speck of ice drying on my trainer - disappears entirely into the fabric it has been a cold spring there’s a flush to my cheeks the sunless sky - a nameless escape
Month: June 2021
Book Review. One Hundred and Fifty-Two Days by Giles Paley-Phillips.
Her betting slips
her football pools,
her lottery tickets,
her loose change,
her notes,
her lists …
her endless lists,
the contents of which we never quite know
One Hundred and Fifty-Two Days
by Giles Paley-Phillips
A novel, written by way of poetry in the style of Toffee or The Poet X.
The poetry format worked so well in One Hundred and Fifty-Two Days. The sparse writing doesn’t tell, its characters are gradually revealed to us through their habits and interactions with our protagonist. The story follows one boy’s grief, from being ill himself, to then the dying of his mother and the neglect of his dad and being taken care of largely by his Nana Q, although at times he has to console her. A child trying to look after an adult. It was the poems of his going along to the betting shop with his Nana, or shopping, the relationship that they have was depicted so well. As was his relationship with Freya.
I thought Giles Paley-Philips also described being alone, to the backdrop of being at school, well. With it all going on around him and being disengaged. I could relate all to well to those poems. And him taking back some of the power – reclaiming control by choosing to not go to school.
I was in tears by the end. I think this is one of the best books I’ve ever read.
He will be allowed to visit his mother soon. His mother who is terminally ill, his mother who he has been barred from seeing as he recovers from his own bout of pneumonia.
Until then, with the help of his physiotherapist Freya, he must navigate his increasingly empty and isolated existence: his father, who finds solace in the bottom of a glass; his Nana Q, whose betting-slip confetti litters her handbag; his friends, who simply wouldn’t understand.
Time passes with the promise of soon, but one hundred and fifty-two days later the boy will come face to face with his grief, and move beyond to a world full of possibility, hope and love.
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ditch perfect
IT IS NOT EASY
to work on yr writing when you have hundreds of thoughts in your mind
IT IS NOT EASY
to work on yr writing when you have many potential distractions
IT IS NOT EASY
to work on yr writing when you have a list of chores to do
IT IS NOT EASY
to work on yr writing when you have had a shit night/day/evening
IT IS NOT EASY
to work on yr writing when you feel like a fraud/imposter/loser/unqualified
IT IS NOT EASY
IT IS NOT GOING TO BE EASY
PERFECT DOES NOT EXIST
THE PERFECT CONDITIONS IN WHICH TO WRITE DO NOT EXIST
sometimes I get stuck in a rut with my writing and I have to remind myself of these points. It is not easy but it must be done. And it doesn’t really matter in which ways you go about writing either.
Pathway
the way through looks long –
too far into the future
you only want to get home
confirmed as you walk
and muscles begin to feel taut
repeated occasions of this walk
start to feel easier though –
to feel shorter
and you glance
back – which you must never do
and think how much time has passed
on this self-same path
how the journey receded gradually.
More of my poetry can be read on my Patreon
dehydrated
i tear a segment from your peeled half of the orange
sat on the bottom shelf
in the fridge
as i bite its cold flesh –
it acts as a balm
to my dehydrated lips
More of my poetry can be found on my Patreon Thanks for reading, I appreciate it.
Poetic Insights 