Writer
They placed them there.
Where they should never
have been.
Blind broken toys,
searching,
searching,
searching.
Crows can become doves,
under the right light.
Where moths swoop,
and swoon:
The summer’s death-kiss.
Where hate replaces
lies.
And the body
frames.
Impossible projections.
Where imagined potential
overcomes.
The truth,
of broken toys.
One fixed,
one forgotten:
Left dancing.
Alone with autumn’s butterflies.
Things just change,
Said the night to the dawn.
Things just change,
Said the dusk to the day.
And we all watched on.
We all watched on,
As the days passed by.
We all watched on,
As another night died.
I regularly write for Wine & Dine Yorkshire, which allows me to pursue two passions at the same time – food and writing – lucky me!
Here’s the latest issue: https://issuu.com/createtvt/docs/wd_june_2017
Scriptwriter for Wicked Inventions, season’s 1, 2, 3 and 4.
This was a great series to write for, which involved researching the history of inventions including everything from jet engines to margarine! I’ve always loved projects such as these, which come with the added bonus of learning something new as I write.
Your walls stand weak against shadows that spread,
Warping your contents beyond all meaning;
The flakes of your past feeble from leaning.
I see it amongst you; within the dead,
It makes and becomes you like pure black dread.
Your floor starts to creak like heavy lungs heaving;
The wild echoes seamlessly convening,
Till darkness fills all of where you may tread.
But I will be there and forever stay,
Fighting your shadows with all of my light;
I came for a reason to gently lay,
Rest your fear and ease your darkest of blight.
Shadows become lucent; your night to day,
I’ll give you that hope, that passion, that fight.
Resting against this pure white, sturdy wall,
Is a frame of glass, cheap plastic and grime;
Clinging to images of a lost time.
An inscription engraved in listless scrawl,
Of illegible letters used to haul
Back to moments that reek of the sublime,
When stood against walls that flattered its’ prime,
Unburdened by conscience, never to fall.
It frames white thoughts that may never have been,
A raging spirit that was never seen.
Dreams so often promised; never fulfilled.
Something to reach to; heavily instilled.
But amongst it all is a tiny clue,
An image within, of someone: it’s you.
Written for The Green Party | Published 22/05/15 | http://sheffieldgreenparty.org.uk/2015/04/22/wasted-votes/
We see it so often – regular voters wary of a party they don’t want in power, therefore choosing to vote for their most preferred of the larger parties. On paper, it seems like the most logical decision. Why waste a vote on a smaller party with no chance of gaining power and having to spend another 5 years under a party whose manifesto goes against everything you believe?
While this may make some sense, it is nothing but a quick fix; making the most of a political system in desperate need of a shake-up. Parliament today, generally speaking, offers no real democratic discussion and a total lack of representation of what regular voters actually want and care about. There are simply not enough opposing views and individual voices there to influence Labour and the current Lib-Con government.
UKIP’s rise in the past few years has shown, for better or for worse, just how a small party can begin to influence big party politics and therefore grow as a result. They have managed to make immigration one of the key topics of debate in parliament. The Conservative-led government has adapted their policy to suit this zeitgeist and hold on to voters that may be swayed by Farage. UKIP won’t get into power come May, but they’ve certainly left their mark, and will no doubt get the referendum they’ve demanded for so long.
Imagine this for another party. Imagine if all those potential voters of the Green Party, for example, decided not to worry about wasting their vote and to choose the party they really cared about. It may not happen instantaneously, but it is entirely plausible that the big parties will one day be absorbing the policies of the Greens and other parties too – and that can only be a good thing.
We need broader representation. Democracy is about everybody having a voice – not adapting that voice in fear of the least favourite man getting into power. Whilst the First Past the Post system really does inhibit smaller parties, encouraging voters to vote honestly and not tactically will certainly help give them a voice.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d whisper in their bed.
but she seems so happy, he said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, proclaimed father to father.
but she feels so free, they said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d tell the family at tea.
but I’m in love, she said.
She watched them watch her, in their disapproving scorn,
This, she knew, was not the reason that she’d been born.
Maybe she felt different,
like she didn’t quite fit.
A fly on the wall in the game of freedom,
Daring to swoop amongst it,
where the family couldn’t see.
Well, they saw the phase, that’s true,
but they forgot to look at you.
I can taste it now; teasing at the tip,
Of my tongue as I drink greedily in,
With one hungry gulp of self-serving sin.
I waited at first, for chance to unzip,
The secret you held just close to your hip.
A mark that showed me where I could begin
And lead me to a place in which you’d pin
Me to you with an unknowing firm grip.
It’s grown stronger now so don’t let it become,
A reason by which to forget how sweet,
An elixir we shared; free of jitter,
A medicine to rouse the secret numb.
I know though in time, drowning in effete,
The last sip I take, wincing; is bitter.
Luke Downing 