INDIGO DREAMS

PUBLISHING LTD

 

Published widely in the UK and America, Gareth Writer-Davies was commended in the Prole Laureate Competition, the Welsh Poetry Competition and the Sherborne Open Poetry Competition 2015.

 

He has also been shortlisted for the 2017 Bridport Prize, the second time that Gareth has been shortlisted.

 

His pamphlet, Bodies, was published in 2015 by Indigo Dreams.

 

Gareth is the 2017 Prole Laureate.

 

Born in London, he now lives in Brecon, Wales.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry

 

138 x 216mm

 

36 pages

 

£6.00 + P&P UK

 

ISBN 978-1-910834-51-0

 

PUB: 20/11/2017

 

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

The poems in Cry Baby are stark, bruised admissions of an unspoken hurt. The reader is carried on the shoulders of a child who watches his mother disintegrate.

With no structure beneath the family they are all left falling through their life, along with their broken toys, into a burning summer sun. There is movement, a rush to travel away to better times, and inevitably the pain of looking inwards, which is always harder than observing from the outside.

These are moving, concise poems that strip away emotion and leave the bare bones of painful experience.

Wendy Pratt

 

Gareth Writer-Davies tells it like is, his poems display perfect control. Not a word is wasted, yet he manages to capture a whole world.

In the small details a boy learns his lessons about life, family, and where he fits in.

It is the small details that matter.

Angela Readman

 

 

Cry Baby

 

Gareth Writer-Davies

 

 

The Childish Bed

 

when

on long sunburn holidays

 

we would be put to bed

naked

smothered in Savlon

 

and tell knuckle rude stories

barely laughing

 

in the morning

cuddled up and snoring

 

our parents

woke us shouting

 

when we

are within the touch tender shape

 

is love

anything more than bare sentiment

 

arousal

that stirs us into action

 

back to the time when tired but true

our hot flesh was all innocence

 

 

The Train to Devil's Bridge

 

though my mother swore

every day it rained

 

forward we went

on a wet day and the steam railway

 

toward clouds

the black eyed driver fed the red-hot stove

 

the old quarry train climbing

through forests and o'er rivers

 

the fork in the track

behind us

 

the train chugged into the station

my mother waving

 

at flies

her hair ruined

 

we spent the day

watching smoke rise and hiding from the devil

 

 

Lilac Ladies

 

mother was a virgin

when on Boxing Day she married

 

this came out, when my sister was thrown out

for having sex with her boyfriend

 

moved

by the violation of her hearth and home

 

she slammed, the door so hard

that the fanlight buckled

 

the drowsy wallpaper

woke up

and the lovely lilac ladies

 

agreed that it was all for the best

 

 

Cry Baby

 

I was made

in a black iron bed

 

swaddled in a feather quilt

nylon slick

and fuchsia pink

 

that had I focus

would have foretold

 

hunter of foxes

cornet in a military band

designer of frocks

 

I was not the imagined girl

ready for gingham ribbons and ankle socks

 

I was something else

 

with a purple scream

a fist of a child

who bit my mother's breast

and kicked out at rainbows

 

 

Marilyn  

 

I was a platinum blonde

 

with curls

and a firm grip on my fortitude

 

I went to school

wearing my sister's dress

 

I liked being a girl

never doubted, I would be a star of stage and screen

 

but when my roots

began to show through

 

I was put in shorts

and elasticated socks

 

that

is how I have remained

 

 

Swimming At Aberdovey

 

my mother, had never forgiven my father

for being attractive to other women

 

so she made up her mind

to swim across the estuary to Ynyslas

 

midstream, between one shore and the other

she was picked up

 

by a rowdy boat of fishermen

who joked

that they had caught a mermaid

 

and brought her back to the beach

to the family she had not thought to see again

Author photo by Jade Findlater

061 edit 2 AMEND 9781910834510

There are many 'misery memoirs' and confessional tales of horror and conflict within the family home. But here is a collection of a childhood like many others; memories of a wonky upbringing where the comedic and the pathetic  mix to produce an eccentric and subtle medley of poems, to which you will return.