THE HUNT by Billy Roberts
[et_pb_section fb_built="1" admin_label="section" _builder_version="4.16" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_row admin_label="row" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_column type="4_4" _builder_version="4.16" custom_padding="|||" global_colors_info="{}" custom_padding__hover="|||" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"]
The early morning mist rises with shame, to reveal the flash of crimson coats.
No idle chatter from the hunters' lips can conceal the deathly smiles, nor magic away the guilt that is yet to come, but even now is felt.
Excited hounds, hungry yet fed, filled with eagerness for the chase, mingle with impatient horses whose frozen breath disappears with the rising mist, but still the guilt of the hunters' deathly smiles remain.
Already the blood of the hunted flows, but only in the minds of the hunters, as they rub the cold from their frosty hands and don their caps with pride.
The misty sky reveals a curious sun, who peeps slyly, then retreats with shame, as the signal is given and the hunt begins, but for the hunted it is already over.
A wide-eyed creature stares from the safety of the hedge, but its safety is soon to be broken by the crimson coats, howling dogs, sounding horns, and horses at a gallop, but led by the hunters' deathly smiles.
Confusion! And with hesitation, the gentle creature surrenders. No prisoners taken in this gruesome war, as a curious sun peeps once again, and with outstretched hands the crimson coats congratulate each other; but the hunters' deathly smiles slowly disappear, and the crimson coats turn to coats of bloody shame.
The journey home is always dark, but only in the minds of the hunters.
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]
THE OLD DIPSOMANIAC by Billy Roberts
[et_pb_section fb_built="1" admin_label="section" _builder_version="4.16" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_row admin_label="row" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content" custom_margin="12px|auto|12px|auto|true|false"][et_pb_column type="4_4" _builder_version="4.16" custom_padding="|||" global_colors_info="{}" custom_padding__hover="|||" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"]
Face lined and drawn; his soul eaten with the sad prospects of an alcoholics dream.
NOVEMBER THOUGHTS by Billy Roberts
[et_pb_section admin_label="section"]
[et_pb_row admin_label="row"]
[et_pb_column type="4_4"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text"]
By the window I sat watching the November sky,
After the diagnosis by Christian Wiman
[et_pb_section admin_label="section"]
[et_pb_row admin_label="row"]
[et_pb_column type="4_4"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text"]
Christian Wiman, "After the Diagnosis" from Every Riven Thing. Copyright © 2011 by Christian Wiman. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
In Appreciation of the Carer
[et_pb_section fb_built="1" admin_label="section" _builder_version="4.16" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_row admin_label="row" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_column type="4_4" _builder_version="4.16" custom_padding="|||" global_colors_info="{}" custom_padding__hover="|||" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"]
We are so often ill, our breath coming in gasps,
We fear for ourselves, plead for mercy,
Those breaths we take fight us with wheeze and rasp,
Our plight is hard; our mood is hard and bitchy.
But wait a moment; pause a minute, look around, do you see?
Those that love us, care for us, nurse us and stay by our side,
Those loved ones, siblings, partners or spouse, standing closely,
Holding our hand, mopping a brow, hiding how they cried.
So while we suffer, puff and pant, do not grumble, do not rant,
There is strength beside us, a hand to support, an ear to listen,
Our loved ones who watch us suffer without showing a tear,
Our life is hard, full of despair, but do we see the eye that glistens?
My wife is my rock, my oxygen mask, my faithful nurse,
I am lucky, I’m not alone, I have someone who cares,
Suffer we do, often it’s true, but don’t moan, don’t curse,
One of us is ill but both feel the pain, the suffering we share.
Friend or family, brother or son, husband or wife,
We all must remember those who hide their tear, hide their pain,
They sacrifice their hearts, to accompany us in our plight,
So keep in your hearts a smile, for those who love us, with nothing to gain.
Chip Chapman, August 2014
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]
#WorldAspergillosisDay 2019
February 1st 2019 marks the second ever World Aspergillosis Day. This year the theme is 'Diagnosis and Awareness', and there are several activities and campaigns
planned for the day, organised by patients, advocacy groups and research organisations alike!
Poetry at the GAFFI Launch
[et_pb_section fb_built="1" admin_label="section" _builder_version="4.16" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_row admin_label="row" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_column type="4_4" _builder_version="4.16" custom_padding="|||" global_colors_info="{}" custom_padding__hover="|||" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"]
During the launch of GAFFI last week (6th November) Rupert Everett read a series of poems each of which related to fungal disease in a different way. There were several new original works - perhaps most poignantly one written by a group of patients who have aspergillosis in its various forms and who meet once a month for a support meeting run by the National Aspergillosis Centre.
The Centre has a Poet in Residence (Caroline Hawkridge) who organises group writing events to take place at the meeting. The poetry is inspired by a number of influences, one by the hospital car park(!) but this one was inspired by the name of the daughter of a doctor who presented a talk at one of the meetings. Her name was Hope and from that we all contributed to the poem 'Hope is...' giving our individual impression of what hope means to each of us. There was a wide range of contribution, some from patients, some from carers and some from staff.
Rupert performed our poem outside the Houses of Parliament as video recording is not normally allowed within its walls. Watch & listen here (once on the website click on Rupert's picture).
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]
Decomposition: An Anthology of Fungi-Inspired Poems
[et_pb_section fb_built="1" admin_label="section" _builder_version="4.16" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_row admin_label="row" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_column type="4_4" _builder_version="4.16" custom_padding="|||" global_colors_info="{}" custom_padding__hover="|||" theme_builder_area="post_content"][et_pb_text admin_label="Text" _builder_version="4.16" background_size="initial" background_position="top_left" background_repeat="repeat" global_colors_info="{}" theme_builder_area="post_content"]
29 May 2010 / Fungi Magazine
Decomposition: An Anthology of Fungi-Inspired Poems edited by Renée Roehl and Kelly Chadwick (2010) Lost Horse Press: Sandpoint, Idaho.
Anthologies of poetry are created to chronicle a movement or to gather poems on a single subject or theme. There are poetry anthologies on war, love, death, food, and a host of special topics. With the publication of Decomposition, we now have a superb collection of poems that derive from the perception that the fungi have much to teach us about the surrounding universe and life itself. Fungi-inspired poems—is this so unusual? Poems celebrating flowers, trees, and gardens have informed literary traditions since Ovid and Chuang Tzu, for nature themes are universal in poetry the world over. We frequently find poems tucked away in mushroom club newsletters, primarily because mycophiles tend to open their lives to the devotion of fungi in every conceivable fashion. But the realization that mushroom-inspired poetry is itself a singular tradition, one that has largely proliferated underground or at the margins of literature, has had to await Roehl and Chadwick’s splendid collection of mushroom poems that have sporulated and fruited in a vivid wordscape of color and form.
Read the full review
Purchase the book
[/et_pb_text][/et_pb_column][/et_pb_row][/et_pb_section]