Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

Dream My bags are in that room and you are too. This corridor’s familiar, doors similar, but something’s not quite right. I turn left, climb stairs, turn right then right again, still room, bags, you are out of sight this roving raving, hunting, night that feels like day until I wake. When I do, perhaps, cloud curtains block the morning light. I’m cold, exhausted from a sheet-soaked night of searching for room, bags, you so close, I feel, but out of sight. You must be found. You must! Patiently then nervily then frantically I search. I know the room is there, there was no sleight. How come the building’s shifted style and my room is out of sight? I dream I wake. With heavy lids I see a shape, it might be you, or someone like, a misty silhouette in black and white until another turn or strife keeps you and everything that matters to me just out of sight. I’m stuck looking for a room that’s mine a love that’s mi...

EDIT: I just realised that I haven't had the chance to introduce myself properly to most of the other members so I'll endeavour to do so here. I'm Owen and I've been coming to infrequent Writer's Lunches since late last year. I'm Vice President at the Huddersfield Author's Circle and a friend of Nick's and Ian's. I write short stories with speculative themes: sometimes sci-fi, usually unusual. "Why are you reading my dream journal?" I asked the man on the bench.             "Seventh of January," he muttered.             "Seriously! how the hell did you get it?"             "You left it out."             "In my bedroom! That's breaking and entering." I reached into my pocket. "I'm calling the police."         ...

 I lie with my love while she sleeps, Her book of poems discarded.   Even though I do not sleep, I dream. I dream of another life for me, Where I can paint all day. I dream of escaping this city, With its rows and rows of identical houses, All crammed in, oppressive and menacing.   They suffocate me while I sleep, So I stay awake and daydream. In my daydreams I see myself in the country.   A cockerel crows to wake me up And I rise immediately, Energised by a plan that I made the night before.   Yesterday my wife picked a huge bouquet of Wild flowers from the meadow And arranged them beautifully in a glass vase.   Their blooms filled the house with a sweet aroma And transformed every corner of our humble cottage Into a place of tranquillity. I knew then that I had to paint them, But the light was already fading, So I resolved to do so in the morning. I do not stop to use the washstand or change my clothes. I...

I wake up on Tuesdays and for a split second I have to remind myself what day it is, as I do every morning.   But on Tuesdays I lie in bed and grin broadly.   I feel my heart skip with excitement.  It's Tuesday, or as I like to call it, ‘ Choose Day’ .   Tuesdays are my day when I do exactly as I choose.   Once the children are deposited at school, I drive to my creative writing class which lasts from 10 am until midday.    I then walk to a café where I join the other members of the Writer's Lunch.  We spend for a couple of hours sharing our latest work and talking about writing and then it's time to drive home to pick up the children. I work part-time as a supply teacher and I had got into the habit of taking an afternoon’s work on a Tuesday sometimes, but I recently decided that it was time to protect this day.   For the rest of the week, any time for writing is squeezed in between working, looki...