For six years, Nottingham Poetry Festival has presented eclectic line-ups of nationally and locally acclaimed poets and performers and this year was no different, excitingly featuring Headway Nottingham's talented group of Creative Writers and exploring this years festival theme, hope. 

The apt theme for this year's festival provided our writers an opportunity to explore the role of hope in all our lives, as well as reflecting on how hope has impacted their journey through brain injury and beyond. 

Steve

Hope is my weapon, it shows its might. Four years of solid physio and four years of fight. Hope from the beginning, never took me from sight. When you said hope, that was my middle name. Because I had hope. Lots of it. I never went insane.

Sarah

...the first movement was a difficult one. It was violent and noisy. There were loud bass instruments making banging sounds. It demonstrated destruction and she felt helpless and lost. 

The second movement was sad and empty. It sounded like hope had gone. She could hear woodwind and string instruments pondering away. She could taste things like sour and spicy things that were nasty and horrible. She'd like that to go away quickly. 

The third movement though woke her up. It had more energy and it was faster. She could hear all the instruments building up. She felt rattled by it. It sounded sad, but she could hear an atmosphere of optimism in there. That things could all turn out alright again in the end. 

Chris 

I think my life has gone alright so far. I need to evaluate where I am now and where I'm going next. Hope is slipping through my hands too quick, just like sand.  I need to enjoy what time I have left. I hope. 

Cookie 

What was that? I awoke to an assault on my senses. Machines beeping and clattering of metal containers being thrown out of a window to the ground floor. Urgh, and the smell of TCP disinfectant, and... urgh, that's me. A multitude of voices, but over all that came a single comforting voice reminding me of who I was and where I was. A shake of my shoulder and a rub of my hand, and such caring eyes. 

Chalky had the most beautiful and mesmerising big brown eyes full of love, life and compassion. He loved scrambled eggs. His mouth would bubble as soon as he smelt them cooking.

I felt awful. The world around me seemed cloudy. My throat was sore and I sounded like a dalek when I tried to speak. My body felt so heavy, as if I'd just returned from space. I felt like a train wreck. My personal nurse slowly teased me back to the land of the living and out of the grim reaper's hands. My first conscious thoughts were of Chalky, my dog,  home alone. I needed a cuddle right now.

Chalky had the most beautiful and mesmerising big brown eyes full of love, life and compassion. He loved scrambled eggs. His mouth would bubble as soon as he smelt them cooking.

I checked myself over. Where my willy had been there was a hosepipe running off to a water butt. I had four taps in my arms, a pipe stitched into the back of my neck and oxygen tubes up my nose. It was official - I was a lab rat. I was fed through my neck tube from a large syringe from the fridge. I could feel the baby food seeping down through my veins like a giant ice cream headache. This happened three times a day. My stomach was now redundant. 

Chalky had the most beautiful and mesmerising big brown eyes full of love, life and compassion. He loved scrambled eggs. His mouth would bubble as soon as he smelt them cooking.

My brother and sister visited. I was tired and grumpy and not in the mood. They checked to see if I had a hair on the end of my tongue.  I didn't, it was just my nervous system playing silly buggers. The hair stayed with me for months. It really pee'd me off. My arms were brown. I remember saying I looked like I was made of sand. 'They weren't brown before' I mused. My name tag which had been tied to my wrist was now up at my elbow. They left me a card I had made with small pictures of Chalky with his big brown eyes watching over me. 'Hurry up and get well soon, Daddy, I'm waiting'. Three big kisses. Oh yes, I had been in a coma. 

Did I ever tell you that Chalky had big brown eyes? Oh, for a cuddle, snogs and some of those scrambled eggs.  

Every Tuesday our Creative Writers meet with our fabulous tutor, Bridie Squires, to whom we are exceptionally grateful for her skill, encouragement and positivity. 

If you or someone you know would benefit from support or rehabilitation following a brain injury, please Contact us or make a referral on our website.