The home of Robert Southey

I'm writing this entry from Greta Hall, the home of my ancestor Robert Southey - historian, biographer and poet laureate to King George II and III of England between 1813 and 1843. I won't rabble on with more details here but if you're interested then here's the Wiki page. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Southey

I feel very happy that my long-anticipated trip to his home in the picturesque Lake District of England's north-west is happening now and not at an earlier time as planned, before I started this blog. It's great to share this experience here as it does serve to demonstrate the reason, genetically and environmentally, that I write poetry. My lineage to Robert Southey comes through my mother's father's side of the family, and he would tell us of Robert Southey and recite his poetry to us from a young age. I believe this is where the interest to write poetry was first spawned, although it has always been something that's felt natural and innate. I share many similarities to Southey, physically and intellectually, which is extremely interesting to observe, considering they've persisted through five generations. It think all of us would be surprised at our similarities to our ancestors, and I'm thankful that the life, works and personality of Robert Southey are documented in substantial detail so I can get a firm feeling for the man he was. Although not particularly renowned now he was about as famous as a poet could get in his day.

Among a few things I did today, along with my older brother and other friends staying at Greta Hall, was go down to Derwent Water, the large lake next to which the town of Keswick (pronounced Ke-zick), home of Southey for the greater part of his adult life, is located. Here are some photos.


Greta Hall - home of Robert Southey, his family, and the family of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Still a family home but partly used as a Bed & Breakfast.


My older brother Caleb and I out outside Greta Hall


Derwent Water


Part of Keswick town with the peak of Skiddaw behind (180° of above shot)



We also went to see his grave outside Crosthwaite Church and his effigy inside. But more about that tomorrow. Here is a poem I wrote today on the shore of Derwent Water.

I'm adding to this post the following day as I had the opportunity to spend considerable time in Southey's study today, where did nearly all his writing in the last 40 years of his life, and while there I recorded myself reciting this poem. I also changed the word "hills" to "fells" which is what they're actually called.

Here is the video;



Derwent Water

A chilling wind whips Derwent Water's green shore
My face, hands and feet quickly freeze to the core
I stand here and soak in the sight before me
Knowing something quite similar did Southey once see
And with much inspiration to call on this day
I'll try to convey the trees' casual sway
As they huddle in groups orange, yellow, green, brown
The oldest inhabitants of old Keswick town

While rising behind the grey water's expanse
Majestic fells roll their romantic in-trance
As silver clouds flow past peaks scattered with white
Like-coloured ducks float in the icy delight
On a grassed rise nearby shaggy sheep graze and lay
Watched over by grand Skiddaw every day
Small wooden boats sail, and as in Southey's time
Ferry keen Lakers to the small isle so sublime

Such beauty highlighted by buildings of stone
Make this town a place most would like to call home
As would I, if the chance were presented to me
And live as did Southey from 1803

Fireworks and Bonfires

For the past week or so the evenings in London have been punctuated by the random explosion of fireworks. Yesterday was Guy Fawkes Night here. A long-standing tradition that will never die in the UK. Read more info here as I don't have time to explain further, but it's very interesting - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes_Night

Here is something to capture the spirit of the night and the spirit of true love.


Fireworks and Bonfires

The night was black before the bang
Then out it rang
And my world would never be the same again

Whistling, crackling, popping light
The sky was bright
Shall we no time forth forget that night

As the hours, the days, the years pass by
I realise
That these fireworks, this bonfire could never be denied

For they mark the moment our lives changed
And history's page
Will re-tell that moment for an age

As if Guy Fawkes carried cupid's bow
I'll always know
This bonfire will never lose it's glow

It Will Never Be That Way Again (Perspective)

Doing more writing, but not having any more time, I'm working hard on trying to write spontaneously, with minimal thought. You have to bare in mind with that statement that I'm someone who thinks WAY too much, so "minimal" should be taken comparatively to my normal amount of thinking.

This poem was just a spontaneous run of thoughts and images that became a story, sort of in front of my eyes. It seems very literal, but really it's a parallel for many areas of life; the extreme fluxes and temporary periods we go through - usually (or should I say hopefully) learning an important lesson and being forever changed.

If I could sum up this poem in a word it would be "perspective" and hence I've added that to the title. A change in perspective can radically change the way we appreciate and value things. Our priorities and focus can be dramatically shifted by even a small change in perspective. It's a powerful thing.

I would like to take this opportunity to point out that Australians spell words such as "colour" or "favourite" as I just did, with the extra "u" compared with US spelling. In case anyone in the US was wondering.


It Will Never Be That Way Again (Perspective)

All the colours changed first
And then they blew away
Leaving bare twigs and barren beds
In what felt like a day

We wondered how something once so good
had turned so very bad
Once we were falling slow
Now on the bottom of the bag

"Well, at least things can't get worse"
Was the common comfort thought
Yet no comfort did we feel
Just a hard wooden floor

But in just a few short months
That floor seemed very good
Compared to the pavement which strangely
Feels harder than wood

Not to mention lacking once so standard things
Like a window, roof or door
A bare room is sure better than
No god-damned room at all

It felt like we were fighting
For our lives each frightening day
While in tireless pursuit
Of any possible way

To get food for myself
And this precious girl of mine
A half eaten burger
Was a treat at that strange time

I feel a deep seated shame
At what I did just to get through
But I know that what I did
Was simply what I had to do

I had a fresh black eye
The day my friend found me
It had been seven long years
Since we shared a dormitory

I was barely a shadow
of my former self but yet
They knew that it was me
and soon we had food and a bed

Our true smiles returned with effort and time
And those trials are far away
But one thing that I can say for sure
Is that I'm thankful every day

It will never be that way again

We Ride The Train

As I've mentioned before I've done a lot of traveling. I've been trying to think back today on some of my experiences and attempt to paint a brief picture, a scene, with my writing. I've been listening to songs by artists like Sufjan Stevens, Simon & Garfunkel and Fleet Foxes and really appreciating how they tell a simple but moving story or just paint an interesting scene.

This poem is a reflection on one of the many train trips I've done. Sometimes alone, sometimes not. Sometimes striking up conversation with a complete stranger, other times sharing a conversation of looks alone. I hope this paints a picture for you.


We Ride The Train


Black rain falling heavy
Onto ancient stones
And bright green leaves
And broken homes

Short breaks of brilliant blue
Glimpse of bright and light
Amidst thunderous screams
Please hold me tight

Old man alone
Old woman same
Young girl with hopes
We ride the train

Loud voices fade
Just eyes alone
With smiles and jokes
We travel home

You Are The Sun

I realised today how close I am to filling my little writing book. I've filled the final third of it in the last 6 weeks! So the blogging is working. I feel more positive than ever and more confident and spontaneous with my creativity. 

To think I'd never shown anyone my poetry until I started this blog. I've written songs, but even then not in any bulk way (not like this - http://www.songsfromthehowlingsea.com/ - so impressive). So it's great to be writing every day. For anyone who has a creative bent I recommend finding whatever you need to find to help you commit to doing something EVERY day, without fail. If you manage that you've already succeeded. 

Here is another romantic poem, as seem to be flowing from me like a river right now. For those who've only met me in recent years, or have listened to The Stuns debut album (http://www.thestuns.com), this sort of writing must be quite a surprise coming from me. 

I guess all I can say is that it is for me, too. I've been writing pretty morose stuff for a while now. I've had a pretty testing 5 years or so. It seems I have a new ribbon to my bow. I'm sure there's still going to be plenty of heavy emotional stuff from me though - so don't worry Emo fans.


You are the sun
You are a bright light over everyone
Your warm rays end the night
Melting my heart as each day's begun

You are the sea
The daze of waves that overpower me
Reclaim love and I from needless graves
And wash mind, soul and body clean

You are the earth
From which true beauty sees its birth
From which all structures' strength ensue
Where my seeds grow, bringing joy and mirth

You are the breeze
Fresh winds that move and soothe with ease
Never stagnant, each day blowing through
All directions, speeds and intensities

You are my fire
Without fail each day burning higher
Guiding me when I've gone astray
Consumed in passion and desire

You are my love
So pure and dazzling as the whitest dove
More beauty than the whole world has
And you fit on me like a molded glove

The Stuns explore a groove...

Firsty - I've put a poll on my blog page. It's on the right. Have some fun with me and vote.


As I mentioned The Stuns are currently writing songs for their next album. We've been making some good progress and will have some new songs to perform at our Barfly (Camden, London) show on Saturday 13th November. 

I was tempted to show you a sneak peak here but I'm a little hesitant to give you too much information. You may have to be patient (or come to our gigs) if you want to hear new songs. Although, if the guys approve, I may post something later in the week. 

For now I'm going to give you this little snippet of a groove that Ed broke into in our writing session today, which we then proceeded to "jam" over for a solid 8 or so minutes. I've cut the start off as I didn't want to scare you off listening. But if you have the time and inclination have a listen to how the original idea slowly changes and develops. Little ideas get passed around and someone else changes their part as a result. I liked playing the groove and it's always fun challenging yourself, not only to listen to what others are adding and react to that, but to dig into your creativity for some new ideas to move the groove forward. The last minute is us getting a little "Pink Floyd", just because we felt like it at the time. 

If you like really fast drum fills but don't have time to wade through the whole track skip forward to about 3:30 for a little bit of Ed Thorn cutting loose momentarily. 



As I previously mentioned I now have the myfighttowrite@gmail.com address if you're having any trouble posting comments but want to get in touch with me. 

Lastly - you'll see a "Donate" symbol has appeared on my blog page. This is simply because I'm a typically poor, dedicated artist who doesn't want to take on a "real job", but to keep writing it needs to make me some money. No-one is offering to publish my work right now, but if you think it's worth paying for you can show your support for my writing by donating. 

If you want to donate to The Stuns I advise you go to www.thestuns.com or iTunes/Amazon (etc...) and buy yourself a copy of our stunbelievable debut album.

Crossroads of 3rd and Wilshire

Sleep. I really need more than 5 hours in a night sometime soon. I survive though and I seem to get more done so I guess that's why I keep letting this bad habit reign.

With the above in mind I'm getting straight to the point. A piece of creativity from today.


Crossroads of 3rd and Wilshire


At the crossroads of 3rd and Wilshire
Stood a little blonde boy with a familiar voice
He asked me what I was doing here
I said I'd come to make a choice

To take this moment by the hand
Or do what others think is right
To be true to what I know I am
Or face this choice another night

I'm gonna do what I want to do
Even if this jaded world don't want me to
I'm gonna do what I know feels good
Even if this jaded world don't think I should

At the crossroads of 3rd and Wilshire
I looked that blonde boy in the eye
I told him the path you choose starts here
He grabbed my hand without reply

And together we crossed to the other side
Not alone and ready to be true to what we know
Is what we're meant to do, and never hide
But walk, heads up - this is the way to go