THE FIRST POEM I EVER WROTE (voluntarily after the age of 8 or so)

when I was 17 I went on a summer camp where my group was led by a gentle man called Li/Lee Trew. he was following/ influenced by Tom Brown’s school of Nature Connection. on the first morning we were given the chance to get up before breakfast for some sensory awareness activities. we made nettle string and gathered mushrooms by their scent (well, stinkhorn anyway). and in the autumn I made a bow drill under his instruction, and wrote this slightly er… well it is what it is and I was 17 at the time and was self concious of its fertility language clichees but it came very naturally so here it is –

Ode to my bowdrill

I have fashioned you

until you fit like male and female,

like Yin and Yang.

Now the spindle is held in the grip

of my eager bow

and I press it home.

Fire, come bless me.

Back, spinning.

Forward, grinding.

Back, smoking,

the ember comes.

I place it in the tinder like a newborn in a blanket.

Glowing growing coal

feed on my breath until you

burst into living flame.
bowdrill pic