Rare Species

In our workshop with Xiaolu she asked us to move on from the rural images of our mythical past and focus on the urban environments we walk every day. To be true to our experiences and speak of what our eyes witness every day.   Here is my story.

Students at Islington Arts and Media School working on their creative writing, using the senses as a stimulus.

Students at Islington Arts and Media School working on their creative writing, using the senses as a stimulus.

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Rare Species

When I walk the streets of my youth

It is hard to ignore a pressing truth,

that everyday a species dies

But no one listens to their cries.

Where are the things I took for granted,

That made me feel rooted, planted.

I am not talking about things of green

But the places, the spaces, I have been.

The Post Office, Corner Shop and Coffee Bar.

Where I ran an errand, bought some sweets,

Got taken out for Sunday treats!

They have become dots on a corporate plan

That doesn’t care about the little man

whose business slowly dies a death

while customers watch his dying breath

from over a sea of Caramel Latte

They enjoy the branded party.

When I walk the streets of my youth

It is hard to ignore a pressing truth,

One we should have seen from afar:

That What we drink, has become Who we are.

By Ashley Grey

When I was then

The sun beamed onto the crystallised grass,

Although bright, the air was frosty.

The wind slid through the door leading to my garden which chilled our bodies as if we had been plunged into winter.

The grass cunched like autumn leaves. Our night clothes practically set in stone and our bare feet were as cold as a witch’s heart.

Our quick footsteps pounded across the lawn as our feet numbed.

We soon realised that going on a trampoline in polar-like temperatures was not the best of ideas.imagesCAAKVBAB