I’m back… PHEW!

In a nutshell, this term has been my craziest yet and the Semester has only been 6 weeks long before a well overdue Easter break. Amidst heavy involvement in the Union Executive Elections, a creeping 22nd birthday, PhD proposal preparations and MA deadlines, it is no wonder that the blogging came to a bit of a standstill upon closing up The Student Wordsmith’s ‘YOU is for University’ Poster competition! (A massive congratulations to Ali Foroughi on being named our winner, your vouchers are on their way to you!)

So, what have I been up to when it comes to the world of writing?

Well, for the first time I performed a piece of my own poetry work at Loughborough University’s open-mic night event, Speech Bubble, where being on stage among the creative talents of Jodi-Ann Bickley and Harry Baker, as well as the super-talented students, was both an absolute pleasure and ridiculously frightening!

As well as this, the short Verbatim piece, entitled Soup Kitchen Solidarity, has interested someone enough that they have asked if I would be interested in reading it elsewhere locally, and has led to my PhD proposal and application on exploring Verbatim, with a second of my poems (Brahmaputra) being chosen for print in a local Indian Culture magazine! More on this to follow…

Finally, this term has led to my meeting with both Rod Duncan (whose novels’ reviews are to come soon on The Student Wordsmith), and Ross Bradshaw, scaring me to death about the lack of making money in the writing industry. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that does not scare me off.

With a PhD application, professional website and launch, and a trip to South Africa during the Summer in the pipeline, my passion for writing has already shown me that anything can happen and, in light of my return to the blog, here are my latest developed poetry pieces recently handed in for deadline…

Happy Easter, and enjoy x


Part One: The Wire 

1. The Wire
It flexes then falls as it
winds itself
around itself,
 behind itself.       
It is a worm that wriggles,
– T R A P P E D –
in a fix
against my wall.
You are the silence in the room tonight,
above the hum of conversation –
‘It’s Cancer, the Doctors said’, and
now Stephen is pacing the kitchen.
‘What about operations? Aren’t there tests?’
‘But it all depends on the patient.’
‘It’s Cancer, the Doctors said’ –
 technology awash with raw emotion.
You flex, and then you
winding yourself,
around yourself,
– T R A P P E D –
in a fix
upon my floor.
Technology awash with raw emotion;
the Wire.


2. Poverty-Stricken

                   brick, we’re
quick to cast assumptions
on the mould, that stands –
statuesque, before us.
“The person that inhabits
a place as this, must live in squalor, and in damp”;
for man can barely afford
the mould, that sits
among his bedclothes, at the Clink, and
in the cracks,
of the 78 Kings Cross Rd pavement. It stands,
statuesque, surrounding him –
3. Your London
I watch your mind,
your words, now weightless,
in the face of your newfound strangeness.
Long dreamed of; your London is lost forever.
The lines on your face will continue to speak your story;
 abused drugs, and the
plague of debts you built –
borrowing money, as
a suit and tie hands you his leftover Starbucks coffee.
Instead, you sit among
unwanted droppings, now weightless,
in the wake of new life: homeless.
Long dreamed of; your London is lost forever.


4. Satisfaction
Sometimes, we moan
at life, and the
things it throws our way. But,
I can’t help but think that
For example, your Facebook profile page:
‘I’m bored’, we complain, or
‘Deadlines always getting in the way’.And what about work?Well, the weekend’s never long enough, and
the week should definitely be shorter.
Monday’s hell, but when Friday’s here –
‘Life is back in order.’Don’t even get me started on the weather.

So I will ask of you this:

For the worst, or for the better,
in sleet or sand or snow,
spare a thought, if just a fraction,
for a woman’s son and that man’s daughter
– someone ought to –
they don’t get satisfaction.

Fatoumata’s stuck in a Nyimba hospital bed,
her head and heart all wrapped in bandage
after drinking dirty water.

And Malichama can’t go to school, and learn;
his Father says it’s not his turn –

because in Dhaka slums they can’t afford to.


Sometimes, we moan
at life, and the
things it throws our way. But,
I can’t help but think that

You can find out more about what I’ve been up to at:

Thank you. x

COMING SOON: Footprints in the Snow, Rod Duncan’s crime trilogy reviewed (beginning with Backlash), and I try my hand at some new creative techniques courtesy of Grace Carter.

(C) Sophie-Louise Hyde 2013.
Thanks for reading.