Future Generation

Future Generation – Writing Day

July 18, 2011

in Future Generation, News and Updates

On Tuesday 12th July we held a writing day at Queen Katherine School in Kendal with two of our authors Dave Stephen and Frank English.  It was a first for both the school and ourselves and the feedback from  the students was extremely positive. Thanks to everyone students, staff and authors for their enthusiasm and contribution on the day.

We wanted to share some of the work that came out of day and some of the budding writers have agreed to share their work.  Bearing in mind the following were all created on the day (to be exact the afternoon) is a sign of the talent we have coming through.As always comments are always welcome as long as they are positive and helpful.  All work is copyrighted to the authors.

The Alzheimer’s Mirror

Where’s the living room gone?
The kitchen is over here
That woman
So fat
So ugly
A giggle, a kick, a sneer

Where’s the living room gone?
My other slipper too?
I’ve found the bathroom
In the garden
Is that ok with you?

Are the knife and the fork alone?
On the kitchen table
Is your chair next to mine?
I need you to keep me stable

Are the knife and fork alone?
No dear it’s a spoon
A spoon to dig for memories
A line between me and you

Its ok you lost our umbrella,
Your wallet, and your hat
Its ok you talk to napkins
And tickle the neighbour’s cat

As we get older and younger
And the tears scratch and gnaw
I’ll love you till your eyes stop singing
Through the drudging of my heart

*

The settee slumps silently in the corner
Where yellowing shoes sit
With grandmas apron cowering
Against a fire dimly lit

The crisp white heat judders
My speech slurred also
Remnants of those dinner dances
Encased in dresses all in a row.

It’s a shame I’ll never remember
That’s something I yearn to forget
It’s the chip on the wedding caravansary
My one only regret

I’ll scramble to know what the cause is
My life’s span all in vain
Soon I won’t know where the door is
The glass from the window pane

As the clock grinds in the corner
And the sheets sulk on the bed
The kettle will whine on the Aga
Our past
My future
Already dead.

©Rachael Wild


The Fishes
I once swimmed in the river,
I swammed in the sea,
I swum in the ocean,
With the fishes next to me.
I thinked that fish were cool,
I thunk that they were slimy,
I thank that they were ace,
They looked all nice and shiny.

©Rowan Boardley


Death

Death is a mundane affair.
A straight black line on a white page,
Intrusive and threatening,
Ending abruptly,
Devoid of etiquette.
The world becomes monochromatic,
The colour of death clouds the fading memories,
Words on the page of life merge together,
Boldly spelling out deepest fears,
Highlighting each successful failure.
The chains of childhood,
Long unlocked and discarded by an ever-nearing death,
Remnants of the past everlasting in angelic light,
Carry me along the stepping stones towards darkness,
And Death’s spindly grip.

©Laura Day


My Favourite Place

Everybody has a place
A favourite place to be.
I’ll tell you all about the place
That’s really special to me.
A place that’s full of colours
Of music, laughs and fun
Of candyfloss and Cola-pops
And ice cream by the tonne!

A place where great white horses
Named Doris Day and Blue Moon
Glisten in the Sunshine
As they dance to a melodious tune.
I sit upon their sturdy backs
And feel so tall, so proud.
I swing my legs back and forth
And look out over the crowd.

I always have a go at Coconut Shy
Although…I’m not too great.
One time I lost my balance
and hit the sweet stand by mistake!
The pretty spinning teacups
They’ll whisk you right away.
They’re exactly what you need
At the end of a hard school day.

The ferris wheel’s my favourite,
I’m so close to the sky,
that the clouds and birds swirl round my head
It takes me up so high!
I pretend like I’m a seagull
and look down at the world below.

Anything is possible at the Fairground, y’know.

© Annie Woods

{ 0 comments }

Future Generation – Caitlin Law

April 26, 2011

in Future Generation

All work on this page is copyrighted and has been digitally sealed to retain its integrity. If you like what you read we would ask that if you want to use it please do contact us in the first instance or at the very least acknowledge the author. Please also be aware the work you see here is from young writers who want to share their work and develop their talents and so we ask that any comments should be encouraging, appropriate and informative.

My Sonnet

Deep red blushes across a leafy face;
rhythmic storms of fragrant colour.
Perhaps a waltz of gold and copper, vying for a place
in the transient spectrum of retreating summer.
Though it seems autumns’ won the fight,
as the sky bids farewell to the intense blue it once embraced,
sending its poignant farewell off on its infinite flight,
To reach a rain sodden earth, obediently bowing under an enemy too often faced.
However nature’s not quite ready to relinquish yet;
the crawling fingers of a sinister winter still being kept away,
while an ethereally reminiscent auburn light keeps beauty safely in the net.
And the inky yellowness of a solstice sun keeping the frost at bay.
Besides its not all doom and gloom.
There’s still the sky’s greatest treasure to be unveiled – a rising harvest moon.

©2011 Caitlin Law

{ 0 comments }

2QT working with ‘Future Generation’

February 17, 2011

in Future Generation, News and Updates

I have recently had the pleasure of meeting a group of writers from Queen Katherine School in Kendal whose work blew me away. So I asked whether they might be interested in looking at ways that I might be able to help them to promote their work.  They liked the idea and so I give you ‘Future Generation’

We have made a start with Megan and Frances – so please do have a read and any constructive feedback is welcome. Please also respect copyright.

You can also keep up to date with their writings and news on their Facebook page – coming soon…

{ 1 comment }

Future Generation – Frances Butcher

February 17, 2011

in Future Generation

All work on this page is copyrighted and has been digitally sealed to retain its integrity. If you like what you read we would ask that if you want to use it please do contact us in the first instance or at the very least acknowledge the author. Please also be aware the work you see here is from young writers who want to share their work and develop their talents and so we ask that any comments should be appropriate and informative.

How not to boil an egg

I would like to say ‘it’s just a phase’, but its not … I am a teenager, and I am totally incapable of boiling an egg without creating some supremely disgusting stink, making a total racket comparable with that of nuclear warfare or smearing boiling water all over my dad’s new cooker. That’s me … an incompetent teenager, good for nothing.

You might say I’m lazy, that I should be able to be independent at my age, and yes, I know, when you were my age, you had a job, you were earning money, baking cakes and sewing buttons onto coats. I’ve heard it all before and I know what you’re thinking: I’m an incompetent teenager, good for nothing.

The other day, I decided to brave an attempt at making myself a lavish breakfast… well, a boiled egg at least. So, I boil the kettle and carefully place my egg into the pan, and go and watch TV.

1 hour later, half way through some horrendously tedious daytime TV, a suspicious smell enters my nostrils and I shiver at the realisation that my egg is likely to be disappointingly blackened. Burnt.

I clumsily stagger to the kitchen on my Saturday-morning legs to be smothered in a fog of fumes and sure enough, the pan has boiled dry, the egg timer melted into a puddle of liquid plastic and my egg has sizzled to nothing more than an unidentifiable lump of I-don’t-know-what.

At this point, you probably want me to explain myself. Ok, I will, I’m an incompetent teenager, good for nothing. Besides, I was bought up by a mother who refused to allow her three year old children to paint, bake or undertake any activity which had the potential to damage her precious carpets. One exception to this rule was that we undertook regular outdoor water fights, however, I must emphasise that this was purely because it meant that we were going to be cleaner when we finished than we would be when we started. It is for this reason that I have had no experience of the more – let me say -  adventurous experiences in life and as a result have had no desire to attempt to acquire skills in the cookery department.

I have therefore come to the conclusion that I am better off being an incompetent teenager until it is no longer possible. You may not agree but, I forgive you, after all, you didn’t see the look on my mother’s face when she identified the cause of the rancid stench of a plastic and egg combo that clung to her deep pile carpets.

I think I’ll stick to cereal for my breakfast in future.


{ 2 comments }

Future Generation – Meg Richards

February 15, 2011

in Future Generation

All work on this page is copyrighted and has been digitally sealed to retain its integrity. If you like what you read we would ask that if you want to use it please do contact us in the first instance or at the very least acknowledge the author. Please also be aware the work you see here is from young writers who want to share their work and develop their talents and so we ask that any comments should be appropriate and informative.

No – longer

She said she won’t set herself on fire for me no more.
I surrendered, to every word and whisper,
Triangles of empty promises,
Frozen in deceit,
Your liquid fire no-longer scolds,
For in your amour in once did mould,
Your shape’s now pathetic, lost and weak.
Your eyes no-longer bear a soul, no remains for me to seek – just a wasting freak.
Your shadow may have once defined the pathways of my thoughts, but I ask you this time my love,
No-longer, No more.

Addiction

Crusting embers let fall to the ash,
The dim glow,
A reminiscence of a once devouring heat,
Eyes drawn tight from slumber,
This fire offers a whispering murmur,
To those who seek comfort of a disconcerting nature.
Which chord strikes the note; desirable?
The myth of an unbreakable format?
While the tired facade of reality sobs,
Soundless – out of sight, out of mind.
And netherless we fail to realise,
This is the potent face we fear to ostracise,
Perhaps it’s not yet close enough to kin?
The empire’s treasure glitters from tainted mirrors,
Refracted from the dictator’s angle,
To convince the porns of the beauty brigade,
That the only light of the prism worth seeing is that which entices man.
Usually a sultry tinge of purple stains to create the mask.
In parallel with knowledge; if not correctly displayed, it is trapped within.
The beholder looks on with a doubtful eye – the media’s iris seeded the foreign body is not our own.
And will we set out to divert this jaded perception? Or lay on our backs for more.

{ 0 comments }