Southsea Storytellers is a writers’ collective based in Southsea, Hampshire, on the south coast of England. We get together regularly to drink coffee, share ideas, egg each other on, write and publish.
To date, we have published two collections of our work: ‘Southsea Soup’ (2018) and ‘Life and Love’ (2019). The third collection, ‘Flights and Fancies’ is currently in production.
You can find out more about us on Facebook; Twitter and our website
‘Of all human activities, writing is the one for which it is easiest to find excuses not to begin – the desk’s too big, the desk’s too small, there’s too much noise, there’s too much quiet, it’s too hot, too cold, too early, too late. I had learned over the years to ignore them all and simply to start…’
‘A book unwritten is a delightful universe of infinite possibilities. Set down one word, however, and immediately it becomes earthbound. Set down one sentence and it’s halfway to being just like every other bloody book that’s ever been written. But the best must never be allowed to drive out the good. In the absence of genius there is always craftsmanship. One can at least try to write something that will arrest the reader’s attention, that will encourage them, after reading the first paragraph, to take a look at the second, and then the third. ‘
From The Ghost, by Robert Harris
This jolly little ditty comes with a language warning, although the word in question seems to be almost de rigeur these days, and I included it largely for the alliteration.
My garden always looks
Linda Rushby 13 June 2022
a little tired and sad,
full of confused plants
that wonder what they’re here for,
and shoot up in one place
but not where they’re wanted,
dying instantly,
or slowly, painfully
as they stand around, disfigured,
waiting for the end,
the inevitable exit,
via the compost bin,
while randy snails,
with raging appetites,
feast, then fuck
with wild abandon,
spreading their slimy offspring,
then pausing
to eat some more.
Crooning of a dove,
rattle of a helicopter,
droning of an old prop plane.
Whispers in the trees,
scratching of the branches,
chatter of the sparrows.
Bees among the poppies,
sunshine on the flowers,
morning in the park.
Linda Rushby 11 June 2022
I’d already decided that I would celebrate the anniversary of my moving here in my final poem for this year, but then this afternoon the muse struck me again (and besides, I know some of the previous ones were a bit pathetic).
North Street Chichester, Saturday afternoon
In Caffe Nero
there’s a grey-haired man
perusing a graphic novel.
And the guy by the window
is talking to a pony
disguised as a dog.
So why shouldn’t I
do my knitting?
The iced pistachio latte
is delicious, darling,
and so will be
my handmade scarf.
Linda Rushby
30 April 2022
#NaPoWriMo
Seven years
since I made this place my home.
Seven years of walking on the beach,
seven years of listening to the waves,
seven years of smelling the roses,
seven years of sipping the coffee.
And all the things I’ve done,
people I’ve met,
places I’ve been,
skills I’ve learnt,
books I’ve read,
words I’ve written,
mean nothing
so much as this:
I found my way home.
Linda Rushby 30 April 2022
#NaPoWriMo
Dogs on the beach,
sniffing the air,
sniffing the pebbles,
sniffing each other.
Barking at gulls,
barking at waves,
barking at each other.
Running in the wind,
with their fur blowing back,
and their ears blowing back,
chasing a ball,
chasing a stick,
grinning and yelping
and leaping for joy.
What lives they lead!
Linda Rushby 29 April 2022
#NaPoWriMo
To make a poem,
on days when you have none,
take a notebook and a pen,
take a walk, and find a bench
beside the sea.
Watch the waves,
reflections of the sunlight,
the gulls in flight,
the big container ships,
the tiny sailboats,
and feel the wind against your face.
That’s what I did.
Linda Rushby 28 April 2022
#NaPoWriMo
Take a thread,
bend it, fold it,
make a loop.
Wrap it round your finger,
or a needle
or a hook.
Pull it through itself.
Repeat,
and make another,
or add another thread,
perhaps another colour.
Soon you have a chain
that you can join
to make a circle,
or turn back on itself
and feed it through
the loops you made.
And now the fabric’s thicker
and it grows through repetition.
A miracle.
From one dimension,
you created two.
Linda Rushby 27 April 2022
Jasmine (haiku)
Summer creeps shyly,
tentatively sharing its
sweetness with the sun.
Linda Rushby 26 April 2022
#NaPoWriMo
I’m sure I saw a prompt to write a poem in which each line starts with a letter of your name, and the poem sums up your unique personality, but now I’ve written it I can’t find the prompt.
But anyway, at least I’ve caught up with myself (and even slipped into rhyme – sort of).
Hair Today
Looking into the mirror,
I give a wry smile.
Not my usual reaction,
Dishevelled is my style.
And…
Reaching for my hairbrush
Under the bed it hides
Shoved there in despair
‘Be yourself’ they told me’.
‘You try it!’ I replied.
Linda Rushby 25 April 2022
Southsea Storytellers 