah Jenkin          Wendy Bretherton         Sam Froudist

The report and photos of the event itself can be found here.

Potlatch Collective Poem #21

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decay

He took a drag of his cigarette

And sat quietly in his sports corvette

The darkness seemed to creep and writhe

And left me hollowed out inside

A mix of emotions and colourful words

Expand the scene of the countryside

From the mountain top

She saw a panorama of decay

Butterflies with claws.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #20

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tulip

Strange, calm, hub, all of a sudden I’m here.

There’s a presence here I feel, but do not fear

I am reminded of the time we had together

Strolling, sitting, laughing; a portrait of Heather

In her happier days. Before everything, all

Fell apart

Like the petals of a tulip past its best

Or a paper slowly burning in the fire

Its black edges flashing, occasionally, to red.

Like gypsy traffic lights on her inner road.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

If you’re a Medway blogger or a blogger who has written about Medway, feel free to share  link with us.

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #19

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leaves

The moon was full in the sky tonight

A fox screeched, an eerie call. Alarm or fright

Joseph shifted his position, someone was

piercing their eyes through him, making him …

Pushing a finger through him, paper thin

The blood coursed over his shoes

It was beautiful, the most full of life colour I’d ever seen

Suddenly two leaves began to shiver and I echoed them

The trees ticked like unborn grandfather clocks

As the cold wind blows

So the heart is moved

By the most ordinary things – a good cup of coffee, perhaps.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here is today’s Medway Monday linky for you.

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #18

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Daniel slowed the car down. The exit was

Blocked, nowhere to go, nowhere to go back

Save for the hollow and the light in the black

Save for the red and the curse in the light

Eyes pained; lips dry with the alcoholic curse

It was always the same.  And no money on him

Cash has its own green paper thoughts

If only the picture could talk

The mystery might be solved

If it were not for those pesky elephants

It could have become something so much more.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here’s a very late Medway Monday linky. I’ve slapped myself on the wrist!

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #17

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Lonely yet bright, quickly yet considered

Brigther than anything. Brighter than the sun

She took a bite from her hot cross bun

Easter eggs of the rising son

Glint and shine in the Eastern sun

Like glass baubles on a Christmas Tree

Last year we ate reindeer steaks with crushed blueberries

And washed them down with ginger beer

I hate ginger beer, it reminds me of my dad

Coming home of an evening, smelling bar-room sweet.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here is today’s Medway Monday linky, if you’d like to share your blog.

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #16

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londoneye

Tear and its mother … black into middle eye

Painful though it may be

It carried on through the sky

Opened by what wasn’t

Zeppelins visited, their generous gifts

And showered the people below with them

That they were totally soaked

The rain kept pouring

She thought … this will never stop … unlike life

Glancing down, she picked up a knife.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here is today’s Medway Monday linky, if you’d like to share your blog.

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #15

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The ice cream melted on her hand

What a milky sticky mess

But it tasted so good

That it took away the senses

Of the time it was nice

That’s why at Christmas he received an orange

And if just one time we do not

We must try again, lest we let the chance slip by.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here’s today’s Medway Monday linky, please feel free to share your blog.

Medway Monday: Collective Poem #14

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As the dawn treader walks hallowed ground

The mist scattered around his footsteps

Imprints left passing memories with each step

Striding into the future

Swirling and spiralling, finding the floor with a thump

I look up and wonder where I am

To see the blue sky above

It filled my heart with joy.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here’s today’s Medway Monday linky:

Potlatch Collective Poem #13

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I lost my lfe in my second life

A post life where I was free

The sun rose every day anew

A bright etchasketch moment witnessed by the milkman

Two pints. On the doorstep. She’d asked for more.

Just like the day before

I thought I’d seen that couple

Before in a distant land

The old ship lay …

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

Medway Monday: Potlatch Collective Poem #12

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statuerain

The grey cloud let the rain come down

The rain clouds dropped the raindrops on a clown

Rhyming with its nature, down

Fiddlesticks she said

In a manly voice

Gruff and loud, booming for all to hear

The train steamed past

It was an electric fast

Coming through the golden clouds burning fast and proud.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)

And here is today’s Medway Monday linky:

Potlatch Collective Poem #11

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clock

The 10 o’clock train was running late

Steam bellowed, clock hands ticked

The page on the table was blank, unwritten

Taking a pen determined to fill a void

His name was Jeffery Lloyd

Or should I say, my name was Jeffery Lloyd

Which might be somewhat misleading.

This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line.  At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email rochesterlitfest@gmail.com if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you. :)