The new Write Out Loud Poem of the Week is ‘The Concrete Road’ by Becky Sowray. On her profile page Becky describes herself as living “the ordinary dream in an off-white tower, getting high on radio-noise whilst sharpening her words. A literary-emo-goth-rock-refugee, keeping the faith in all things local. Writer and secret extrovert.” You can find a little more information about her here, where she explains: "The first paid job I did was fitting cartoon feet to yoghurt pots. Everything after that has made more sense." These were her replies to our questions:

 

 

What got you into writing poetry?

I started writing poetry as my prose always tended towards the lyrical or elliptical.  I underwrite habitually; always tending to write the answer before the question.

 

How long have you been writing?

Like many people I wrote as a teen and only picked it back up in aduthood; after the birth of my daughter.

 

Do you go to any open mic nights?

I'm not a regular open mic contributor; I love doing it but I'm in a band as well.

 

What’s your favourite poem/poet?

Norman MacCaig for reading. Steve Pottinger for performance.

 

You’re cast away on a desert island.  What’s your luxury?

Luxury; books.

 

 

 

THE CONCRETE ROAD 

by Becky Sowray

 

still dark and darkening night, the dead cold of dying winter,

rain against the windscreen, speed in easy, selfish solitude.

my shirt gives up the scent of soap.

(i have no other dream.)

 

noise surrounds me, the oil-ribbed sounds of a lost summer,

the meaningless bypass between here and some other place.

yet hands formed this path.

(i have no other dream.)

 

a dead orchestra in Bonn works magic from the 80s, stops,

dresses me in excess; red leather, black velvet, purple lace.

there’s meaning in melancholy.

(i have no other dream.)

 

blow a horn to warn of danger, sound the town’s sirens,

let her rise to war, make battle plans, strengthen forts,

map no retreat.

(i have no other dream.)