As we make plans to start our next season of Creative Writing Workshops, we are still keeping our blog running.
This week’s contribution is a piece by Victor Ibanez, inspired by an excercise we did in the first workshop in September, Victor’s poem elaborates on the image of a lynx
Against a cold sky surveying his domain. His hunters not far behind, their encroaching duff sounds traverse the valley slopes of calls and huskies barks.
He crouches upon the protruding tree log, his fur merging with the dead wood stains of his throne, studying his options. Exposed slopes with pristine virgin snow, a small stream tumbling down between the snow covered boulders, and beyond a curtain of trees to be a witness of today’s act. Normally his stage back drop for the rhythms of life, but today, his role is of a prey fleeing.
Under a sky which gives no shadows, his escape melt’s along the valley’s abating silence with his tracks weaving his progress, crossing the stream and dashing up to wards sanctuary. The leaps and steps grow as the distance elongates on the verge to dive into the dark evergreen. A crack slaps the valley and echoes as an organ in a church.
Without looking back, the Lynx summersaults through the undergrowth until reaching a vantage point, to check if anything enters the forest at the same point he had entered.
Snow starts to fall.
Victor Ibanez was born in Spain and grew-up shuttling between Spain and Yorkshire. He graduated from the College of Creative Arts in Kent, to reside in Cambridge for the last twenty years. When he writes, he likes to delve and disport into the syntax, adding layers under the narrative that can be both poignant and amusing, kissing a hint of anarchy between the lines and suspended on one’s lips.
Creative Writing at The Edge is supported by
Cambridge City Council, Oblique Arts and The EDGE Cafe