Poems:

We felt it crucial to use this opportunity to spearhead creative methods to enable people to share their experiences and perspectives. We ran a series of poetry workshops, culminating in an online community showcase event.

Groundings from the Future

Errol 

Addressed to the me from ahead to the me from before

It's not to stop learning more but to learn different

It's to hold on and wrestle with

the STEM as it shoots towards the sun

Taking you to desirable and fruitful places

Open the flow of words and enjoy their prose

And open the gate to numbers and hard memories

Even when they slowly and rickety and loudly grate

For the flow and the slow ensures a balance

of the universe and of divergent paths

Which become a choice for one to pick of the tree

The universal tree shoots in many directions

Any you of before will climb limbs from any STEM

To you of the time yet to come

Friendship (end rhyme)

Errol 

Life navigates fleeting moments

Then gone in a fleeting moment

Friendships a minuscule of these fleeting moments

Then it too is gone within a capsule of these fleeting moments

So to stretch a moment one must savour a moment

For as long as it lasts

For savoured friendships stretch and last almost a moment

And that is to endure and to have

Lasting friendships for near a moment.

Unnamed Poem

Omar

When we were younger

we played make believe grown ups

We're grown up and still playing

 

I spend most conversations with adults

chewing slang

til its lost its flavour

Swallowing things

doesn't make them go away

Spitting them out

is refusing to hide any more

 

I'm happy if I'm as Me as possible

Me as

cartoon in the mirror

Me as

glint in your eye

Me as

lost crayon nursery self portrait

 

Meteors don't want to crash

they just haven't worked out

how to orbit politely

 

Sometimes I can't fit

all the thoughts in my head

So I find them homes

in other parts of my body

Fingertips

hold them better than knuckles

Mouth

better than eyelids

Chest

better than feet

 

I spend whole days listening

to the marks on my skin

Whole nights

at the feet of the stars

Letting them tell me

how they got here

Atonement

for all the years

I denied their existence

 

I think finding myself is like

looking for other lost things

Just need to check all my pockets

Retrace my steps

Look under everything

 

It'll be here somewhere

The Past

Yvonne

Off to a strange land

With Dad and brothers

Mum left behind

Didn't know why

 

New dawn, new day

New faces, new smells

Don't understand

A word being said

 

A new face

Beamed with love

I understood the language of love

And reached out for a hug

Mum's not here

 

But Gran will do

Keep On Keeping On 

Paul

Where is the gentle touch of a puzzled child’s hand?

Where is the connective conversation to be sure they understand?

Where has the noisy playground, the chatty lunch hall gone?

Just keep on – keep on keeping on.

 

Where is the cheerful clink, the coffee cup sound?

Where is the excitement of having friends round?

Where has the calm joy of huge mother’s hug gone?

Just keep on – keep on keeping on.

 

Where is the joy of the chorister’s cheerful chirrup?

Where is the sonorous symphony of singing voices’ spirit?

Where have the tickets, the anticipation of concerts gone?

Just keep on – keep on keeping on.

 

It’s not forever – it will come to an end,

and I’ll put my hand once again in the warm hand of a friend.

Once again the classroom, children singing where they belong;

because we kept on – kept on keeping on.

Nothing

Paul

This poem is about nothing,

it has no subject or theme;

This poem is about nothing

and about what nothing might mean.

 

Nothing is not anything,

it’s the middle of polo mints;

nothing is what you often do

while your computer slowly syncs.

 

Nothing is a blank white page,

when at sea it’s what’s in sight;

nothing is the sounds you hear

while awake in the middle of the night.

 

Nothing is when it’s not there,

it’s the middle of a bubble;

nothing is what you say you’ve done

when mum says you’re in trouble.

 

Nothing is a silent room,

it’s a great thing to plan to do;

nothing’s what the bully says

that they have done to you

Nothing can be boring,

it’s what doing nothing often brings;

nothing’s what’s right in the middle

of delicious Haribo rings.

 

This poem was about nothing,

it had no subject or theme;

and I hope it’s taught you that

there’s more to nothing than it might seem…

Unnamed

Stefano

Our past can't be redone.

All those days are done.

The past is gone.

I opened my eyes with hope of good future.

No amount of colour can change the blue in the world.

But we can fight it.

My cats are purling we are all hurling [as in like all hurling of happiness]

The future will wait for you

So you must go before it does.

Now spread those wings and head for the stars.

No matter how far you may go,

You must go further and further.

The future is uncertain.

No way for us to see.

Sleep Dream

Michael

The morning Routine

The pink and blue

The moment of awakening

The morning mirror messes

The two ducklings hatching from yesterday’s trauma

The glory of knowing we made it through the night

The Jazmin Sullivan’s

The Earth, Wind and fires

The Children of the wind

The Ojerime’s

Blasting from the Sonos

We drown ourselves in these sounds

We are the last twigs fighting for survival on the winter tree

These twigs will not fall

We will not fall

We wave at the kids playing football below

East Finchley has just won the World Cup

We cheer

 

Back to the flat

The Rapid snatch of a wooden spoon out of my hand making me feel worthless

The inability to just do it

The blanket of separation

The binging of anxiety

The way it all just disappears with a good nights sleep drea

All of the poems exhibited here were created as part of an online workshop facilitated by Bonny Downs Community Association, led and directed by Michael Elcock and Omar Bynon.
Please be sure to check out the Bonny Downs website to keep up to date with future events.

Promised Land of an Unknown Immigrant

Mahmudul 

I worship Athena.

She brought me to London,

My love for wisdom.

A rich university library

Spells me bound.

Yet, I can’t stare at the books for hours

Haunted by tuition fees and regular bills.

I try to do a job

Tolerating regular bullies

I am

Restricted by hour

Restricted by sector

Restricted by category

My hands are tied.

No flexibility.

No job.

No access to public funds.

Job satisfaction – it’s a utopia.

What is left for me?

Bully and harassment on a regular schedule.

Can’t get the bitterness out of my system.

The heat is on I can’t tolerate.

Still study and study – no choice.

Tried to leave

But I can’t as my wife loves the city,

“It will be good for our kids”.

What is left?

Tolerate, tolerate and tolerate.

Spent the juice of my youth over the decade.

Promised land at last!

The price?

It was more than

An arm and a leg.

Bonny Downs Community Association

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The Well Community Centre, 49 Vicarage Lane, London E6 6DQ
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