Hello! I’m Danny Baxter, a creative artist living in Barking and Dagenham, east London and I’ve been a regular contributor to Write On! almost since it began.

Throughout these Showcases, I’ve been sharing pieces that are in a response to my Barking Revival project, alongside material inspired by the current topic ‘Mindset.’ Creative writers have navigated the subjects of revival, regeneration, nostalgia, local heritage and spirituality, via some very imaginative pieces and I would like to thank everyone who responded to the call-out.

The first poem is another one from ‘Poetry Takeaway’ and is a result of a conversation with the poet about the current extensive Barking Regeneration programme and its effect on the community, arts and culture and the area’s future prospects. Written a few years ago, this poem is a precursor to my Barking Revival poem and I’m happy to share it with you here.

They’re Building Us Up

They’re building us up, these days;
picking up the pieces of history
and colouring them new, these days
the air chatters stories through tree branches
that line street corners where faces gather
to smile hello and forget to be strangers.
These days, they’re creating a future
That’s stitched in tomorrow and lined with today.
That spatters the paving with the hue of potential.
These days, they’re giving us back,
Writing our name on the map of a capital
of a country desperate to paint a portrait
and know itself. Like itself. These days.

© Poetry Takeaway, 2025

This poem captures the relationship between the creation of a new landscape and the inspiration of creativity and innovation within the community that I relayed, but from a fresh standpoint; i.e. through the eyes of someone not from this area. I appreciate the different layers of context the poet has included in the piece, as it reflects the depth of our conversation at the time.

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As well as the centenary of the formation of Barking Elim Church being commemorated this month and the Barking Revival Christian Mission a few months before it, my Barking Revival Project has also extended its focus onto the changes that have happened in the area during this period. I was fortunate to make the acquaintance of local poet Vi who, at 95 years old, has been alive for most of these changes and shares her thoughts around this in our next poem.

Changes

Some I love and some I hate
Most of them could be termed as progress
Others are not so great

Vacuum cleaners, fridges washing machines, dishwashers, food mixers, microwaves,
All have liberated the nation’s housewives

Just think of the hours they save
Mobiles mobile pads smart phones computers
Have taken over they’re all the rage
Now it seems We’re building robots
The human race they’ll soon upstage
I have indeed seen many stages
Most for the better I’ll agree
But in the 95 years I’ve been living
The biggest changes are all in me

© Vi Charlton, 2025

Vi speaks of the impact revolutionary technological advances have had on our society while comparing how she herself has changed, living as she has through almost 100 years of changing times. Thank you, Vi, for sharing!

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This next piece is a story negotiating the conflict of different ideologies that come to a head when dealing with tragedy.

Invisible Misery

“Come in, Tina… ”

“Hi, Dad,” she replied, noticing his forced smile as she handed him her coat.

“I’m just having a cup of tea. Do you want one?” he asked, gathering it in his arms.

“No thanks. Got any wine?”

“Yeah, help yourself. There’s a bottle of your favourite in the fridge,” he replied, his manner forcibly cheerful.

Tina left the lounge and, on returning with a glass of wine, sat down on the armchair positioned directly opposite her father’s place on the couch.

“I just don’t understand why your sister did what she did! Not a thought for her niece and what this might do to her. Bella was so excited and proud about getting her children’s book published. You’d have thought it would have given her pause for thought, made her think twice about taking her life. Very, very, selfish.” He slowly moved his head from left to right, as though emphasising the point to himself.

Tina thought a moment before replying.“Yeah, maybe. But I guess Tracey thought Bella would be fine. Remember the note she left with the phrase:  Bella is a gifted Angel. I feel fortunate to have been part of her journey, helping her to recognise her talent. I hope her book will be a constant reminder of how special she is.”

“But suicide! Even though it would still have been awful, I don’t think I’d feel so bad if she’d been knocked down by a car.”

Though his anger spilled into the conversation, Tina tried to remain calm despite her own grief. Taking a gulp of wine from her glass, she sighed. “Me neither, Dad… Me neither.”

He stood up and began pacing around the room. “She didn’t think about anyone but herself! And what about the ‘Good Grief’ writers? I can’t imagine how they’re going to feel when they hear about this. She founded the group,  created it to help the bereaved relieve their pain and start enjoying their lives again, despite it. Then she goes and takes hers!” Shouting now, his strides took on a new vigour and he shook his head more vehemently.

Tina responded, her calm, measured tone still in evidence. “Ummm. She did mention them, I think. Something along the lines of:  I know it might be particularly difficult for some of the Good Grief writers. But we’d written and shared many reasons why someone might take their own life and concluded it was no one’s fault, that everyone had a choice whether to live or die.”

His repsonse was barked and swift. “Rubbish! She knew how hard it was to deal with death. That’s why she established the group.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

A moment later he returned, brandishing brandy, ice and a glass and placed them on the coffee table. After pouring out a generous measure, he took a deep sip before he resumed his pacing.

“Dad. Sometimes we become a victim of our circumstances. That’s what happened to Tracey.” Tina tried to reason with him, but to no avail.

“Nonsense!” he yelled. “A victim of circumstances, indeed! There’s always something you can do to improve your situation.”

Once again, silence reigned. This time, though, Tina was the one to leave.

After what seemed like an age, she came back into the lounge. Seeing her tearstained face and swollen red eyes, her father tried to apologise for his outburst.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s all right, Dad. I know.” She’d interrupted in an attempt to reassure, but instead, the sobbing she’d been able to still from before, now shook her small frame again.

He started ranting in repsonse.“I just don’t understand! Why? Why? Why f****** why! She had everything to live for. Her art – people loved her art, and the stories that created them.”

Tina walked towards him, her hug stopping him in his tracks.

“I remember; one of the favourites being her Flaming Spirit painting… and the blurb… In thoughts that ‘Death’ would bring an end to the misery, the Spirit, the ‘Flaming Spirit,’ forced me to stay. “Not yet,” it whispered subtly – with great strength.”

“She told me she painted to realise and honour her mental struggles. I remember her saying her paintings were never created for public viewing, but she was glad they were exhibited – because people were gaining positive inspiration from them. And I can hear her chuckling: ‘The Universe has a way of helping us fulfil our Soul Purpose – without us planning!’ I wish she could have found a better way to rid herself of the misery,” Tina whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“She could have!” he barked.

They both gulped from their glasses.

“I can’t believe my sister’s gone,” she sobbed.

“Well, she has! And she didn’t think about us, the people she’d leave behind. Me, you, the family, friends, neighbours, writers or colleagues. Very, very, selfish.”

There was a long silence.

“And all in the name of love. She took her life… in the name of love,” Tina whispered, wiping away her tears.

“Love? What are you talking about? Do you know the meaning of the word?” her dad asked angrily.

“In her note, she wrote: I chose to end my physical life for the Love of Self – of my Spirit. I loved my great spirit enough to let go of the unbearable misery it was experiencing in the earthly world. I understand my departure will be painful for some of you, but please, please be reassured that, while my body has died, my spirit lives on. Lots and lots and lots of love, Tracey.”

“For the love of self and unbearable misery. B*******! Tracey cocked up! Killing yourself is selfish!” he retorted.

“Dad, strange, but true: self-preservation is at the heart of what Tracey did. She took her own life to protect her spirit from harm… or even death. She couldn’t honour her spirit in this, what she called, ‘Earthly World.’ She had so much love and compassion for all beings… and the stamina of an ox. You know humanity is struggling when someone like Tracey takes their own life.”

© Samantha Shakes, 2025

Tracey’s tragic passing causes the surviving family members’ differing philosophies to emerge as they each try to make sense of what happened. This is when theories are tested, when the unspoken becomes verbalised as the collective seeks desperately to come up with a common narrative to accommodate the final stance of the deceased in order for them to find resolution within the circumstances.

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This next poem is by local poet and ‘Spoken Word’ event regular, Robert. He focuses much of his material on religious themes and tackles the topic of the revival mindset I posed to him in the form of a sonnet below.

A Sonnet: Regeneration Spills Out

In darkest nights we can degenerate
Our wandering minds do try to compile
Happy hopeful worlds we can generate
By the light of day, will it stay the style?

Our unearthly souls anchored here and now
Where are our thoughts travel the concourse of time
Over the hills and streams of natural power
We meet our Lord of all by the shine of rhyme.

By the word of will, He strike up so clean
By truth we know the union always shows
From our bellies flow “Living Water” dreams
Regeneration of our lives and limbs.

From history till now, we find new life
Regeneration spills out from our love.

© Robert Drury, 2025

I love Robert’s abstract take on the topic. He blends the aspects of creative inspiration, its source, its journey and the environment it springs from with the interaction of the divine which runs through the whole narrative.

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Our final piece is written by local creative Sarina, who expresses in her written and music work a positive and uplifting vibe that is a refreshing contrast to a lot of the things that society exposes us to. I was excited to hear her take on the Barking Revival mindset and I share it with you now.

The Revival Rooted Here

This is the place where I am okay.
A place of peace. A place of rest.
Here, I am deeply grounded.

Call me tree.
Call me plant.
Call me flower.

I am full of song.
My leaves dance in the wind,

carrying wisdom, prayers, and love.

I am remembering wise ways.

I hear the call to return.

There are interchangeable forces at play
that move between the old ways and the new

echoes calling for revival, for renewal,

for planting of new seeds.

They whisper news of bloom

They speak of union of mankind with the land.

a remembering. New discoveries.

Barking at a threshold
a place where something ancient still hums beneath the soil.

Here, regeneration rises from below
in soil, in plant, in stories & songs that bloom through concrete.

© Sarina Mantle, 2025

Sarina represents the relationship of the creative artist and the environment as a plant would have with the ground it springs from and is nourished by. The poem speaks of belonging, hope for the future and potential for growth, all intertwined into one’s identity and the identity of the area one inhabits. Well done, Sarina!

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

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