Seething Writers of the Walking Kind

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So, Seething Writers of the Third Kind, as it was billed on Facebook, became Seething Writers of the Walking Kind… our first foray into what I have been calling Seethingography, and this was it- a walk around Seething Wells for just over an hour. We met at the Museum of Futures and the walk began with a small reading from Phil Smith’s wonderful book ‘On Walking’, followed by the famous Walt Whitman lines:

now voyager

It was great fun, and we were very lucky to be accompanied by Seething experts Simon Tyrrell and Howard Benge who have studied the history of the filter beds and Seething Wells water works, amongst other local history. It will be interesting to see what writing comes out of this psychogeographical exploration of the area.

view from the lambeth waterworks steps
view from the lambeth waterworks steps

The next Seething Writers meeting takes place on Monday August 22nd, from 7.30- 9pm at the Museum of Futures in Surbiton. There is a Facebook Group here or email seethingography@gmail.com to be added to the mailing list.

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Two Limericks

There once was an old man called Bill,
Who woke up one day feeling ill,
He ran round the house,
Like a very fast mouse,
To find the right tablet or pill.
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There was an old man with a fan,
Who went by the grand name of Dan,
When the sun got hot,
He went in and got,
Amongst other things his old fan.
By Simon Paul
(originally from Seething Writers writing prompt: Ready, Steady Write)

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Lost Property

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Lost property
dropped from the hand,
who knows where they fell,
better to have lost, than never loved at all,
Christ lost a cup, and a shoe, up the hill.
By Robin Rutherford.
http://www.robinrutherford.co.uk/

(originally from Seething Writers writing prompt: Ready, Steady Write)

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Prestwick, March 3rd 1960.

taramander

At the Seething Writers Group Evening last Monday, Lucy, our leader, put four articles on the table and we were given a few minutes to write about them. A child’s blue shoe and yellow cup, a packet of paracetamol, and a Japanese paper fan. After a minute or so, the little plastic shoe became a blue suede shoe, which sparked a memory of an account of Elvis’s brief visit to Scotland, and a little story started to come to me. It was inspired by some personal experiences, (a few details were furnished by Google: there’s a nice first hand account of that day here.).

My Uncle Tony lived with us in the London suburbs when he was a teenager. He was an economic migrant just over from rural Ireland. I was a small child. I would say he is an Elvis fan, but the word “fan” does not seem big enough to…

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Poem

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Plastic shoes, cups, bags, furniture …
Furnishing mountains of futility,
where nothing is necessary,
nourished
 or nurtured.
Plastic mountains mounting massively …
bits breaking and flaking off,
to clog the cogs
of reproductive and digestive systems …
Permeating from the seas to the lands …
from amphibians to humans …
Plastic mountains,
mounting
daily …
By Katharine Scott
(originally from Seething Writers writing prompt: Ready, Steady Write)

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Seething Writers: The Second Coming

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Our second meeting, held last Monday evening, July 4th, was a great success. Some superb writing was produced in a very short time in response to a writing exercise called: ‘Ready Steady Write’. If you remember the TV cookery show where various people would turn up with a carrier bag of random food items, which a chef would then have to turn into an array of delicious dishes, this was a take on that. A few random items were selected and put in a carrier bag and people wrote in response to one, all or a combination of these objects.

Look out for up-coming posts featuring some of this writing!

You can also join the Seething Writers Facebook Group here.

The next Seething Writers meet is July 25th, Museum of Futures at 7.30pm. If the weather is ok we will go for a walk and come back to the museum to write about our explorations and adventures. Do join us!

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The Wordsmiths

Before, there was just sound.


Noise.

Gutteral utterings.

Inside a need

Outside, no form.

 
Then they came

A wandering band of vagabonds

A higgledy piggledy group of artisans

Skilled craftsmen and women all

A cart filled with wondrous tools

Cases packed with abundance

Dragged with joy from settlement to settlement

Infectious energy and smiles

Captivating hearts and faces

 
Their arrival a source of excitement

Their purpose as yet unknown

They stop and unpack their wonders

 
They are the Wordsmiths

 
An ancient band of creators

Capturing the sounds and making real

 
Once established they sit and wait

Slowly people come to forward

Sit, eyes captivated by what they see

Silence speaks volumes

 
A Wordsmith steps forward and points

The ‘tree’ is big with heavy boughs.

He points to one of the children and back

Slowly the child realises and makes the noise

 
The Wordsmiths scream with joy

Repeat the sound until it is fixed and set

Others join in chorus loud

 
With one gesture silence falls again

The Wordsmiths set to work

Tools blur, materials carved, sewn,

Forges lit, bellows strained

 
Effort precedes the emergence of

The word

TREE

Made real

There in front of them

A sound now physical and fixed

TREE

 
From their cart they take a case

Words tumble from it to the floor

Previous language captured

Now shared, passed, owned.

 
As dawn come up an empty space

Dents in the grass where once was

And

TREE

writ large

 
An elder turns to the assembled

“They have gone.”

Nods of understanding

 
Before, there was just sound.

Noise.

Gutteral utterings.

Inside a need to communicate

Outside no form.

 
Then they came

A wandering band of vagabonds

A higgledy piggledy group of artisans

Skilled craftsmen and women all

A cart filled with wondrous tools

Cases packed with abundance

Dragged with joy from settlement to settlement

Infectious energy and smiles


Captivating hearts and faces



Robin Hutchinson

http://spiritofseething.blogspot.co.uk/