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Graham Chadwick

Updated: Mon, 4 Aug 2008 07:16 pm

pyrrha34@aol.com

grahamchadwick554@btinternet.com

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Biography

M.A. Creative Writing (Lancaster) Collection - Lancashire in the Languedoc 2001 Poems in French Literary Review Prize winning short story - Ivy- Lancashire Evening Telegraph Co-author - La Bibliotheque Nomedienne - a mosaic novel to be published in September 2008 by Editions Atalante - Nantes. Work in progress - novels - The Last Cathar, Ficts., Poetry - Subverses. I have recently returned to Lancashire after 12 years in France and am anxious to become involved in things creative/poetic/literary etc.

Samples

FIVE POEMS FOR THE UNDERGROUND 1. Each morning I see Lenin on the Circle Line, I get off at Edgeware Road, I wonder if the next stop is the Finland Station. Or perhaps he just keeps going round and round, Making revolutions. 2. The 16.40. was delayed, the Tannoy said, "An obstruction on the line," The man who served me gin and tonic was less circumspect, "Sometimes they smile before they jump - that's two pounds ninety please." 3. I put a block of rat poison under the wardrobe. It looks like a Mars bar. One night I'll wake up feeling hungry... 4. It's risky placing flowers in the Alma Tunnel. You might get knocked down By a white Fiat Uno. 5. I remember the last night at the Vache Folle Cafe The night that nice Dodi Al Fayed boy got killed, And we drank the place dry. And I danced with a blonde Called Diana. But she refused to get into my car,She said, "Sorry, but you've just had too much to drink..." FRAGMENTS FROM SOMETIMES THE DARKNESS IS VERY FRIGHTENING Her story has a consciousness, Of periodic pain, A bloodshot-eyed sloughing of skin, A biting on a forked tongue. Sonia Smith walked in white, Each Whitsuntide, through all the Shimmering Oldham streets; by Burton's,Home and Colonial, The Co-op, Woolworth's, Freeman's... And all those divers, gritstone Homes of God: Immanuel, Free Ebenezer, Elim, Methodist Wesleyan, Methodist Primitive, Particular, Peculiar, The Pentecostal, the Parish, The Sacred Heart, ("Catholic," Her mother sniffed, as if they didn't count Because they walked a different route, And she did allege, Left Footedly.) Aged three Sonia held bluebells, At thirteen pulled a satin cord, Keeping the banner stiff, erect. SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN For ten white Sundays Sonia walked, Until one burning Sunday, Red droplets stained white poplin, Flecked Lancashire cotton socks, and She let loose the cord, sobbing, Sullied, running from her God. That year her father died and Her mother opened DO's HAIRDO's (Appointments not always necessary) Between SPIRELLA CORSETTIERE And CHARLIE's FISH AND CHIPS. With the insurance money. Charlie Halliwell was kind, Gave Doreen business tips, She gave him newspapers, And trimmed his greasy beard, Weekly with burning tapers. "Just like old Charlie Marx," he said, And something else about Vietnam. Leonid Brezhnev pulled hairs from his nose, Arranging them carefully at the end Of each line of obsequious prose. Why were these bristles black as the rich chernozem, Whilst those in his ears were as white as His brow down below in the Red Mausoleum? "German Ministry for State Security Requests more agents for West Berlin - Concerned about the university." "Send them apprentices," Leonid scribbled, Leaving the hairs on the page but blotting A wet patch from a place where he'd dribbled. (THERE'S LOTS MORE AND IT GETS EVEN BETTER) I look forward to meeting you -- Graham

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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