It's a Word Thing! Creative writing workshop
Saturdays 12.00 - 3.00pm at Coombes Croft Library
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Take part in some fun and stimulating creative writing exercises,
share your work in a relaxed and friendly group, or just work on your own writing projects - it doesn't matter 
Tree Stories for the Tree Charter
The Tottenham Oak
She stands, a pillar of support for the community Magnificent and proud Her branches outstretched towards the sky Inviting passing migrants En route to foreign lands A chance to rest a while. She stands not daunted by the changing passages of time As stormy winds both caress and beat her boughs She fights at times, refusing to be beaten down But as her branches bend and twist to strengthen her She shrugs to let the raindrops fall Like beads of refreshment they fall towards the ground Her leaves now shining Clean to boast the now bright green glow. She stands alone as she watches time fleeting by If only she could speak to give account of all the cracks of life Provisions made for Squirrels, insects and birds Who drop by to rest, to eat, to live and at times stay awhile Her acorns, leaves and minibeasts provide a scrumptious treat And there are much more left to bury for a winter's eat She stands knowing both the traumas and the pains long gone She has seen the impact of the changes made first hand She's heard the lovers promise She has seen the children squabble She was witness to the murderer's confession when his heart was full of woe She heard it all, when they visited As they laid under stood under walked under her opened umbrella. She stands deliberately holding secrets she would not divulge Time can speak for her trustworthiness This great old girl Tottenham's matriarch She understands Because She was there When all was taking place She heard, and experienced all But she stood in silence Not having to give an opinion or share her deepest thoughts No one asked No reply given, But embedded in her ringed framework Are all her logged reports safely stored for an appointed time. Cecilia Strachan 
The royal
Once long ago, a hand did place A seedling small, without a face Roots it took, going down down deep Till one day the son, it did meet It grew so slowly, thickening wide Till the day it came, in shade you could hide A strong deep bark and a royal Green leaf In this Royal Oak there was belief That once was small, and weak in youth Could again give hope in peace not tooth For the day will come When all will fade But that Royal Oak Will never decay © Brian Munday |
My tree story
At a glance it would seem by a degree an early romance, from a distance that grew into a life long love affair, O mighty trees. As a child I watched as they danced with the gentle breeze, with them I was always at ease, pleased I was and still am to eat their fruits, mangoes, apples and pears, who cares as long as we can eat. As a child once again I felt a certain delight in the fact that I could climb a tree it gave me a degree. Metaphorically speaking they stand their ground. Sound. I believe it as in the eighties there was a mighty storm walking from Stamford Hill to Tottenham, roads were blocked by falling trees, fire and emergency sevices were out and about, chain saws cut and bruised as they abused trying to unblock roads of mighty oaks, drenched and soaked, their backs were snapped, spines broken. Yet they laid like heroes of nature, they stood their ground defeated by mighty winds, snapped cracked their cries affected my eyes, as the dawn light it was a terrible sight here, there and everywhere. They laid. A war was fought, they lost. D Whyte, 25 February 2017 Aesculus hippocastanum (The Horse Chestnut)
Life began many seasons past from a seed that began as a child's Conquering weapon of choice in playground games With glossy nut brown skin and a scar on the chin And creamy, silky flesh that is poison to the horse And miraculous to the scientist for its medicinal source. Growth, year after year, and growth some more Producing chlorophyll leaves a hand span across And flowers that show when spring is here with white, And touch of red that shows this one's not dead. And growth continues through the summer sun And autumnal rains produce the spiky fruit and New glossy, nut brown seeds that have the DNA Of parent tree in their swirls and whorls and like a Fingerprint, are unique, and then a child reaches for The seed and takes it home and soaks in vinegar, Acetic acid softening, then baking in the heat of oven (So long as mother watches over them). String pushed through hole that's made and hardened Conker begins its campaign to be a sixer or a twelver, By destroying all comers in the playground war. And childhood dreams are met with children's screams As battle commences while health and safety cringe And say these games make us squirm and cower So we wield the power to stop the conker brawl. But kids are kids and battles are won with bits of string And conkering fun. While the tree continues to bring Seeds of wealth that produce more trees leaving a family Of Aesculus hippocastanum, ad infinitum, for more children to conquer. Steve Gregory 
My tree story
Do you see a biosphere? Do you see a world of wonder Living, interacting, underneath The natural canopy here? Do you even understand I existed before you? Spoken into being on The third day at the LORD's command? Do you even want to know How you need my kind to breathe? I'm the lung your planet needs - A full life-cycle below Can you start to comprehend How your world depends on me? Breath of life; a humble tree. You will get it in the end. Don't leave it too late to see I need you and you need me We're designed to share this earth Simple seed, mighty tree. Tommy Cloherty |
