Writer in Health

One day it occurred to me there must be some way of combining my experience as a healthcare professional with my passion for writing.  I am now running creative writing workshops in a healthcare environment.  After the kind people at Headway MK let me practise on them, I was employed by MK Arts for Health mkartsforhealth.org.uk to run a poetry project. This involved displaying poetry in GP surgeries around Milton Keynes, as well as doing a series of workshops with both staff and patients. The workshops at Oasis mental health day centre proved very successful and were recently repeated. There are some examples of individual work reproduced with their permission below.

Following on from this I have been asked to be Writer in Residence at The Campbell Centre, mental health inpatient services unit at Milton Keynes General Hospital. This project depends on funding from the Arts Council and we are currently awaiting that decision.

This side of my writing work has been a revelation to me. It seems a very simple thing that I do, which really is just giving people permission to be creative with words, and then I sit back and see what happens, and often it is something very wonderful. Also, the sense of achievement people feel when they write, some of whom have never written creatively before and didn't even realise they could, is an exciting process to watch and be part of.

Some examples of both collaborative work and individual work by clients can be found below.

Treasure Trove

The smell of deja vu
The sound of waves crashing against rocks
A crisp green salad
The look of love.

When the sun shines, my bedroom is awash with gold
Bathing my eye-lids as I slowly wake up
Every day being alive
Seeing the people I love
Hearing the birds sing first thing in the morning

The smell of a freshly-bathed baby
The scrunching sound of a shingle beach
Orange blossom smells wafting in the morning
Or freshly mown grass

Memories of happier times
I like the smell of creosote
In a field in Holyhead with my girlfriend
The sawdust of certain woods
The Christmas tree smell of pine

The security of a turning key
The warmth of commitment
The colour of money
The calm of being alone.

By Carol, John, Steve, Claudette, Philip, Andy, Sabrina

Headway Hates

Anything dark and miserable - you can't get black flowers.
The feel of wool.
People rabbitting on and talking too fast amongst themselves.
Gutting fish.
Tea leaves make me heave.

The fact I yawn all the time. It hurts.
Bumping music.
People being dismissive like you don't know what you're on about.
Innuendoes.
Nails that bend and break.

The smell of creosote - in the last hot spell of the year.
People in my space.
Excuse me, hello, I was talking.
Negative thoughts about women.
Sand under the nails.

Onions I despise - the smell and taste exploding in my mouth.
Twin pushchairs on a busy day.
People making decisions for me.
Oversleeping.
Horrendous Halitosis.

The smell or taste of coffee - since my accident.
Disrespectful drivers.
People who try to tell you about yourself.
Wooden lollipop sticks.
The fact it's a man's world.

By Carol, John, Rosina, Claudette, Andy, Sandy, Phill

Creative Writing

I joined a group called
Creative Writing
So scared I found it
Frightening
One week, two weeks, three weeks,
More
Lovely people I quite
Adore
Now this group called
Creative Writing
It’s not so bad,
Not so
Frightening
In fact I find it rather
Exciting
This wonderful
Creative Writing

By Gary

Bobby

My name is Bobby.
I’m not the typical African so don’t stereotype me.
I’m a “normal” whatever normal is, African.
I love my music, my release, like a teapot blows its top. 
As a child throws a tantrum, I play my guitar.
I am a man of few words,
Until the guitar falls into my lap,
then from somewhere deep within my soul,
My words start streaming.      
This is my scream, my release, my therapy.

By Louise

My peaceful place

I have a peaceful place I hold inside of me
That only I and I alone can see.
My peaceful place has a warm and gentle breeze
That calms me totally and with ease
There’s a lovely green grass all around me
With only one large weeping willow tree.
Beneath the tree is a swing
Where I can sit and listen to the birds sing.
Bordering the grass is an old, grey brick wall
And behind that, there are hills so tall.
Way up high in the bright blue sky
There are fluffy white clouds floating by.
The only things I hear are the birds and breeze
rustling in the tree
And that’s why I know this is where I always want to be.

By Sam