When you fall in love with a dead poet, they have you for life.

As well as screenwriting, I also like to dabble with a little poetry every now and then. I wrote this poem a couple of years ago, which I thought I would share with you whilst I’m formulating and deciding what to write about next in my next blog post. I’m currently caught between a couple of ideas I’d like to discuss in connection with writing and the film and TV industry.

Meanwhile, I thought you might like to read this…

THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY.

She thought herself barren and scorched to the bitter end

Like the quicksilver wouldn’t flow, nor the flame would yield and bend

She became like dust and ash swirling in a void of streaming senses

They’d gone.  She was set adrift, floating on a still black sea; intense.

The Mistress was left bereft.  Nothing but starched White Noise

Where had all her play things gone? Her toys?

Everywhere had become a scene of shifting shadows; black, white and grey

It was forever an ocean of yesterdays, tomorrows and the endless today.

Was this the work of Zeus gone awry or The Sorcerer’s gift?

Without or within, where is the epicentre of that constant shift?

The mind points southward to the heart’s malaise

There came a deep thunderous rumble in the distant haze

Lightning struck the forests in the midst of the night

Out popped the eyes a wandering and all shining bright

Sparks bit into the furnace of her desires

Flames kissed, hissed and crackled. She felt inspired.

Walls shattered, rooftops blew off, and the light shone in.

Finally, finally she could see with an artisan’s crystal glass eye and begin.

Halcyon flew down to his Mistress and sat upon her head

He blinkered her eyes, clothed her ears and there made himself a bed

So, to engrave his wit of the kindling kind

With a puff he blew out the dust to create a mind; refined.

T’was as if Minerva and Persephone had melted and entwined

If only the inward eye could make fashion with passion the ink with the visions combined!

Sweet elixirs of blues, reds and greens he nestles upon her crown

Such a kaleidoscopic landscape only a carousing fool would claim their own

Coursing through her veins he shot liquid gold and silver that he’d blown

Its tincture seemed to almost brush her very marrowbone.

Only then would they come in numbers of ten thousand. No, more!

When she lifted her mind to the stars and swept up stardust from Nirvana’s floor

Could she leave that mortal coil and enter Athena’s pleasure dome

And discover therein the changeling that makes Liberty their home.

She at once lifted her inner eye to the forgotten land

And touched the undiscovered country, where it would always stand

She sunk into Chimera’s harvest and wandered the corridors.

Here lies a place with no nadir, zenith or horizon; not even windows, doors or floors.

This faceless, mystical stranger she clung to her breast to become an instant friend

For in her heart she knew it would all too rapidly come to an end.

With that super natural creature she’d slipped into a another space,

Where the great mystery wore an altogether different virgin’s face.

With materials so poor to attempt to meet the visceral core to the point

And with already distant echoes, the silent mystery it does attempt to anoint

It could not leave a stain upon the brain. All this is done in the twinkling of an eye.

To then set to making what can only be a poor imitation with the dye!

She knew she should muster her courage and dive into the sublime,

Because she knew she’d already been kissed at least once by Old Father Time.

The heavy heart knew dawn would break and they’d fly back and all would be the same

And nothing but walls and shadows; black, white and grey would remain.

For anyone interested, it was inspired by my passion and admiration for William Blake, who I fell head over heels in love with while I was at university. Not only was I captured by his beautiful poetry (and his accompanying etchings) and his strong visual sense that he uses throughout his poems but also by the man himself; his character, his life and his somewhat unorthodox philosophies to both life itself, his work and those around him, at least for a man who lived in the Eighteenth century. Having become captivated by Blake, I even started to dream about the man on a regularly basis and this in turn inspired me to think about future projects, but I’ll leave that for another time.

Moving the books around.

Sarah Todd Taylor

Tonight I spent a very happy couple of hours in a bookshop. After hours.

There is something rather special about being in a bookshop when it’s closed that I can’t quite put my finger on. This evening I was there for a poetry reading (Katherine Stansfield’s excellent Playing House, out today), so there was wine and good conversation and a chance to browse through the stacks.

While I was there, I snuck into the children’s section, with a very particular mission in mind.

You see, tomorrow, Arthur and Me hits the shelves and there was one thing I needed to do.

I needed to make a little space in the T section.

Years ago, when I was a teenager, my Dad caught me moving the books around in a bookshop, moving the ones in the T section around so that there was a book shaped gap on the shelves. ‘What…

View original post 130 more words

By way of an introduction… a bit of a confession.

*whispers* “I write.”

No, that’s not right. *clears throat* “I write.”

Try again. *deep breath, puffs out chest and screams at the top of my voice…* “I’M A WRITER.”

There. That’s better.

Just wanted to get that off my chest before we go any further. By the way, hello, and welcome to my very first blog post. I’m NomadicWriter.

I’ve had a strong interest in writing for most of my life, though I didn’t realise that in the early days. You would have thought the childhood obsession with buying nicely covered note books and journals, the ever-increasing collection of nice pens or writing poetry and notes about life may have hinted that writing would become an unsigned but binding contract with my heart and mind.

There’s a reason why some writers mention what they do either muttered behind a hand over their mouth or whispered in hushed tones. When the subject comes up in discussion, they’re met with a variety of reactions from those who don’t happen to be into it, from pure admiration at one extreme through to the “It’s not a proper job though, is it,” attitude and variant comments at the other. I think I’ve met most of them, hence my opening gambit with you. Just to complicate matters further, it seems as if many writers, certainly the very good ones I’ve come to know as a reader or interact with as a writer, both of fiction and screen/stage, appear to have a tinge of that all pervading sense of feeling like they’re imposters. It’s a strange and yet intrinsically beautiful profession and one in which I hope to have a lengthy and rewarding career.

Why did I start this blog?

Sometimes a tweet or a Facebook update just isn’t enough to do justice to what you want to convey out there. There’s only so much you can say in 140 characters. Plus, there’s that nagging thought that what you say is just going to disappear into the ether at some point, never to be seen again; despite the fact there may be times when you’re pleased that something’s gone forever to that great big black hole called the Internet, but generally what you would like to be able to do is save it for perpetuity. With that in mind I thought I would start a blog in order to put something out there.

While my main interests are related to writing, whether it be screenwiting (both for the large screen and the small one), writing stage plays and the classic unfinished novel that every writer seems to have stashed away in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, there will be times when I am likely to post about subjects that interest me or items in the news and wider world that merit a bit of discussion and perhaps even the occasional mini rant about some social injustice that’s cropped up or comes to mind. Hope there will be some room to share the occasional bit of my humour with you, which by its nature is a little off-the-wall. Have no fear, this won’t be a place that’s all doom and gloom. Life isn’t like that, so why would this place be any different? Aside from writing, my other main interests relate to film, television, theatre, fiction and poetry. So yes, we’re back to writing again. However, as we go along I hope you’ll discover by way of posts on here the other subjects that are interest me. Really hope to be able to share some little nuggets of knowledge that I’ve picked up along the way concerning writing, TV, film and theatre etc, whilst I fully acknowledge that the world that’s captured me hook, line and sinker is one that by its very nature means it’s both a lifelong commitment and even more importantly, one where you’re learning something new each and every day. That never stops. That also makes it one of the main reasons for being there.

I mentioned I had other interest aside from those related to writing. Okay. Kicking things off here and now, I am an unapologetic lover of animals, both large and small, domestic and wild. In July 2012 I adopted a young two-tone ginger cat, who, like so many – too many, had a difficult start in life. But more on that another time. He, like me, even has his own Twitter account. Yes, that’s how we roll here. He’s my wingman, a.k.a Mr Ginger One, and is a real character in his own right. That’s him in the profile picture. As he plays quite a significant role in my life he’s bound to merit the occasional mention on here. You’ve been warned. Ha!

Much like moving into a new home, where you’re trying to find your way around the place and work out where things go in all the draws and cupboards, please bare with me while I work to improve the look of this page, so that it both serves my purposes and hopefully becomes a more pleasurable experience for you as a reader.

I look forward to the journey that we’re about to embark on. Grab your travel pass and passport and let’s go…

Meanwhile…  If you would like to follow me on Twitter you can find me: @NomadicWriter. https://twitter.com/NomadicWriter

My wingman, can be followed @Mr_Ginger_One. https://twitter.com/Mr_Ginger_One