COMPETITIONS

COMPETITIONS

Hi everyone, I have been through the competitions and picked out the best ones for the group, good luck and let us all know if you enter so we can cheer you on from afar.

MAY

Stories

Plays

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Poems

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JUNE

Stories

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Poems

Happy writing

Events

SETAREH EBRAHIMI – POET

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We have pleasure in welcoming Setareh to our February author event, a local poet who has her first book out. We have something a bit different for this month as there will be a workshop towards Valentine Day, so if you want to create a poem to go in your card for tommorow then please do pop along. As usual the event is free, bring along a pen and paper and do please support the venue by buying a drink at the bar as food and drink will be available all evening.

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See you on the 13th February at 6.30 pm

Author event 2019

DAVE STONE

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Dave is a local poet, singer, guitarist living in Folkestone, he has been writing his qquirky stories for the last twenty years and his output has increased as his work gets a wider audiance. Today it comprises, comedy peices, blues songs, tragedies and love storues as well as a more recent venture into story telling.

Dave is a regular at the various open mike nights on and around and is looking to reach a wider audiance, his first book is a collection of some of his work over the past twenty years and volume 2 is already in the early stages of preparation.

Things to make you think, are they songs or poems? You decide.

 

Author event 2019

BEN BARTON

BC39F673-63CD-409B-81A6-D843BF9FFB58Ben Barton grew up on the Romney Marsh in Kent. His poems have been published widely in both the UK and USA. Nominated for the Canterbury Poet of the Year Award and the erbacce-prize, he works as a professional copy and travel writer.

Also a film artist, Ben’s film Stella Erratica was funded by the late David Bowie, and premiered at the Cannes Film Festival. He lives in Folkestone with his husband and son, beside the beautiful North Downs.

Books available from Amazon here.

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Events

THE WELLNESS CENTRE STORYTIME

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Write By The Sea are hosting these storytimes on a Thursday from 1pm until 2.30pm every week. Please feel free to pop along and share your stories, poems, lymeric or even just bullet points about whatever the theme is. On the 10th of October, our theme is LOVE.

They also have some great things for sale so well worth popping in and having a browse at what they have.

Poems

I KNOW I MUST ACCEPT THAT YOU ARE GONE

I know I must accept that you are gone,
But I will look for you in rain and snow,
Where pilgrims trod through Black Boy Alley,
Up Castle Hill and Minor Canon Row.

I still sense your warm breath upon my cheek
In College Yard, The Vines and Blue Boar Lane;
Each whispered female voice renders me weak,
And shock of dark brown hair inflames the pain.

Thick Medway mud mocks my unavailing search
And careless castle pigeons torment me,
But La Providence provides brief release
And no shortage of shops for books and tea.

I pass where Estella taunted poor Pip,
As bat and ball collide on King’s School field,
Reminder of what I loved most till you
Bowled me over and my devotion sealed.

I turn up Boley Hill by Northgate arch
For sanctuary under cool Catalpa tree,
Spreading its graceful arms on holy ground,
I sit down and let my mind roam free.

For one perfect moment I see your face,
Hear your voice, smell your hair and taste your mouth,
But it’s all a foolish afternoon dream
In cathedral doorway in Keats’ warm South.

When I wake, to adjoining gardens I go
Where sun shines bright and birds sing oh so sweet;
Yellow roses wave in warm, gentle breeze,
But there’s no one beside me on “our” seat.

I know I must accept that you are gone,
But I will look for you in rain and snow,
Where pilgrims trod through Black Boy Alley,
Up Boley Hill and Minor Canon Row.

By Tony Quarrington on WordPress

Poems

Our Lady of the Harbour

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No fey fairy tale figure this Folkestone maid

But mature, full-bodied, strong and wise

Rooted firmly on the East Cliff rocks

Staring intently out on Channel skies.

Some try to clothe her in pity, some in fun

Hats, bikinis, scarves, have all adorned her form

But she is perfect as she is – broad, naked, deep

Impervious to pounding waves and winter storm.

Her hair forever drenched from tidal spray

Slicked back and sweeping down along her spine

Her lusty feet replace the mermaid’s tail

Resist and spurn the bitter lapping brine.

To the dogs released from summer servitude

On Sunny Sands, she’s just another stone

Their ball might bounce upon from owner’s throw

Or where they can relieve themselves alone.

A bare six summers has she settled there

Yet it seems to have been so many more

As if she’d witnessed history’s changing tides

Declining fish trade and the road to war.

When packet steam trains trundled down the hill

Into the harbour station and France bound ships

When English Tommy first tasted foreign food

Snails, mussels, garlic, frites instead of chips.

I trudge across still slippery lower rocks

To reach the stone she’s made her coastal home

And sit at her feet to see what she might see

While thwarting tourists with their camera phones.

Could she be looking to France or Belgium’s shore?

But rather her gaze looks upwards to the sky

As if in thanks this piece of Heaven should be

Where Cornelia Parker chose that she should lie.

Oblivious to the sights and sounds around

The squawk of seagulls or wave smashed shores

Mindless of games that gleeful children play

Upon the drying beach when tide withdraws.

Unheeding of the dirt and noise of building sites

Coronation Parade and Harbour Arm are now

She sits serene, majestic ‘midst the rush

A friend and confidant to all that vow.

Margate may have its Turner,  Blackpool its Tower

Brighton its i360, St Ive’s its Tate

But none sing of the sea like our Folkestone girl

Stately and brave at England’s coastal gate.

I rise from the rocks with wave washed, creaking knees

While hers are as fresh and smooth as first she came

Two hours have passed since I joined her on that rock

A better use of time I could never dare to claim.

Two ferries cross each other in Dover’s strait

As the sun slides down over a silvery sea

Over her shoulder through darkening clouds

The coast of France gleams and bids bonne nuit.

Poems

Waiting for the Tide (A Gull’s Life)

A fearless chick loiters with intent
By Bob’s whitewashed seafood stall,
Affecting to ignore the cartons of
Whelks and cockles and lobster tails
Dispensed a few short steps away,
But pouncing on any edible debris
Unwittingly or deliberately dropped
By thoughtless human passers-by.

By Pent’s red brick sluice gate
They luxuriate in a bracing shower
In muddy, minute puddles left behind
Bygone, at least for now, high water;
With half an eye in the direction
Of Chummy’s charitable staff who
Discard empty shells on stony ground.

Teetering on bare, oarless rowing boats,
Or perched on piles of greying wood
Wedged deep into the hardening mud,
They pass the interminable time
Till the small crafts stir and sway again
And the sun glints on the windblown water.

A fretful throng starts to assemble
At the end of sloping Rocksalt jetty,
Squabbling over the best viewing spot
To wait in line for the painfully slow
Incoming tide to reappear;
In the meantime, scavenging for scraps
On the Stade’s concrete harbour floor,
Disdainfully dropping bottle tops,
Dog ends and paper coffee cups.

Shrieks and cries rise in intensity
As the prodigal, once truant waves
Flood through Folkestone’s golden gate,
Between the now closed off East Head
And war-ravaged remnants of South Quay.

A frantic chick chases after its mother,
Letting out a constant stream of whistles,
Pleading for a morsel of fresh fish
Now washing over its grateful feet;
But the peevish parent pecks its bobbing head
And bids it bide its time a little longer.

By Tony Quarrington