An opportunity to publish
stealing the river
Dave Wood
Freelance writer, artist, community arts worker and commissioned poet. Better known as Doctor Love, producing Valentine’s poems in county libraries as well as poems to celebrate weddings (two coming up), anniversaries and birthdays.
Emma Fawcett
Illustrator, freelance and commissioned artist, printmaker. Her solo show at the Flying Goose, Beeston, Energies of Nature packed the venue and (of course) sold some paintings.
Dave and Emma spark off each other; throwing ideas into the pot and making them work. Their recent successful joint show at the Nottingham Society of Artists, had plenty of foot-fall and lots of admiration, particularly for part of our current collaboration, stealing the river, a poem dreamed up by Dave and now currently being illustrated by Emma. As part of the end celebration event, Dave performed the poem to visitors to the show.
Dave and Emma want interested publishers to contact them about turning stealing the river into a book.
It is a poem of warmth, depth and humour. The paintings convey the surreal nature of the poem, allowing the playfulness to ooze out like the very river itself.
Contact Dave and Emma on 07837 131638 or use the contact form
stealing the river
i caught a river once
it was blue silver
down soft
it was so beautiful
i held it in my arms then took it home
i looked after it
feeding it all the right foods
it grew large
its oozing and trickling keeping me awake
but it mourned for its own trough to run in
fearing an escape
i chained it to the radiator
by the window
at night
it would whisper quiet words with the moon
so i took a stone
and shot the moon in the eye
the river began to weep
and while i slept
its tears filled my room
curling up the wallpaper
spoiling the carpet
making the furniture dance!
i became angry with the river
i shouted at it
and eventually it stopped
(though it continued a steady kind of drip drip)
two months later (or thereabouts)
it began to fade
its edges had straightened
it had developed sharp corners
it was no trick - the river was dying
i became so unhappy
that i too began to cry
i held out for a long time
but eventually realised what i should do
still sobbing
i took the river
out of the door
through the town
and finding its waiting bed
laid it gently down
as i continued
talking - crying
it slowly
ache-ingly
stretched out its arms
then moved
made headway
building up more and more speed
and the more i cried
the more alive it became
the more its beauty returned
the quicker it flowed
nowadays
if i hear it calling
i go to the river
taking nothing but the gift
of sad words
©dave wood