Spaces that hold movement

In this session we discussed and wrote poems and short stories about spaces that means a lot to you – how does the space make you feel? What objects are there? What memories does this space hold?

Recipe for living

by Angela Baker

Pish Pish ??,…CHICKEN?

Anyone would think that that`s my dog`s name.

He`s sleeping amongst a sea of bed clothes, Hot pressed sleepy velvet.

I rattle his lead , alluringly, cut into the juicy flesh of a meatball!

Trip Trap, Trip Trap, TRIP TRAP < TRIP TRAP!!

He`s riding the savoury surf ,…. with a WHOOSH!

His mouth is open.  Panting, he inhales the prospect of a `Meaty-Walk`.

He whines and swallows then waits some more. Nose pressed to the door, tail-a-helicopter,…..

He has the whole shape of the park, traced on the top of his tongue.

Reheat

by Joao Godinho

It's not fair, you know! I've been very depressed for a long time. My therapy pigeon advised me to accept my life and move on, but I can't. Misery and injustice do not agree with me at all.

You see that strutting peacock, Nelson, over in Trafalgar Square? He gets to stand for victory, for valour, for defeating the French in battle. Pigeons flock to him in adoration, tourists crane their necks all day. It's a triumph.

On the other hand, all my tourists do is climb some 311 stairs, huffing and puffing, sweating and swearing, and when they come out on top what's there to see? Nothing, really. The fire's been long put out, it's a monumental waste of time. All that burns is calories.

This is where it all went horribly wrong straight from the beginning. Poor urban planning before the fire, even worse urban planning when they decided to build me. I’m not a monument; I’m a health and safety poster. I'm a very tall "I told you so." I'm basically a glorified reminder: "Did I leave the oven on?"

I dream of a different life. Maybe upskill as a monument to the invention of roast beef? I do have transferable skills, you know!

But that's not going to happen, now that I have all the new kids looking down on me. The Gherkin, the Shard, standing taller, shiny and polished. They will never understand my predicament.

What I need is a modern-age "misfortune" to get vindicated. So if they want fire, I'll give them fire.

I've asked a pigeon to send a message on the Interpet: "Dear Mount Vesuvius, I need a word..."