Trewern Writers' Retreats & Hay Festival.

Blindness  

Tunnel is like a serpent’s castle winding
Through the earth in secret coils
Tunnels are dug through surrounding soils
It is almost associated with unseen portals, between the heaven and earth. 

In a single file with hands with hands on each other shoulders
We went deeper and deeper 
Heartbeat thumping and thumping,
Headgears slipping and slipping
I slowly watched the world light dimming as if a shadow drawing curtain over them 

One sense lost, the other heightened, jaw tightened,
Ears up and sticking up, 
Nose picking up every scent the passed by me
Mind conjuring up every ghost like image in my head. 

Eyes tightly shut like a safe to the biggest secret of ending the world.
People’s faces became phantoms only remembered by the warm touch on my shoulders.
Eyes tightly shut, fear and wonder intertwining.
Navigating a portal, feeling like an intruder in a realm you’re unfamiliar with.  

Hands that once moved alongside with my eyes
Now moved over a brail
My mind mailing tears to my eyes
Eyes that cannot see,
Eyes that can no longer see. 

Tunnel is like a serpent’s castle winding
Through the earth in secret coils
Tunnels are dug through surrounding soils
It is almost associated with an unseen portal, between the heaven and earth. 

Demeter 

Birdsong and verse flow together
Nature breaths life into every winding street
And town of books and literature
Where the sky and earth in harmony meet 

There’s an ache in my brain
But through waterfalls and tricks I’ve fallen for
I’ve learnt it is easier than I thought
I’m not afraid of fire anymore 

Wander through the cemetery,
You can turn to look at a slot
And the daises sprout from a split open coffin
Life finds a way, whether you like or not 

Identical crosses scatter across a moss infested area
Overgrown flowers persist, seeping in through the graves
Your eyes acting as a reflection
Of the many trees threatening to collapse 

And from my rotting body
Buried deep within the soil
Flowers shall sprout and cover me
A sonnet after the ending of turmoil 

I hope the mess overtakes my body laid to rest
I hope the plants overgrow
The birds will sing a sweet melody
And when I’m buried, I hope I’m buried low 

My Body Is (Was) a Temple 

You broke in like a banned bomb that can’t get enough of my promiscuity. The shivers electrocuted my body like a violent assassin but yet, someone must have known. Lightning foreboded my death. Truly it’s all I can imagine. Someone must have of known right? But how could someone like me fulfil such an undermining task. I death. I asked myself time and time again someone must have known, right?  

The exuberant exhilarating yet look overfulfilling with such incompetent emotions filled my body, which truly waited for demise. The shock that went through my lungs and poisoned me. The unfamiliarity surrounded and coaxed my bones. 

Ahn Li ai, that’s who she is but who truly knew who she was. Why? Because her body is a temple. She didn’t allow anyone to enter. Why because her trauma could kill a nation. 

I was pretty – apparently they call all Chinese pretty. But I had an alluring aura, yet my looks couldn’t get me out of this hell hole that unravelled slowly and will deeply impact me. Why? Because my body was a template.  

Music in, world out. That’s how people nowadays envision this world. An abyss should be full of music but no matter how you see it, screams will still happen. You choose to block it out. You are not better than the transgressor. My body took control, it heard every sound, every important model of a car engine. Why? My body is a temple. 

Xiao Ahn and Liu Ahn, bodies female and male died October 7, 2007, Specimen bled through mouth and both pale at 19:13 – over. My body is a temple. The shivers electrocuted me like a silent assassin. Ahn Li Ai – Quang Dong Court, China, 22 October 2007. Death: Drug overdose. Pale skin and foaming.   

Recollecting my memories was harming my own body. It slowly kills you like a drug. Screams should have been heard. Trauma songs, poems revolve around it, but it doesn’t feel like I ever captured the true effect. It only fills your mouth and slowly kills you. 

The air congested my lungs yet only I knew, why? Because that was the day my body died. Forever, my life was never truly great to begin with. Life for me was depicted like a black hole and the shiny silver lining blocks it. You could even say hides it, but yet for me red bleeds through, covering the beautiful silver lining. A blood page is what for my whole life, I imagined the trauma slowly isolates your body. It manipulates your mind like a game of chess, but the opponent was my murderer.  

It’s believed that someone murdered Xiao Ahn and Liu Ahn and fed them drugs whilst slowly choking them. Only one person was at the scene but unidentified. My screams should have been heard… 

My Distaste for English? 

Upon arriving at Trewern, the hosts decided that we should hold an icebreaker, which I must say barely scratched the ice surface. We went around in a circle saying our name and one thing about ourselves.  

Everyone had something very boring and general to say about themselves like their common hobbies or interests. other than the hairless cats, which I thought was pretty cool. But since I don’t necessarily excel at anything or have a specific hobby in particular, I decided to save what was on my mind the entire time we were travelling to Trewern. The fact that I hate English. 

To be completely honest there was an uncountable amount of people in our school who deserves this ‘writers retreat’ much more than I do due to how much I hate English. By no means do I hate the English language but there is no amount of money that could convince me to enjoy reading or writing. Sitting in a freshly painted soundproof white room, in a straight jacket tied to the chair with my ticket to freedom being, to watch the paint dry. Sounds so much more exciting than to pick up a book or a pen in my free time… is what I used to think before Trewern. 

Trewern has given me an insight as to how enjoyable writing can be when you can’t really be forced to do so. There are many aspects of this wonderful experience that I would have forgotten if I hadn’t put pen to paper, like the old lady reading a book on step her doorstep and a cat staring in the window. That memory is now immortalised thanks to how I wrote it down. And I must say most other things were really enjoyable to write about. 

But what exactly was it that caused me to hate writing so much? I had to ask myself upon finding out how fun it can be. The conclusion I came to was how badly we were forced to read and write and how it was my fault that I hated it. Whenever anything is forced upon anyone especially if they were already intending to do it, you feel less inclined to do so, growing your hatred for that specific task. For example. say you were walking towards the kitchen then your mum yells for you to do the dishes from down the hallway not only do you not want to do the dishes but now you are annoyed, brewing your hatred for washing up. This is what built up my distaste for reading and writing, although I still hate reading. 

Before I have to burden anyone with having to hyper analyse and infer my language? One, the overall message I want to bring across is, try things you hate every once in a while, you may end up liking it. Two, any language techniques I may have used accidentally have no deeper meaning. I am a surface level person, so anything I write or say should generally be taken at face value. 

My Trewern Experience 

I really enjoyed my time here. The views were gorgeous. There are so many shops and views which really were inspiring. I liked Hay Festival too and I’ve had the opportunity to meet and speak to many different authors (Jenny Valentine, Jeff Kinney, Nicola Garrard, Anthony Horowitz). As for our waterfall, there was a kaleidoscope of colours and range of eye-catching scenes which ranged from passing dogs to jaw-dropping waterfalls. 

It is safe to stay that I would definitely stay here again, and everyone including our supervisors: Lisa, Lena, Miss Ratkoceri, Mr. Collins, Miss Twigg and Justin, were amazing and so kind. I met many friends too, like Izie, the next-door Bear Grills. Ola, the scary but kindest person. Kleja, who is majorly obsessed with cats. Arianna, who has an eye for everything and is the best observer. Patricia, who has the most contagious laugh ever. Karina, who is really good at writing. Bedu, the one with the neatest handwriting ever. Aasmara, the funniest person without trying. Mojisola, the best artist and also really funny without trying. Hanif, who cannot spell and Chris, who loves mattresses. 

Coming back to the teachers, there’s Mr. Collins aka Michael Bublé. Miss Twig, the kindest and most thoughtful. Miss Ratkoceri, who is terrified of heights and the funniest teacher, Lena, ‘you might be my favourite’. Lisa, in my opinion you won the best dad jokes competition and Justin, who does every single activity without complaining, which in my opinion is not normal.  

Overall, I have learned a lot about myself on this trip and I have had the best time. 

Piano Man 

Piano man play me one final tune,
You’ve tried to play god and you’ve paid with your wife.
Melodies as beautiful as ancient runes
A god cannot live this sorrow life. 

You run your fingers up and down the scale
Methodically pressing black and white notes alike
Drowning yourself in drugs and ale
Don’t you know a man of gods aims to be Christlike  

Not idiotic
Not neglectful
Not an Icarus  

A geometric kaleidoscope of colours shine down from above
But you can’t tell, not even if you wanted to
While valentine works, burdened with the labour of love
Waiting for black to replace her blue 

Another smooth pebble with top her cairn
Mother nature will win this battle soon
King of melismata, symphonies unheard
Piano man play one final tune. 

Pilgrim to Heaven 

Journal 1902: mountain climber, Elizabeth Ioanna. A treat from me to you – something to look forward to.  

The path is laid out for you. Forever waiting. It was always there. Before you, before me. 

It draws you in, clasping around your waist, absorbing you into an ocean of green. A firm gentle stroke, all the possible security you will ever need… 

The thing in disguise who steals your breath, stripping you of stress yet filling you with adrenaline. Finding yourself captivated by her charm. You have now fallen into her trap. This abyss you will never be willing to leave.  

But it all fades away… 

Everything has an end only for an even greater existence to reveal itself. You may not see it, but it sees you. A heavenly found, omniscient being.  

Lift your head permitting the water to run feely, invading your skin selfishly to escape from cruel humanity. Only to find you. Just another mortal, standing firmly against Mother Nature. Duelling. Who should win this battle? 

Look forward. 

The subtle tree branches patting your head leaning down to reach you. Stabbing you behind the back. Disturbing the peace. Long shallow roots into my grave. My piece is gone leaving you empty, hello, and bare.  

Enjoy the mountainous bed, its heavy mossy blankets weighing down. Ravished and left undone as you rushed to leave 

Footsteps fill the silence. You have returned to make your bed. Chopping down the trees and stripping down the moss.  

And suddenly darkness falls. Perhaps nature is not what we see or think. But rather what we feel.  

A stream on your face and pond in your shoes. Nature flows through you.  

You may run as far as you want – there is no escape. Forming this deep connection to the point you cannot feel your feet. Cold is warm, warm is cold. Wondering if your body is adjusting or if it’s possibly hypothermia. Accept it.  

The realm of living. 

Step by step with a powerful swing against the stream, we made our way to the other side. Looking back and looking forward. Finally beginning to realise how far you have gone. 

The trees signalling no way back. Almost making you feel isolated as you are imprisoned in this cage, hostage to mother nature.  

But it all fades away… 

Until you cannot see anymore. The livid green fading. The falling river evaporating. 

The Garden Amidst the Ruins 

The date was 21st of August 1915, one year into the horrific Great War, causing so much damage to nature and people. The town that was once lively and crowded, is now deeply hurt by the amount of destruction. I slowly appeared from my bed glancing at the time which read 8:20 AM. My life felt like a loop, if I could not escape, the war was making me feel weaker day after day, anxiety running through my body, leaving me in a state of confusion? 

Actually no, not confusion it would say that I felt lost in myself, not knowing what to do. Life was so extremely difficult. I could not work as it was not good to work as a woman. My husband was away at war, still no contact from him. I am worried sick, my two beloved children Rose and Philip were always overjoyed when they were with me and loved to play at home dressing up and playing. I reminisce these moments very frequently, yearning to have my children back. I blinked suddenly and realised that I had been daydreaming for about 10 minutes. 

I shuffled over to my closet and selected my violet blouse and began to efficiently get ready. I would have to leave the house soon and begin my tiresome journey to the corner shop located near the valley park about 30 minutes away.   I hurriedly sprinted down the stairs grabbed my cross-body bag and unlocked the back door. I felt extreme tiredness wash over me when I stumbled out of the house. I was not able to eat very well recently as there was a lot of famine. Crops were not able to be produced and there was a shortage of some of my favourite vegetables, leeks, swede, carrots etc. 

Turning the vintage key in the lock, I began the route. There were many air raid sirens in the distance, but they could still be heard very clearly. As I looked around at my surroundings, I realised how destructive nature was. It had ruined everything that I had once loved. Nature no longer felt enchanting and picturesque, it was just unrecognisable, withered flowers filled the grassy patches, well whatever was left. I swiftly carried on walking down the cobblestone pavement and came across a secret garden on the other side of the road. 

It shocked me at first as the town was already so damaged, so I was extremely grateful to have discovered such a beautiful garden hidden from society, even though the country was altering so greatly. I opened a moss-covered gate quietly and entered the most ethereal, wonderous garden, a safe haven in the dark. 

At that moment I forgot about everything in the world and took in the scenic view. Water gushed through the waterfalls instantly making me feel at peace. It made me feel extremely emotional because the war was such a devastation and this garden gave me an indescribable feeling. 

I had a final moment to reflect in this peaceful environment before I had to enter the traumatic society, as a woman in the 1910s. Someday life will be filled with harmony and unity. Perhaps in 10 years, 100 years… never? I will never fully know. All I can hope for is change…

Truth 

As the sun descended its mighty throne, our evil enemy, the moon, slowly but steadily replaces it, leaving a trail of luscious stars and floating rocks that disobey the law of gravity.  

Around this peculiar time many evil things emerged from their sickening habitats who then look around innocent civilians who never did no wrong. The people walk in a sinful city. The poor stealing from the poor, the rich stealing from the rich, the poor stealing from the rich. But most of all, the government stealing from its people, while the moon still shines. 

The people lay on a disease filled streets, hoping for a miracle to descend upon them and change their lives overnight, while the moon still shines.  

Women cry after their cheating husbands who have abandoned a large loving family just because lust took over their rotten minds. He, who left, also abandoned his twins who contain a malignant disease that could end their life in a blink of an eye, while the moon still shines. 

Backbiting, murder, arson, trafficking, offenders, violations. All of this happens while the moon still shines.  

Businesses lying to their loyal customers, selling deadly products that could kill half of France. Politicians preying on vulnerable people, being dishonest, immoral, filthy and most of all, corrupt. Their wickedness hides behind their blood money, while their secretaries’ ears are turned off and mouths taped together so none of their secrets can get out. 

After all, life is a test and only God himself shall judge each human, but this world is cruel and filled with mischief, so you all have to look after yourself and watch your backs and pray for evil to stay away.  

While the moon still shines, evil still occurs. 

Waterfall 

In Hay-on-Wye where books abound
A waterfall’s sweet song is found,
It’s waters weave through stories old,
A shimmering tale in silver fold. 

Between the pages, whispers glide,
Of ancient lore and flowing tide
In verdant folds where rivers play
Their journey meets the light’s embrace. 

Amongst the hills where poets dream,
The waterfall begins to gleam,
With ferns and mosses, wild and green,
It graces Hay with nature is Sheen. 

The air is filled with misty spray,
A cool caress from far away
And as the waters rush and leap,
They stir the soul, awaken and deep. 

In Hay-on-Wye, where words and streams
Entwine like whispers in our dreams,
The waterfalls eternal dance,
Invites us into natures trance. 

So pause. Amid the quiet books,
And seek the steam in hidden nooks,
For there in Hay, the waterfall,
Sings ancient tales that bind us all.

We Cry Together 

It’s finally the day. The exalted day. The day of prophecy. If I had one way to describe how I feel, exhausted. My bed holds a firm, tight suffocating grip on me. 

 Why did it have to be a Tuesday? Of all days, why Tuesday?  

It’s literally, the marmite of the week. Who cares anyways. It’s a whole week without seeing the Jackass of my godforsaken secondary – minus Monday of course. But i wasn’t getting into that mess. I get up, brush my teeth, and my final London breakfast slides down my gullet. Two final slices of farmhouse bread, two salami slices, and one slice of cheddar cheese. Top that off with a cheeky cuppa and that’s it for breakie! God that’s depressing but enough of that! Time to go! 

My suitcase clatters against my staircase, a quake in disguise. I’ve reached my door with an outstretched arm, I clutch the handle only to be defeated the recurring villain suction. My body crashes and spazzes is due to the recoil. I gather myself, embarrassed by my failure and exit with the heavy head. Poppycock, I left my earphones but I only got 10 minutes, shit biscuits, or well, too late now. 

I’ve reached the station, powered by gym and a prison meal, and meet the people i was fated to stay with for the next few days, they look nice… I guess. 

Maybe this trip won’t be good. At least my buddy Hanif’s here. He makes it bearable… maybe only time will tell. I’m not goanna lie, I’m skipping most of the train journey for one simple reason, I was snoozing! Like – seriously – slumped. 

What is love? 

Sitting on her doorstep in Hay
An old woman reads during the day
With a cup of tea in hand
She surveys her quiet land. 

Wisps of steam in morning light,
Curl and dance, a gentle sight,
Wrinkled hands embrace the cup, ~
Sip by sip, the world wakes up. 

What is love, she ponders slow,
As the past begins to glow.
Memories of the days gone by,
In heart, they will never die. 

Love was patience, love was pain,
Endless cycles, like the sun and rain
In the small, unnoticed things,
In the joy a memory brings. 

Love is now this quiet place
As the world begins to cease.
In the rustle of the leaves,
In the song the morning weeps. 

With each sip she understands,
Love is fire that gently stands,
In the stillness in the flow,
Love is all she’s come to know. 

On her doorstep,
Day anew,
She sees love in every hue,
What is love, she realised, she knew. 

Wild Whispers 

Beneath the blue skies that shine so bright,
A horse, blessed with grace begins to stride.
It’s mane like silk in breeze does flow,
With strength and beauty watch it grow. 

Hooves that beat a rhythmic song, 
Upon the earth where dreams belong.
Eyes that glimmer, dark and deep,
Hold secrets vast, in shadows sleep. 

In fields of green, it runs so free,
A symbol of what we long to be.
Unbridled spirit, wild and grand,
A noble creature of the land. 

The morning mist, it’s breath does catch,
In twilight glow, it’s form does match.
A dace of power, pure and fierce, 
Through time and space, it’s path does pierce. 

Companion true in battles fray,
In history’s tale, it leads the way
A silent whisper of the past,
In every stride, a spell is cast. 

Oh horse of legend, horse of might
With heart as pure as starry night,
Your legacy will always reign,
In every heart, you’ll stake your claim.