This monograph is a collaboration between two groups of UK Armed Forces veterans, with members of the Company of Makers Poetry Group having provided many of the verses accompanying my images, as part of a project encouraged by the Company of Makers Photographic Group, of which I have been a member for a few years.
Many thanks to those who have freely offered the original compositions included.
Copyright remains with the authors
Front Cover: Hampshire Farm Meadows, Emsworth
Back Cover: Millenium Bridge, London
All images, Paul Attrell
A series of curves meandering on paper
Is it A4 or a massive acre
The curve turns onto itself
Becoming a circle Sat on the shelf
The circle being a constant line
Ever ending not changing in time
Large or small it doesn't change
The circle an object can be quite strange
Straighten the curves to form a square
A four-sided object not very rare
With right angles of ninety degrees
The square paper can be used if you sneeze
Elongate the squares top and bottom lines
Then it's a rectangle that you can sign
The angles still at ninety degrees.
The curved lines feeling displeased
Take the side line pull out from the centre
Only by an inch or two a six-sided shape full of splendour
It’s called a polygon or hexagon
The meandering curves now totally gone
Meandering Curves
Gordon Alexander
Station
Waterloo
Within the confines of straightened lines Life's rigid rules are set; When freedom swerves around gentle curves There is more pleasure yet.
Over solid whites you cannot cross, nor on double yellows, dare park; But golden lots may be found in pots beneath the bow's crescent arc.
Toil of day marked by strip lights stark, With confining windows upright; Sensuous eves are lit by bent neon sleeves, An unfettered moon shines bright And so, it seems, that strait and straight are synonymous with pain, When bend and sway and turn and curve are simile for ease again.
Lines about Lines
Paul Attrell,
Straight, perspective, parallax or parallel, Water or wake border or fence, straight is infallible,
Long handrails, gates, red or blood lines
Shaded, dusty, sunrays or shadow defined;
A border, colour, pastel or bland,
To follow a valley or lay of the land, added perspective to lead the eye in, creative in composition to create a refraction;
Mindful of your thought and taken in time, now press the button, capture this, a composition, Your attention, is sought and brought to this,
To capture this: a moment in time…
Now look through my eyesI’ve given you a start
Take your time to view this Photographer’s art.
Leading Lines
Paul Wilson
‘old’ Blackfriars Bridge, London
Zeiss Ikon Nettar, 75mm f/4.5 // Washi ‘F’ Fluorographic
The metal bars encased in a circle
All white and very brittle
Is this a circle of symbolism hiding her skull
Stopping you go down that tunnel
What lays behind this circled gate
A putrid alley where urine stagnates
The narrowness of the walls either side
Brick by brick nettles start to hide
A circular lamp sits idle on the wall
If it works lighting up this open hall
But beyond you cannot see
What's at the end waiting for thee
Paving slabs on the ground below
Not laid symmetrical my minds a blow
Baggies and rubbish laying down
Littering this alley causing passers to frown
An old coat laying lifeless and limp
Was this the home of the notorious gimp
Or has it been left there to set the scene
Enticing people in to the obscene
It could just be a novelty gate
A no entry sign made by a mate
I think the latter is a safer bet
My imagination has ran into debt
Gordon Alexander
I am blathered I am smashed I crashed I lost
I am imprisoned in a whirlpool
Of want and lust.
I'm off the rails and a nuisance I am stacked full of booze. My bottle is lost Still a keg with a fuse.
I tilted then fell
Found an escape path But the gaps lure a lapse. Count my luck not the stack.
I am clear no fear I have binned a past life
Now A wife No strife Time I am on my bike.
Simon Horner
I am leathered. I am battered I am trashed and I fall The bars keep me in No escape from it all.
Outside the Portwall Tavern,
Caged
I am pissed I am poisoned I am stewed and I puke. Cash lost in a drain With memories to lose. I am plastered I am tipsy Two sheets to the wind The barriers are closed I won't let people in.
Tavern, Bristol
Lines are made for us to use, And some will appear to fuse, Or even transmit electricity, To the neon lights in the city.
There are signs with coloured lines, Creating lights so delicate and fine, Beside the seaside in Brighton, That's descriptive when full on.
Whilst an arch will call on curved lines, Some with bricks, mortar and limes, Where an entrance is through roller shutters, Made of stripes shaped like gutters.
Palace Pier, Brighton
Mansion House, London
Zeiss Ikon Nettar, 75mm f/4.5 // Washi ‘F’ Fluorographic 100
Walls have windows where frames define, The shape of the outer lines, With glass diffused by coloured panes,
Held in place by lead in frames. Whether its nature or built by mankind,
Their shape is always defined, By shapes with curves or straight lines, Related to their intended designs.
All buildings are mixtures, Of many. many fixtures, Where curves create a hole, To fasten together as a whole. And cityscapes of building lines, Whilst sun reflects and shines, Where curved glass is combined.
To merge with shapes defined.
City Lines
Ian Hulf
Backlit minaret, cupola, masthead; Fretwork and ironwork, artwork and woodwork; The scaffold on top where gulls dry their wings; Giant seriffed letters against the sky.
A frightener’s stare of fathomless rings,
Palace Pier, Brighton
Four baleful glares from octopus eyes: I want a slice of those hot Palace Pies.
Four Eyes
David Thompson
I was stood still in the noise, allowing myself to get lost
Watching as people floated timelessly, paths crossed Faceless, nameless, soulless, endless, A blur of lives, a tide of hearts restless.
The echoes of laughter, the whispers of tears, Blurred memories, fading over years.
I searched for meaning in a crowd so vast, But each fleeting glance was a shadow cast.
By Mansion House, London
The world moved on, relentless and fast, Chasing its purpose, forgetting the past. And here I stand, without form, without a voice, A part of the silence, a choice left unvoiced.
Lost in the noise, but never quite found, A soul adrift, without a solid ground. But still, I watched as the world spun in its course, wondering if somewhere, I'd find my force.
But time stands still as I stand here in the crowd, Lost in the echoes, silent but loud. Faces blur past, their stories untold, Each one a mystery, both timid and bold.
I reach for connection, yet feel so alone, Surrounded by many, but still on my own. The seconds stretch thin, the moments collide, As I search for meaning I can't seem to find.
But in this stillness, a whisper takes hold, A reminder that some stories are never to be told. And though I stand here, uncertain, unclaimed, I'm learning to live, not just play the game.
So I'll wait for the shift, for the space to unfold, Trusting that someday, I'll break from the cold. For time may stand still, but I’ll find my own way, Even in the crowd, on this lonely sideway.
Lost in Noise
Emma Davidson
2 New Ludgate, Old Bailey, London
Zeiss Ikon Nettar, 75mm f/4.5 // Fomapan
With this curve I vow to thee A shape for all to see A line can be divine until it crosses through With a curve or dash or even a splash at you!
The line becomes corrupt and decides to become A number or a letter when all is said and done With this line I finish for now And take my poem’s final bow
Lines Undone
Kim Lake Benson Bond
This is the world of nowhere much, of concrete and steel, criss-crossing lines and curves.
Electric stars bloom bright on slender stems, the glint of steel almost wet against the black night sky. Wherever you’re going,
This is the way to navigate nowhere:
directionless bridges, railings, pillars, stairs to an overhead walkway stringing the bow of an arch of tubular girders, every path safely balustraded
Railway Station Bridges, Dartford
This is where, seeds fertile in nowhere dust, trees spring from the cracks. And through the maze - lone human toucha bus pauses, puffs its doors, yearns for passengers. The bus shelter, empty, repeats its senseless question: ‘Are you?’
Nowhere Much
David Thompson
Dartford
Pentax
Company of Makers exists to support Serving forces personnel and Veterans through encouraging participation in creative activities. Ignite your creativity and develop skills with our online workshops! From Drawing to Guitar, Photography to Poetry, and Storytelling to Writing, our programme of workshops has something for everyone.
Company of Makers also host a Podcast featuring members of the armed forces community with fascinating stories to tell, a programme of online talks featuring authors, photographers, journalists, poets and musicians with a strong connection to the armed forces.
Paul says, "I have found a new outlet to share my photography with other like-minded Veterans; We set ourselves assignments and share our efforts in an encouraging format with online meetings (+ some local meet-ups) and it inspires me to see how others have interpreted the brief in a completely different way; However there is no 'right' or 'wrong' approach but we can all learn from and support each other to go out and create".
https://www.companyofmakers.com/
