I am in the YMCA in a room made of noise. There are no windows and the carpet has forgotten what colour it’s supposed to be. The place looks like it’s always looked like this. I see two teenagers and man wearing a big jumper like the kind sailors used to wear. Teenager number one is wearing a baseball cap and has a smile you could see from the moon.

Ghetto Child
Just because I’m a ghetto child
I won’t live up to your expectations
Just because I’m a ghetto child
I won’t live up to your expectations

I was raised in the ghetto
Born in the ghetto
I never shot no-body
I rob somebody
I smoke my weed with my buddies
But God willing
I never have to shot no-body

See I’m a ghetto child
Me and the boys
Always ride in the ghetto
See what’s wrong with that
You can’t blacklist somebody
Just because they was born in the ghetto

O.B

Teenager number two is a one-man firework display. When he spits his lyrics out it’s an explosion of energy, noise and colour. I light the blue touchpaper and stand well back.

C4
Wanna test me?
Put ten shots in your blood clot knee
Wanna bring war?
Bring C4 to your Mums backdoor
Wanna bring beef?
Knockout your teeth
Wanna test me?
Bring more beef

You have no beef to back you up
Bring my crew you’ll get snapped up
Wanna bring war?
Bring C4 to your Mum’s backdoor.

H

TUESDAY
The Red Room is a room with no red in it. No fire engines, no old phone boxes, no cheap satin hearts, nothing. Not even a coke can. I’ll bring one in tomorrow. I have a good view of the wheelie bin in the backyard. I can see dog-ends and weeds coming up through the cracks. There is no sun and the day is the colour of smoke. It’s quiet in the Red Room and I feel I should do something. I get my books out and look important. I hear a toilet flush and radiator humming like It’s forgotten the words. Someone knock and enters - Call me Billy, he says.

Plea For Help
Me.
I look in the mirror
and see something
staring back at me.

A face full of pain
What I ignore in vain.

I’m in my bathroom
It feels like a tomb
I put a rock to my head,
and fall down to my sea bed.

As I go under
I hear thunder
I feel better
I should have left a letter.

B.M

Billy is carrying a book; The Lake of Souls by Darren Shan. It’s exciting, scary, gripping and easy to read, he says. He asks me if I’ve read it. I shake my head. But I will if you say so, I say. I say so, he says.

Life’s Tough
As well as rough
Sometimes I steal things
Like big shiny gold rings.
I quite hate life
It cuts me like a knife.

B.M

Yellow Sky
I’m looking up
at the yellow sky
Up so high,
smiling back at me
Not a cloud to see
I’m so happy
I feel so free
I want to do the moonwalk
over the green grass

B.M

Billy looks at me. I can’t do the moonwalk, he says.

WEDNESDAY
I crack the coke can open and take a mouthful. I don’t like the stuff but a red room needs red and that’s that. The teenager in front of me is covered in paint. He tells me that he’s working on a banner. Is it good? I ask him. He shrugs.

Monkey Dishwasher – (a short, short story)
One day I walked into the kitchen to find a hairy ball where the dishwasher used to be. I looked closer. It was the dishwasher. Oh no. I stepped back and yelled "WHY IS THERE A MONKEY WHERE THE DISHWASHER USED TO BE?"
Mum looked at me.
- "What are you on about?" she said, - "There is no monkey where the dishwasher used to be."
- "But mum," I said, - "How long as the dishwasher been hairy?"
She had no answer.

L.S

-So this banner that you’re painting, I say, tell me more. He shrugs again. -I’ll tell you about my pets, he says. And he does.

A Tarantula Called Rosie
I’m getting a snake next week
A Burmese python
The woman is giving it to us
It’s got too big for her house

I’ve already got a snake,
two cats, two rabbits
and a dog

I’ve got an iguana called Emily
a boa constrictor called Frankie
and a big fat hairy spider
called Rosie

I can’t spell tarantula.

L.S

-So you’re not going to tell me about the banner you’re working on then? -It’s for the Piece Hall. I like painting. -What’s your favourite colour? He tells me.

Black Lesson (A Short Story)
Black is my favourite colour. It reminds me of the cinema because it’s dark, and looking at black makes me feel like I’m sleeping.
-You like sleeping?
He laughs.
-Sometimes.
He looks at me.
-And you like black too, he says.
-Do I?
He nods.
-You’ve got black shoes, black pen, black socks, black jacket, black watchstrap, black writing on your T-Shirt, you’re sitting in a black chair and you’re wearing black rimmed glasses.
He’s right.
-I didn’t know I liked black so much, I say, maybe I’m in a black mood.
-How many pairs of glasses do you have? he asks.
-Just one.
-Exactly, he says.
-Yeah, I say, exactly.

L.S

Everybody I meet is wearing a baseball cap. When I talk they fiddle with them, pull them over their eyes, take them off and put them on again. They look like they’ve been told to wear them, that it’s expected, like a uniform.

It’s Better Than Being At Home
White walls and cheap wallpaper,
social service doors. Standard.

Nice wooden window frame
and shutters. No curtains.

Nice scenery outside.
Trees waving in the wind.

Nice colours, red, orange,
yellow, green and blue

Dirty windows and a boring
carpet, minging green chairs.

I’m sat on one.

Plain white boxes stacked
in the corner. Taped up, forgotten.

A dusty computer,
never used.

I can hear the clock ticking,
doors slamming, people going home.

It’s a dull Wednesday
afternoon, but I don’t care.
It’s still better than being at home.

L.T

-What do you like doing? I ask. -Watching films.-What kind? -Fast and Furious 2. Have you seen it?I shake my head.-What’s it about? I ask. -Cars. -What kind of cars?He fiddles with the baseball cap. It’s his way of thinking. He grins. -Nice ones, he says.

Nice Cars
Some had spoilers
Some had stickers
Some had stars and stripes.

They were Nissan Skyliners
Mitzubishi Lancers
Subaru Imprezas.

Some had dragons on
and stunning lights underneath
that lit the road up when you drove.

It’s about speed
It’s about looks
It’s about noise
It’s about the buzz

250 MPH.
Like shit off a shovel

L.T

I look out of the window at the weeds and the dog-ends blowing about in the wind. That’s my way of thinking. A young lady is talking and I’m listening. She’s telling me about poems.

Growing up
I used to write poems
but I don’t anymore.

When I was twelve
we did poems at school.

When I was in Year 7
I thought Year 11 were huge.

I don’t anymore.

S.S

That’s a cracking poem about yesterday, I say, can you write one about tomorrow. -I told you, she says, I don’t write poems anymore.-Oh, I say.

Cleaning The Buses
My sister has a job on the buses.
She cleans, mops and sweeps,
does the windows and the seats.
She looks right stupid.

She does two hours a day.
Starts at five, she’s a lazy cow.
My sister isn’t happy.
I want to be a hairdresser

when I leave school.

S.S

-And you still don’t write poems? I ask her.-No way, she says.

THURSDAY
The can of coke from yesterday is still on the table. All the fizz has gone. I go out to the wheelie bin and throw it way. The Red Room is red-less again.

The Bad Boy Bandit
I blackboxed
a Bandit one night

It was minty green
with fat black tyres
made for the road

They were three of us
on it, clinging on,
we did a burn out
and we were gone

Just like the wind

I wouldn’t pull a wheelie
I wouldn’t dare
it’s like a bullet
flying through the air

C.C

-My brother used to have a motorbike, I say, and a scooter, a Lambretta, remember those? -Yeah, mods and rockers. -That’s it, well before your time though. How old are you?

16
It’s good being me.
I can go in when I want
I can get up when I want
I can eat what I want
I can say what I want
I can do what I want to do

Now I’m sixteen
I’ve been around

When I was little
I was lost

But now I’m found

C.C

School Hums
School was a hum of different smells

Maths was chalky and dusty
English smelt weird
with musty books and polished floors
and History didn’t smell at all

Art was clay and paint
and plaster-of-paris
PE , to me, was sweaty socks
and squeaky floors
Set my teeth on edge

Science had a chemical smell
of test-tubes of different colours
one smelt like roses,
one like lavender

The dining hall was warm with the smell
of shepherds pie, gravy and orange

Shepherds pie smells different now

E.D

-I write lyrics for a band, she says, death metal. -Really. I used to be in a band, I was the drummer. -Any good? -No, we the worst band in the world, at the time I thought we were the next big thing but looking back I realize it was never going to happen. Time changes things. Shepherds pie smells different to me as well.

Head In The Clouds
Mam always said
I had my head
in the clouds.

Away with the fairies
she used to say.

But what’s wrong
with being in a world of your own?

I like it here.

E.D

Sometimes, when I am stressed and want to yell at some-one, I take it out on a piece of paper and pen. Writing is a gateway to your innermost thoughts.

E.D

I am still thinking about gateways and innermost thoughts when a new person sits in front of me. -How you doing? I say. He sniffs. -Awright. -If you could be anyone in the world, I say, who would it be?

Rooney
I want to be Wayne Rooney
and play footy for fun

Micheal Owen scored his
first goal when he was one.

David Beckham is good
at corners and free kicks

But they’re not as good as Rooney
cos he’s got skills and tricks.

J.O

DJ
Two turn tables
Mixer and vinyls
Strobe lighting
Making colours glow

Massive speakers
Twelve hundred watts
Makes chairs
Jump up off the floor

Hard house, Hip-hop,
Rave and platinum
That’s the music I play
People dancing on their feet

Mixing and scratching
Cross-fading
Music in the headphones
Bang it in on the beat.

J.O

FRIDAY
I have no coke can, or red socks or red T-shirt or red anything. I look for a red pen but I can’t find it. The Red Room has no red again. I talk to the first teenager I see. He tells me that he’s pumped. -Where have you been? I ask.

Gym
The gym reeks
of sweat and fat old men.
They howl
and breath heavy.
Ten minutes of running
and I’m warmed up.

I bench press,
shoulder press
I do five reps each.
it aches,
but the ache feels good.

C.C

-Are you happy? I say. -Yeah. -Where you gonna be in ten years time? -Dunno. -Who does eh? If you could change anything, what would it be? -Nowt. -What’s your ambition? -Bungee jumping. -Where? -Anywhere. -What is it about bungee jumping? -I like rollercoasters. -You mean like Blackpool? -No, I’ve been to Florida twice, Portugal, Cyprus, Salou, Tenerife twice and Greece but Florida is my favourite. -Why? -It has loads of theme parks -Whats your favourite ride? -The Incredible Hulk, a big green rollercoaster, and there is one called -The Two Dragons, one is blue for ice and one is red for fire. -What’s your favourite colour? -Red, he says. And suddenly the Red Room has some red in it.

Talking History
July is called after Julius,
a Roman king.

The Romans had horses
and carts and spears.
They killed people and animals
Medusa, I think, was a Roman God.

She had eight snake heads.

The Vikings had big horns
on their hats, they wore
armour, steel stuff.
They came on boats, big ones.

I’ve heard of The Battle of Hastings; the French won,
that’s why they built the Channel tunnel.

L.T

-I like that, I said, what else do you know about history? -My Granddad, he was old. -Tell me about him.

George Hunter
My Granddad looked old,
he looked like he enjoyed himself.

He liked going for holidays
and ran the committee at West Bowling WMC.

He had a bad heart, and had a transplant
and two more heart attacks.

He wore golf jumpers
and smoked Berkleys.

He gave me big bags of fruit pastiles
that took me hours to eat.

He loved Elvis
-You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

He had an Elvis clock
with an Elvis face and everything.

I don’t like Elvis
but I would have done

If I’d have been around then.

L.T

-You don’t like Elvis then? -No. -So if I said that you could be Elvis for a day what would you say? He shakes his head. -I want to be a plasterer, he says.

Six Minutes
If you only have six minutes
and you don’t know what to do,
here are some suggestions
why don’t you try a few?

Get dressed.
Read a really short book.
Eat a Twix.
Take sixty pictures.
Listen to a song.
Watch the clock for 360 seconds.
Ring someone.
Throw a penny in a wishing well.
Ride a horse through the waves.
Watch the sunset.

Or write a poem like me.

M.M

Emotions of Life

Pain is like the devil
in flames of red and blue.
Pleasure is like the angels
above myself and you.

We all wish that we don’t show pain
but that cannot be helped.
It could be worse, if you could
fall below where good things melt.

Once I looked into a light
which lead me to the sky

In my imagination, I then began to fly.

M.M

I got my things together and got ready to leave. I looked out of the window and saw the weeds and dog-ends blowing around in the yard. The Red Room was empty now, empty, but full at the same time. It was full of words, ideas, stories, poems. I turned the light out and stood there in the dark. listened. I could hear them. Those voices linger still.

Craig Bradley
25-29 October 2004
Halifax