Russthewriter

My first novel is available here, https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/525083.


This week's Poem of the Week incorporates my top 3 interests in life; football, music & literature.

What are your top 3 interests?

Poem of the Week is this little ditty that kind of sums up the X-Factor culture we seem to live in these days. Remember - just because it's good, doesn't mean it's popular; adversely; just because it's popular, doesn't mean it's good.

( ) insert name here

She’s a pop star

A pop star

Not just any pop star

She’s unique

Oh yes,

She’s unique alright

She’s deffo got it

Bootylicious or what, man!

Have you seen her?

Catch her video!

Wearing sod-all!

Boy, watch her go!

She’s really creative

And man can she sing

Gives you a hard-on

By shakin’ her thang

A voice so g-lor-i-ous

It drives you insane

Slips through your synapses

And boggles your brain!

She’s really profess’nal

And really sincere

Has her own perfume range;

Top designer gear

She’s wonderful, cultured,

The cute girl next door

She’s such a cool mover

When she hits the floor

She’s in all the papers

Got deals with the mags

She’s packed in the cocaine

Don’t even smoke fags

So come on you girlies

And wish to be her

While the boys fantasise

‘bout making her purr

She’s such a great pop star

With such a great song

Her future’s assured

(‘til the next comes along…)

This week’s Poem of the Week is called ‘flown’…

I had a friend who used to dose

He flew too high

He came too close

And never could he reason why

I feared he’d err and so to die

He never found out who he was

I thought he’d fall

And all because

As Neil said within his song

The needle and the damage done

This week’s Poem of the Week is dedicated to my wife; the moon has always been depicted as silver and female, and I tried to encapsulate this in my love for her. I also revisited this poem after the Super-tide of last weekend in the South, caused by the proximity of the moon to Earth in alignment with the sun, and the upcoming excitement of the eclipse on the 20th March. I hope you enjoy it.

the moon is a lady and so is my wife

New Moon


In the expanding universe of our world,
one similar to others and yet unique,
there orbits in the life that’s ours
just a pair of circling stars;
no others do we seek.
Like satellites: split from each other we are,
celestial bodies captured within our gravitas.


First Quarter


Love formed in orbit around us as our friendship grew.


Back then,
the Maria of your life; deceptive and protective;
yet your significant Plato still visible to the naked eye:
such dryness the irony of your Tychon past.
The surface of your life, scarred by cosmic impact;
hard to penetrate, to let new love in-
protecting a molten core; passion-hot and constantly moving.
The lava of your inner soul welling up to heal the scars that bind.
You are made of the same stuff as I
but in different configurations.

The moment that we met
was the magic moment of eclipse;
just Baily’s Beads of fatherhood
escaped your all-encompassing presence-
your shimmering, glimmering iridescence.

The months we took to gravitate
are existentially apt.
For at that time
we re-aligned
our orbits - then were rapt.


Full Moon


Our lives, our paths, are still our own:
we remain as individuals.
Eternally entwined on our path through life;
Our track totally complete- undeterable.

The paradox of my earthly days
is now opposite to fact.
My days they pass so quickly as
we grow closer in our pact.

The natural satellite of my earth,
partner to all that surrounds my life:
I gravitate to you
and float when I’m around you.
My tides ebb and flow in conjunction with your pull
as you cycle through your phases of life:
the shadow is lifted,
the sunshine of our love banishes my darkness
as you wax and wane;
I discover new variations in you-
how your temperate side can turn to ice in a moment,
yet our love returns with your smile, and you thaw.

Each morning my Earthrise hoves into my day
and warms me each second as I go upon my way.
At night your constant closeness
nails your star onto my mast
as we sail into the future and Heaven’s shores at last.

My glory is reflected from your light:
sustains me through the long days,
and as I ride the waves of night.
Moonshine across this land;
Moondance me to make me warm;
Moonstone stands upon your hand;
Moonrise with me every morn.
Moonrise, moonset;
my moon rose the day we met-
though all that glisters is not gold,
the greatest treasure in my arms I hold.

Last Quarter

Now most spend their time staring at the sun,
reveling in its cosmic rays;
not seeing the stare of a gun.
But me, I look to a different sky,
one that is filled with a different heat;
that of passion, and love; a fire that won’t die,
fed by love’s everlasting fuel-
an orb that shines upon my life.
As Hutton said, in Scottish brogue,
“no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end”.
And though she may wax,
may she never wane;
though know if she doth,
my love will remain
as constant as that day
that her light eclipsed the stellar rain.

And after all,
the Sun is eclipsed by the Moon.


This week’s Poem of the Week pays homage to that efficient life-changer - moving on and out of our comfort zones.

Cut / the cord

In amniotic fluid we float
In a self-contained universe
Within our pre-birth moat
From warmth to cold
From isolation to something worse
After nine or so months
Of pickled onion ice-cream strangeness
We slide wetly from our mums
Just as we are;
No more, no less
And so they cut the cord.

Several years crawl, as we do
From four to two
As we change our view
Then left alone
Yet surrounded by people
Strangers all
Yet paid to keep all
Us toddlers in for knowledge’s devouring rapacious appetite
Fed to the system by day
To return home at night
And so that first day
We stand and cry our loss and discord
Our parents weep too
Yet still they cut the cord.

Many years later and time has moved on
We’ve grown so big
We daughters and sons
So mature we are now
(well, that’s what we think)
The future looks rosy
(well, a dull kind of pink)
We hate taking orders because we all know what’s best
Don’t listen to parents, follow our own behest
And the day finally comes
And the doors finally open
Trepidation and fear strikes at us then
From the state’s schoolroom-womb
To the wide open world
Time to pay our own way
For our pleasures and board
And so for the first time
We cut the cord

To a job or a dole queue
Education or crime
It’s time to grow up
This is real, not a mime
Real consequence and action
Retort and reaction
We all take our chances
Choose which tunes and which dances
And eventually,
Probably,
Inevitably,
To a place of our own
At first a mere house
Then becomes home
Filled with our own content
And sometimes discord
Our choice for the first time
Because we’ve cut the cord


We find us a partner
Let them move in
Married or single
Or cohabit in sin
We may last a lifetime
Or no time at all
The bad times are evil
The good times a ball
We may spawn some offspring
From one to a load
May all stay together
Or live in separate abodes
Regardless of details
They are all born the same
In approximately nine months
The cycle starts again
And we may curse our bad luck
Or give thanks to the Lord
But one thing’s for certain
We again cut the cord

In years still to come
Our young ones will grow
We then send them off
Though we hate to let go
They’ll all have their own lives
Though they’ll always come home
‘cos you always need parents
Even when you’re out there alone
And there’s one true damned certainty
Though you may dodge life’s sword
With its edge of experience
It will always sever those cords


This week’s Poem of the Week is very personal to me, a tribute to the greatest friend I have ever had - Mr Andrew Cooper, a true Legend of a man. Words can only express so much, my friend - and so I raise a glass to you.

Chameleon, warrior, gypsy and brave

Remember a time
Back in ‘79...

As we look at this faded photograph
And see each other standing there
At old Fred Gough in the early years
All in lines in the middle of the square
You in the back with your eyes wide shut
And me with my hair that was hacked not cut

What do we think to look back now…

I see the crown of childhood stood on our brows;
The mantle of choice that cloaked us
And we never even knew it
That life is one damned hard trek
And we’d have to battle through it

Sepia tones and the creeping tendrils
of memory encapsulate so much time
as it sleets through the abyss of life’s
split-second existence that
is ours to keep
for just the blink of an eye…

Remember listening to tapes from a studio in France:
(We always seem to mosh and never ever dance)
Playing games on your Dad’s ZX81
G7000 and BBC B- back then, cool fun
Entering Arms Law a line at a time
Copying your French work - my only crime

So many memories, too numerous to mention…

And when I married the first wrong woman I met
You were the best man a friend could ever get

Breaking ice on the field at the rear of your parents’ house
Creeping in pissed on weekend nights foolishly thinking we’re quiet as a mouse
Drinking in Pickwicks as we watch on screens
Hussey’s two-headed eagle - know what I mean?
Sleeping on the floor at your uni digs
And training it home after our weekend ligs



Then life came between us and we drifted apart
gone but not forgotten, you were always in my heart
and my most awesome memories seem weird as hell;
all those times we spent adventuring, from the horror of R’lyeh
to Tolkien’s high fantasy of Dol Guldur, and Rivendell
Such times of high adventure


But the rest is for us to speak of
Face to face when once we meet again
In your place or mine
We’ll sit, drink and then
So much we will share;
Memories, worries and cares
The things that make our lives.
Though lived beneath separate skies,
We’ll talk of what each other sees

And believe me my friend
I will make it to you
Before my final end
Because my friendship’s true

For now, there’s miles between us
And we both have lives to live
Concerns, responsibilities
And time we have to give
To those we have a duty to
Who need us close at hand
But one day soon they’ll be content
And live on their own land
I’ll have the time, I’ll have the cash
And then, my friend…

And what concerns could keep two friends apart?
Financial, family, affairs of the heart
Each time that we have the coin
And we are ready to arrange
A holiday upon your isle
Life throws yet more times deranged
Into the cauldron where we live
And sucks up all our chance
To make it there to you
Throws our life out of balance

Heating systems, kitchen faults
Roof disappears into the wind
Car accident that leaves me wrecked
What else can bad luck bring?

Well…

The day they told me that my dad was slowly,
oh, so slowly dying.
And then that I’m half-hearted…
God I feel so strong but I just wanna break down and cry

The circle of time rolls on and we roll with it

And so we turn our eyes to the heart of the rising sun
The rising of your sons: the rising of our daughters
Their day is still to come
And as for us?
Well…
We have our past and our memories
- and each other

Take care my true, true friend
I will be there one day
I promise…


This week’s Poem of the Week speaks of love and the tapestry of desire and emotion that is woven when two hearts entwine.

Willie’s woman

Is a burning ball of Neolithic needs. Smoulders
then ignites, every Friday night.
Watching her readiness, her steadiness, her building desire
casts a white-hot heat within his breast. A volcano of
turmoil that rages in his heart; staggers his mind,
and reels his senses; till his lenses and iris’ weep for release.
With the closing of the door, enters purgatory. Behind her.

She prowls the bars like a she-tiger, surrounded by her pack.
Casting an indomitable, desirous figure
for all to fall for. To worship. To want. And
she plays her part well. Will she? Won’t she?
Who can ever tell? Including herself…
Hope her will is good.

William, meanwhile, ever faithful, ever fearful;
never knows how or when she’ll return to harbour.
Or if she will…Will. The aeons of the small hours
creep by; greying his hair, lining his face. Charming,
yearning, anxious as the hell he sits in, remains puppy-dog loyal
in his place. Fear etched upon his face and heart.
Watching every light that slides along the ceiling
until…at last. One stops.
Heart leaps to mouth as he hears her getting out.
Engine fires. Bitter words leap to mouth at the key rattling in
the lock. Die on the lips at her pissed-up, messed-up smile
that mocks his existence in her post-pub world.

Weary, war-ravaged silence reigns, as, in vain, he tries
to communicate once again; to no avail.
No words. No words. If they could
only speak. And so to sleep. Perchance
to dream of the dream they had. Was it
always this bad?

She awakens post-meridian, sprawled
across the middle of their king-sized again. Her hangover
of the same proportions; emerald eyes encrusted; mouth
a gash of crimson slashed porcelain across fastidious flesh;
tresses a mess. Tearful, weary, bleary-minded, ever fearful
of the Truth - of pigeons coming home to roost.
Half the rent gone; the gin-sink oblivion of alco-pops
gurgling in her guts. Sound and vision driving her nuts.
Tentatively stretches out a tentacle to ensnare his humbled heart
and wallet yet again. Riding his train. Satiates her
primeval fire to be desired by all men. At all times. As Eve;
libidinous and lurid; as Cleo; sensuous and smooth. Or Pandora.
Never fails to lift the lid on that box of possibility;
what if?

And so he gets six more days of semi-peace; of work that
will not cease; a treaty of time where only life’s mime
for money exists:- ’till the weekend
comes around again. Till…
Yet he loves her. Still.


This week’s Poem of the Week is a shorter poem entitled Breathe…
I do like the shorter form poems that are out there, as I feel that containing the maximum meaning and emotion in the simplest form and fewest words is a definite skill that all writers should at least practice, if not master.

Breathe…

You

and

Me;

eternity

Can’t

you

see;

it

is meant to be

Now

breathe

easy

This week’s Poem of the Week is Hoarefrost, homage to all of us who have spent time looking for love in all the wrong places…

He sees her

In the bar

Sees her form

No defect mars

Wants her

Needs her

Longs for her

She sees the stud

Look her way

Never yet

Has she strayed

She enchants him

She beguiles him

She doesn’t need him

Sauntering smoothly

Approaches the man

He thinks his luck is in

Thinks he can

Reaching for her

She evades him

They regard each other

He watches as she flaunts

She taunts and teases

He longs and yearns

His dilemma pleases her

He won’t get her

She won’t let him

But he don’t know

After all

It’s just club culture

It’s Christmas Eve! So tonight I present my thought for this festive period; a plea to remember that not everyone has someone to spend this time with, and just because people aren’t alone, it doesn’t mean they’re not lonely. Let’s be there for each other. Have a great and Merry Christmas!

Islands

Broken-hearted lover
Deserted for another

Hot tears fall                                                                                                                    Refugee in exile

Lies buried in a file

Years incarcerated

Widowéd or widower

Lost to him or her

An eternity alone

Bullied child of school time

Hurts that last a lifetime

Scars that never heal

Zero’s teens of confidence
All swagger with no sense
Fodder for life’s scrapheap

Pensioners pensionless

Worth no more; just less

Put ‘em in a home

Last week’s favourite flavour

You had the press’s favour

Now the public have grown bored 

People starve in Africa

With capitalistic fervour
We sigh and pass them scraps

The poet at his PC

Through eyes so sharp he sees

Yet never steps within

The reader of such verse

Just skims the words at first

Then takes time to understand

As we enter this Season of Goodwill to All Men, we need to remember that phrase and understand its meaning. In a world of killing and hatred and fear, people are still inherently good. Let’s all celebrate that and unite in peaceful enjoyment of the season; if we all do our bit, the haters will still hate, but they’ll have little effect. Here’s to a positive Season of Goodwill. Cheers!

Justified

They fucked you off one too many times

You’re justified

Took the piss out of all your rhymes

Yeah, you’re justified

They all take the mick, those dumb kids at school

Just ‘cos you’re different, they call you uncool

Hell yeah, you’re justified

Claimed you’re a virgin; laughed in your face

Yeah, you’re justified

Push you around just to keep you in place

Hell yeah, you’re justified

Scoff at your hairdo, your talent, your art

Shout “Teacher’s pet, you’re an ass-kissing fart!”

You’re more than justified

They laugh in your face ‘cos your Dad’s gone and split

Or call you “a loser, you working-class shit!”

They sneer and they bully

Don’t understand fully

Can’t understand

Just what makes a man

And what makes a man do

What you’re gonna do

Because, after all

They brought their own fall

With the way they mistreated you

And

After all

You’re justified

Oh yes

You’re justified

But…

Wait just a moment

And hear my statement

I was once a lad too

And just like you

I was taunted and bullied

My innocence sullied

They laughed in my face

And called me disgraced

Hung out of windows

Struck with hard blows

But…

Look at me now

Happy somehow

I came through it all

Scarred perhaps

Memories, yes

But now I’m a man

Who’s done all he can

To put it behind him

Not let it blind him

To the world that is out there

And,

You know something else?

I still care

I still care about the people, things and stuff in life

You know; kids, job, family, wife;

That’s what’s worth caring about

So before you embark on this deadly mission

Listen to the words of the Faithless man

Because you don’t need eyes to see you need vision

And all the shit they do ain’t worth a damn

You’re better than that and better than them

So put down your weapons and don’t be condemned

Don’t make this a bloodbath

You can walk a different path

One day at a time, one step to another

Believe in yourself like I do my brother

Be someone different, don’t be a sheep

They may dent your pride but it’s still yours to keep

Hold your head high, I know you’ll succeed

More young wasted lives is not what we need

So kill all your hatred, and not your school friends

Success is your future: it’s not a dead-end

All bad people felt justified

In the mistakes that they made

But for you my friend

If you believe in yourself

And avoid a bad end

The future’s so bright

You’d better wear shades…

I’m feeling rather emotional and ecstatically happy today, as we became Grandparents for the second time yesterday. It’s a time when we all come together again to celebrate family. So today’s poem is dedicated to the love that we all feel for those special people in our lives.

Fragility

If I could tell you what your love means to me

There would never be enough words to make you see

Ah well…

If the sun should ever die

Your smile would light my way

If the night came everlasting

The radiance of your beauty would become my day

If water were to disappear from now till end of time

I would sup from your cup and drown in the pools of your eyes

If the lies of false prophets ended the world

I’d breathe all my days by just one of your sighs

Though this life will one day leave me

And all my dreams turn to dust

My greatest achievement

Was winning your trust

Your heart and your hand

Your presence and future

And for that my darling

I will always salute you

For you are my reason, my honour and purpose

For you I exist and strive boldly through

Each day that we share, I feel truly blessed

What more to life, than being with you?

This week’s Poem of the week is Birthday Letter, a poem close to my heart as not only did I celebrate my own birthday recently, but this was the first poem I ever wrote for my wonderful wife, on her own birthday years ago. I hope you enjoy it.



Birthday Letter





On this your special day
I thought to write some verse
For the special one within my life;
Core of my universe.

Because you are the centre of
My life, my world, my worth;
Symbolic’ly I give to you
This paragon of Earth.

This globe,
It is the locus
From which we operate;
Just like you,
The focus
And lodestar of my fate.

May such happiness and true content
Continue as we spin
Upon this sphere
This microcosm,
Of the world that we both, delightedly, live in

So as you read and ruminate
Through loquacious text you sift;
Through asymmetry and lines
defamiliarised;
The raison d’etre for my gift.
For as you’ve found
In many ways
In many shapes and forms;
Literature, relationships
refuse to follow norms.
And to each taste
To penchant personal
One may not suit all;
And one that fills one lovers heart
May cause another’s fall.

But cultivation,
Inclination,
Appreciation,
Discrimination,
Differentiation;
When placed within the smelting pot
And tempered on life’s anvil
(with its trial and tribulation)
And experience that this all brings
(and a soupçon of education)
May suit the palate well
And lead to everlasting love:
Who can ever tell?

So take this gift,
This globe,
This orb,
This symbol of your worth
And see within,
That I see in you,
My life, my world, my earth.

This week’s Poem of the Week is something personal; a tribute to my amazing parents and the fantastic job they did in raising me. Thanks Mum & Dad.



Moon and Star


Across the branded bridge
To the citadel of care
The end of a pointless journey
Moon wished he was elsewhere
By wheels of steel
and fractured limb

At Moon’s side strides Star
Omnipresent
Comforting

Luminous, large
Moon takes his place
Care-creased brow
On Star’s worried face
“Don’t leave me Star”
“I must my love,
but watch I will,
from heavens above.”
Then star travels,
Silent, fast
From whence she has come.
Moon languishes lonely
Wondering
Is this his last?
As Star reaches safety
and home

Two bodies celestial
A true brace of heaven
Though tribulations and trials
Could sunder them never

The light now is dying
Longevity fades
Inevitability
No-one can evade
Through existence sustained and lustrous
Successful and paired
Their shining achievement
To have constantly cared
Though Moon was the largest
Fiercest and bright
Star shone on, ever on
With a fierce pin-prick light
And constantly companioned
Travelling life’s trials’ night
Finally triumphed through
Love’s unquenchable might

So I look to the heavens
And the night sky above
And see Moon
And Star
Side by side
Shining their eternal love
In honour of the season we find ourselves in, as British summertime fades into memory, and as many of us struggle to work and back in the cold and dark, I present my Poem of the Week; Autumn’s Fall.

Autumn’s Fall



The brachius branches
Of the lung-trees
Of the landscape
Shed nature’s skin
Leaving leaves on loam
Blanketed by tiny tendrils
Of fallen ships that pass
In the frosted frigid air
Blown by the wind of season’s change
Scarf-shrouded and assailed
We struggle on

Welcome back to the Russ the writer blog on this sunny (for now) Sunday in Scunny!

I recently had the privilege of working with some excellently artistic individuals as we prepared a cover for the impending release of my first e-book - Black-eyed. This is Tract One in my Corlandian Ballads nonology.

The crew consisted of myself; writer and artistic director, Paul Grant; cameras, video and artistic director/producer, as well as model (phew!), Matt Millward; photography and production, and the extremely nervous first-time model Miss Alice Young who blew us away with her application to the shoot and pure natural talent.

The location we chose, for the feel, ambience, pure beauty of the setting and the wonderful light and shade of early summer’s evenings, was a local Scunthorpe church; St Lawrence’s. This is a fantastic old building full of majestic grace and gravitas; perfect for the themes of the novel. This is a favourite wedding venue for many local couples, even those from outside of the diocese.

Below are several shots of the shoot itself. We will be publishing a video of the shoot in the near future, so I don’t want to spoil the final cover or the shoot release, so these are just a cheeky peek and a taster for what’s to come. You won’t be disappointed!

I’ll write to you again soon!

Russ the writer

August 2014

The church tower at St Lawrence’s - now you can see why they call it ‘Sunny Scunny’!

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The amazing Miss Alice Young - first-time model - who pulled off some stunning shots for us!

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Mr Matt Millward, photography maestro, sets up the shot for the front cover of Black-eyed.

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Photographer and model discuss the shot…

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The long-suffering Mrs Russ the writer looks on with Abbie and Candie enjoying the sunshine, and Alice’s friend - who wishes to remain anonymous! - watching.

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Mr Paul Grant esquire - the other half of GrantGurnhillCreations - artistic director/producer, video and photography prepares to shoot the shoot…

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Alice getting into the mood as Matt prepares his equipment.

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The stunning architecture of St Lawrence’s with its summer’s evening light and shade that helped inspire the shoot.

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The scene that inspired the shot.

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The initial concept sketch for the shoot.

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As the Stones once famously said - please allow me to introduce myself.
Despite the uniqueness of my medical condition - I only have half a heart - I'm really just an ordinary guy with a soaring personal passion for writing and creating. I scrawl, doodle, scribe, sketch words into images, and write constantly.
I also have literary Tourette's, which is fine until your audience changes. If you get that, you're already there.
I am constantly expanding my output of literature and creativity, working alongside such luminary geniuses as Paul Grant, Andrew Cooper and Jade Michelle Smith.
Feel free to peruse the attached pages of some of our work.
And always feel free to contact us, by any media. All writing projects considered, and we will always reply (our parents brought us up proper, like).So far I have written  novels, a large body of poetry, short stories and we have several apps underway, with an eye to future publication.
I am also a lyricist, working with local musician Paul Grant. 
Last but not least, I pen a weekly blog 'The Gardens', a less than serious look at popular culture and football, featuring the footballing pundit genius and elf, Dobbie Savage! Check it out here.

Thanks for visiting, and I hope you enjoy wandering through the world that I live in.

Russthewriter

May2014

facebook.com/RussGurnhill

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