As well as reviews, articles and recommendations, the Book Blog also features occasional creative writing posts. Today's is a poem written by Mr Harris, which was partly inspired by Philip Larkin's poem 'Going, Going' (you can hear a recording of Larkin reading this poem here) and particularly by Walt Whitman's 'I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing' - which you can read here.
'As we wait on a packed train home'
As we wait on a packed train back home,
Trying to suffocate the noise of boys blaring
That rough racket from their phones, I stare
Out at the hedgerows that tumble past my window.
Trying to suffocate the noise of boys blaring
That rough racket from their phones, I stare
Out at the hedgerows that tumble past my window.
Late on a May Bank Holiday, white freckles
Of blossom, like a recent memory, soon
Blurred and behind us, to wilt in the June sun.
My eyes ache to focus on something so fickle,
Of blossom, like a recent memory, soon
Blurred and behind us, to wilt in the June sun.
My eyes ache to focus on something so fickle,
So I turn to the fields beyond, shifting sands of green
And yellow, then clumps of semi-detached houses,
Rushing through a station where scattered crowds
Clutch at the last light from the sinking summer’s eve.
Rushing through a station where scattered crowds
Clutch at the last light from the sinking summer’s eve.
We burst through them onto pastures new, no high
Boundaries to break my eyeline and in the distance
Stood a farmhouse, cool and slow, indifferent
To the oak that had rooted in the living room and climbed
Boundaries to break my eyeline and in the distance
Stood a farmhouse, cool and slow, indifferent
To the oak that had rooted in the living room and climbed
Up through the ceiling, splintering floorboards as it forced
Its way into the bedroom, where broad branches battered
At the sky and finally, upon breaking through, unanswered
In its stone tomb, flowering in defiant, lusty green. Time unlost.
Its way into the bedroom, where broad branches battered
At the sky and finally, upon breaking through, unanswered
In its stone tomb, flowering in defiant, lusty green. Time unlost.
I turn to you still frowning at my side, straw-haired and sun-kissed,
And smile. You reach over and hold my hand, as you always do,
And we sit in our own silence. In that way we whistle through
The fields and years together. The noise around us unmissed.
And smile. You reach over and hold my hand, as you always do,
And we sit in our own silence. In that way we whistle through
The fields and years together. The noise around us unmissed.
Many thanks to Mr Harris for sharing his poem: if you'd like to read more poetry on the blog, you can find Mr Anthony's poem 'The Spin' here. We're always happy to publish creative work - just send it to any member of the English department. And if you're interested in getting more involved in creative writing at SPS, there are plenty of opportunities: Mr Harris runs the SPS creative writing society, which kicks off with its first meeting on Tuesday 21st September, at 12:40 in E7, and you can contact Mr Gardner (mtg@stpaulsschool.org.uk) if you'd like to contribute to our creative and critical writing magazines, or become part of the editorial team. So get involved, and share your writing with a wider audience - have fun!

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