The Written Word Group

  “Lovely service” “Very moving, Bishop” “So glad we could attend” “How wonderful to hear your sermon” My jaw aches from the smiles and responses. When they are all gone, I walk back into the coolness of the church. What is wrong with me today? I felt doubtful, melancholy.  Leaning against the heavy carved door, I allow my fingers to linger on the smoothness of the handle,  I imagine the hands of countless others whose grasp has left an invisible mark. I turn, stepping back to admire the rich carved door. How was such a masterpiece achieved? Who was the visionary that turned the trunk of a chestnut tree into this? A tale that depicts leaping deer, rich woodland, a fox with the wisest face. How can I feel overwhelming disappointment in the face of such workmanship?  I feel such a fraud. The choirboys are leaving. Their whispers echoing around the walls, rebounding off paintings and crucifixes.  The organist too has departed. I look around me. Particles of dust da...

  Your Neighbour   By Jeremy Patton In the world of commerce, negotiations take place between two parties; the seller and the buyer, the service provider and the customer, the dealer and the user. Harry’s business model involved Harry, the hitter, and a low level criminal often referred to as the debtor, the scum, or, on one occasion 2 years ago, as the body.  Harry was a fat man with a very bad temper. I’m sorry, I know you shouldn’t call people fat, but he was, he knew it, and it made him angry if he thought people were judging him. In fact, nobody ever commented on it due to his temper and the pickaxe handle he kept in the boot of his BMW.  On that day two years ago, he would have just threatened the drug dealer until he paid up, but the little idiot had called him an ugly FAT bastard and something snapped in Harry - then many things broke in the drug dealer. When the red mist had lifted,  Harry looked down at his work and knew that retirement day had ...

  The music in my head when I go for a long walk, The company of a good friend when we talk. The Martins and Swallows as they fly and sing, Bringing with them the promise of spring. The warmth of a cat curled up on my knee, The sight of new buds upon a fruit tree. Finding a story which I thought that I’d lost, Seeing all the trees covered in frost. The smell of freshly baked bread, The different stories running in my head. The sight of the sun on a winter’s day, A call from a friend saying that they are okay. Listening to the stories read by the group, A bowl of freshly made soup. The sewing of seeds and having to wait,   And watching them grow as they germinate. The taste of tomatoes straight from the vine, Picking them and knowing that they are mine. The smell of frying bacon in the morning, A boat bobbing up and down on its mooring. The sound of gentle summer rain, As it patters on the window pane. The vegetable garden looking s...

  The Written Word Groups 2nd Anniversary and 4th 500 Word Open Mic Event The 14th February 2025 - Kubatin - Hostal Meson - Arboleas In this we get two fantastic poems for the price of one. The first is an original poem in Spanish by Jose Cavet. A faboulous poem to honour his son Elian, and his homeland Venezuela.  Followed by a beautiful a rtistic interpretation  of Jose's poem by Jeremy Patton.

The Written Word Groups 2nd Anniversary and 4th 500 Word Open Mic Event 14th February 2025 - Kubatin - Hostal Meson - Arboleas A story about the Earth getting hit with an Asteroid and our music selection

  The Crosby family had always been smugglers, since the seventeen fifties in fact, the only thing that had changed was the product they smuggled into the country.   It was always something which would bring the highest profit and from the nineteen sixties it was drugs.   They guarded their ‘turf’ with a rough justice, always metered out in the dead of the night and always the same, but in different locations around their patch.           They could be seen from a mile off in this flat countryside.   Four spread eagled bodies, each one pinned to one of the sails of the windmill as it slowly turned, pumping the fen water out of the fields and into the dyke.   That’s the sort of punishment you get when you cross the Crosby family, any of the Crosby family.   They stuck together and looked after one-another, old and young alike, cross them at your peril.           The...