First Story’s flagship Young Writers Programme places inspiring professional writers in residence in non-selective secondary schools serving low-income communities. Each year 16 of the most promising students from schools across the country are invited to spend a week at Lumb Bank (the Yorkshire home of former poet laureate Ted Hughes) to work on their writing inspired by professional writers, each other and the landscape.  teamArchie have supported this residential for 5 years.

Malu is 15 years old and is at Holland Park School in West London. She loves creative expression of all kinds especially writing, drama and dance.  This is a poem she read at the 2023 teamArchie Carol Concert.

WINTER by Malu

The sky is weeping.
I lift my head up,
trying to ignore the grey
pushing through the endless clouds,
trying to find a way
of enjoying this winter,
this endless abyss
It surrounds us,
overwhelms us,
this barrage of mist

I close my eyes,
feeling trapped in a haze,
one of exhaustion and sorrow,
an inconceivable maze
it keeps on going,
this incomprehensible weight
like the ticking of clocks,
I can’t seem to escape

I touch quivering hands
to now frost-bitten lips,
running over cracked skin
with icy fingertips

I welcome a shiver,
letting it course through my veins,
hair stood on end
but i enjoy the change of pace:

The deep sigh of relief
as sweat turns to chills;
the crunch of icy grass,
trudging up frost-covered hills
the soft whistle of song,
dancing on the wind;
here’s a rhythmic ticking of clocks
as we throw our heads back to sing

And I’m drifting,
Drifting,
drifting through layers
of milky whites
and ashen greys:
they form spirals around me,
endlessly spinning,
I close my eyes,
the dizziness winning
The darkness is overwhelming
but I can still smell the season,
cinnamon hangs thick in the air,
now I see the reason
to keep on going
through this endless depression;
to fight through the gloom
for this
glimpse of perfection

There’s a gentle glistening of frost
as we look across barren fields
every room is dressed in ivy,
every chocolate box unsealed
headless gingerbread men
lie deliciously unaware
hot cider gently bubbles
as laughter fills the air

Nostalgia reaches out its arms,
holding me in a gentle embrace
‘twas the night before christmas,
and there’s a smile on every face.