tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43260641797786009982024-03-19T06:02:12.369-07:00Lucy PeacockPoems and storiesLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-17645471545758251832018-07-24T10:32:00.005-07:002018-07-24T10:32:55.068-07:00Empathy in LiteratureAlongside writing poetry, I am currently studying for a PhD at Nottingham University in Literary Linguistics (aka being really geeky about other people's writing).<br />
<br />
My topic is empathy in literature - what is it that makes us feel real emotions (or not) for characters who don't really exist? I'm running a survey: if you have read (or listened to) any novel in the last three months, I would appreciate your response: <a href="http://www.aboutbooks.co.uk/">www.aboutbooks.co.uk</a>Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-69886067968143276392018-05-29T04:09:00.003-07:002018-05-29T04:13:05.126-07:00TrespassI should not know<br />
that the grass that grows<br />
on the other side of the barbed wire fence<br />
really is more green.<br />
<br />
I should not have been<br />
to the top of the steepest field<br />
before climbing down<br />
on hands and heels.<br />
<br />
And I should not have seen<br />
the place, where in between<br />
the rocks grow orchids, like a forest<br />
of tiny, curling trees.<br />
<br />
These are my trespasses.<br />
Forgive me.<br />
<br />
<br />
©2018 Lucy Peacock<br />
<br />
<i>This poem is from HILL: The story of one Derbyshire hill. Visit <a href="http://www.hillproject.uk/">www.hillproject.uk</a> for more details.</i>Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-69279204408481501932017-02-05T05:42:00.006-08:002017-02-05T05:42:54.137-08:00When karma fails at least I have the Smiths<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">If poetic justice <br />
Worked properly,<br />
Then vicious officials everywhere<br />
Would get their share <br />
Of misery.<br />
Their lives would be ruled<br />
By even pettier fools<br />
Who fill them with dread.<br />
They aren’t, but at least I have<br />
The Queen is Dead</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Or if karma was <br />
Reality,<br />
Then the bullies who tormented me<br />
And made me lose sight of who I might be<br />
Would live their lives<br />
With less certainty,<br />
And a lot more doubt.<br />
They don’t, but at least I have<br />
There is a Light that Never Goes Out.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And if karma was more<br />
Than an initially appealing religious concept,<br />
Then few would live in poverty except<br />
Those who misuse their power over other people’s lives,<br />
And for whom the word “elite” is an awful misnomer.<br />
It isn’t, but at least I have<br />
Girlfriend in a Coma.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-48072285528460494472016-06-29T02:27:00.002-07:002016-06-29T02:30:19.376-07:00After the ReferendumIt was never a romance.<br />
There was no<br />
Loved up<br />
Goose bumpy<br />
Doe-eyed dance<br />
That no-one else understood.<br />
But you always seemed right for me,<br />
Like no other country could.<br />
<br />
Now, though, you've changed.<br />
And your obsession with demons out there has awoken<br />
Within you a monster.<br />
And I am<br />
Heartbroken.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
© 2016 Lucy PeacockLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-2683972734430091282016-06-11T05:10:00.000-07:002016-06-11T05:10:17.238-07:00Banner PoemThis poem was written in celebration of the banner-making activities of the Derbyshire Dales Labour Party Women's Forum. Our first banner is below: it may be only a banner, and a somewhat rustic one at that, but it was a true collaborative effort, and the start of something bigger.<br />
<br />
We are the needle warriors<br />
We weep, and therefore we sew.<br />
We are the quiet revolutionaries,<br />
Pouring our fury into the very<br />
Stiches of the banners that we create,<br />
And when we can, we’ll demonstrate,<br />
And with our banners, we will be the voice<br />
Of the powerless, the unprotected, and those without choice.<br />
We are the needle warriors, <br />
We weep, and therefore we sew.<br />
<br />
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Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-62510815672773713872016-04-29T00:37:00.001-07:002016-04-29T11:04:27.526-07:00It must be niceIt must be nice to know<br />
That you’re better<br />
And cleverer<br />
And more deserving<br />
Than "them"<br />
And how easy it is<br />
For you to condemn<br />
Those people, who are all the same,<br />
Because you know, of course,<br />
That they’re to blame<br />
For whatever it is that you believe is wrong.<br />
But, though you feel that you belong<br />
To the righteous few,<br />
Remember, that to somebody somewhere,<br />
You’re one of "them" too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
©2016 Lucy PeacockLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-45639431835037812942016-01-23T07:51:00.002-08:002016-01-24T05:35:31.843-08:00Poetry by CommitteeAt the meeting, it was agreed<br />
That, though there is no need,<br />
The lines in this poem should rhyme.<br />
Or at least they should scan,<br />
If they can,<br />
And if an extra-long line isn't needed for some reason or other.<br />
And that it should be<br />
A tight ball of words<br />
To be unravelled at leisure,<br />
Though loose enough<br />
To give immediate pleasure.<br />
But not so loose that the words begin<br />
To<br />
Fall<br />
Out.<br />
But the most important thing<br />
Is that it should rhyme.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
©2016 Lucy PeacockLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-47257631743674023132015-06-23T07:47:00.001-07:002017-02-05T05:38:04.943-08:00For My ChildrenMay you find music and poetry<br />
Wherever you live.<br />
May you love and be loved,<br />
And take less than you give.<br />
<br />
May you live your stories,<br />
Not just watch them unfold,<br />
And may they be stories<br />
That are worth being told.<br />
<br />
May you feel snow on your faces,<br />
And rain in your hair.<br />
And if your shoes get muddy,<br />
May you not care.<br />
<br />
May you always remember<br />
The importance of doubt,<br />
And, when you sit by a window,<br />
To always look out.<br />
<br />
May your dreams come ever closer,<br />
Without quite coming true,<br />
And may you embarrass your children<br />
As much as I do.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
© 2015 Lucy PeacockLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-23254260905881038252015-06-02T07:45:00.000-07:002015-10-13T07:56:51.893-07:00Where have you been all my life?Just another one in a long line<br />
Of final cigarettes.<br />
And like every other time,<br />
They’re placing their bets,<br />
That you won’t be the last.<br />
<br />
And yes, before you,<br />
There were many, many more.<br />
But you are the one, my only, my true.<br />
This time, with you, I’m sure.<br />
<br />
Only you can fulfil my desire,<br />
And it’s only you that can light my fire.<br />
And I will light yours.<br />
<br />
You will complete me, where all those others have failed.<br />
And I will leave you spent, used up.<br />
Inhaled.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
©2015 Lucy PeacockLucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-84649913882983669752015-03-22T14:44:00.001-07:002018-05-29T04:30:56.162-07:00All Grown Up<br />
<br />
As a grown-up<br />
(Or as grown up as I’ll ever be) <br />
I should know that there are books<br />
That I might never read.<br />
And that 6 pints is too many<br />
And 2 not enough<br />
And that I already have<br />
A lot of stuff.<br />
And that a shouted heckle<br />
Isn’t funny or daring<br />
And that no-one <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(or hardly anyone)</span><br />
Is impressed by swearing.<br />
And as a grown-up<br />
I should realise<br />
That eating <i>that</i> many Jaffa Cakes<br />
Really isn’t wise.<br />
I should know when a rule<br />
Is OK to break,<br />
And I should be able to talk to you<br />
Without starting to shake.<br />
And I should know that the feeling I get when I see you - <br />
That heart-thumping dizziness <br />
That I can’t quite subdue -<br />
Is merely the product of some hormone or other<br />
Or a temporary insanity<br />
From which I’ll recover.<br />
<br />
I should know all these things<br />
And one day,<br />
I will.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
© 2015 Lucy Peacock</div>
Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4326064179778600998.post-72483206063121117852014-10-22T07:07:00.000-07:002014-10-22T07:07:00.267-07:00Right For Each OtherThis isn't a new story. But I'm posting it anyway to remind me to finish some new ones.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Right For Each Other</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
He'll be home soon.<br />
<br />
He'll walk in the door, throw his coat on the peg and the house will be full of him. Then it'll be a cup of tea and a book, maybe, or the paper - some time to think. And later there'll be a beer and a meal (who's cooking tonight?). And he'll talk about his day – who he saw, what he did - and how was your day? How are you? And it'll all be relaxed and happy, and there'll be togetherness and smiles. But it won't be right.<br />
<br />
He's later than usual tonight. Drinks after work maybe, or some job so important he couldn't stop. Lost track of time. Dinner in the oven. He won't be long.<br />
<br />
He's never very late, or rarely at least. I think he's got home after 9 o'clock twice in 18 months. He's a homebody type - a sitter and thinker rather than a chatter-at-the-bar. He'll be home soon.<br />
<br />
He's not like other men. He's generous, friendly, likes children. He's not one for staying out all night or steaming home in a temper. No “what is it now, woman?”, no coldness, no tears. He's a good man. A passionate man. He sees people as they really are and he loves them, and they love him. Him and his warm eyes, and that little curl of hair at the back of his neck.<br />
<br />
And he has a power over me like no-one else has ever had before. An overwhelming, electric power that fills my head and almost blocks out everything else. He's part of me. My darling, my saviour.<br />
<br />
It's very late now. His train was delayed I expect. Or maybe he bumped into someone. An old friend he couldn't say no to. He's sitting there now, sneaking glances at his watch and wishing he could leave.<br />
<br />
I love him. It's his eyes, I think. Or maybe his laugh. A soft, deep laugh, always sincere. And it's the way he smiles, and just the way he holds himself as he walks up the road.<br />
<br />
It's really something, the way he walks. Graceful even, but just manly enough. He has the world on his mind, but still manages a sideways smile for anyone who passes.<br />
<br />
He saves his special smiles for me. And he tells me more, with those smiles, than he thinks he does. He tells me all I need to know.<br />
<br />
His wife thinks I'm deluded. “That mad bitch on the bench”. But I'm the one he needs, not her. And I know he understands. He just doesn't say so. He's scared to leave, doesn't want change, thinks he doesn't know me. But he does, he does. And I'll just wait here, to catch another glimpse of him, today like every day. And he'll smile, and we'll know. We're right for each other.<br />
<br />
© Lucy Peacock 2011 Lucy Peacockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13154209060799246549noreply@blogger.com0