Supporters area - Ben's poetry book - Poems from a runaway



Great news

Great news to all my followers of my upcoming book - Poems from a runaway.

I'm taking pre-orders between 31st of October until Sunday 12th of November for the VERY FIRST edition of Poems from a runaway. To get copies out over the festive period.

This will be a short and exclusive print run for anyone placing an order during this time.
After this time it will be unlikely there is a big print run until March, when the official launch campaign for my book will start.

If you'd like a copy or two of Poems from a runaway for over the winter period, then here's your chance to get your 350 page paperback written by yours truly.

If you are based outside of the UK, please contact me at benwestwooduk@gmail.com for special delivery arrangement.


Poems from a runaway - Quantity



Desktop PDF version (Not for Kindle) £10



Complete list of current published poems from Poems From a Runaway





(Click on each description to open in a new tab)














'The Rasta drummer' - A short poem about one of the familiar characters I met whilst on the streets. A Rasta busker that would play his drum outside the Trocadero near Leicester Square. 



You can now get these 14 poems in book format at
https://www.amazon.co.uk/First-Fourteen-preview-Poems-Runaway/dp/198140838X



To order a signed colour copy you can order via paypal below.
The price is £18.99 including postage and packaging


Signed to
Delivery address


If you'd rather not wait until my next print run, and would like a cheap option, then I have a black and white version that you can buy direct from Amazon for £13.99 at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1981314350


And also digital PDF versions are currently available for just £7 and will be sent to your paypal email address.
You can purchase a PDF of Poems From a Runaway using the paypal button below.



Preferred Email Address




Poems From a Runaway - The Rasta drummer

About the first busker I met, I can't remember his name but he was a familiar character when I would pass through west end aged around 13/14/15

The Rasta drummer

Walking through the west end, its starting to simmer down,
Just following my footsteps and wandering through town. 
I see a Rasta packing, his drum and stool away,
Many times Ive passed him, and listened to him play.

I said hello as I walked past, he asked how was my night,
And I replied I cant complain and everythings aright.
It was obvious to all back then, that I lived on the street,
He asked me what Id done tonight, and what Id had to eat.

Id explained that I was still, wandering on the go,
And Id spent a good part of the day, walking to and fro.
He said he knew a place in Soho, that gave some soup for free,
As well as with it a nice bread roll, and a cup of tea.

So we made our way from Coventry Street, not walking far at all,
And he gets the food and then comes back, whilst Im sat on a wall.
Its good for you this, a nice warm hot soup, it will help keep you warm in the cold,
But Im not sure this place, would of let you in, because to be honest you dont that old..

He told me his stories of how drunks do his head in, stumbling into him and grabbing his drum.
Of how they make him jump up and have to get his point known, to not disrespect him like they have done.
Not knowingly ever met a vegetarian, but its sure easy to understand,
That he had self-respect to not have to put up, with some grabbing his drum with their grease-chicken hand.

Id listen to his drumming and endless deep chanting,
He really rocked Coventry Street.
And when the guy left, I think that place werent the same,
It felt dead without his voice and drum beat.
He was one of those there before the west end got quiet, and it seemed that part of town was a blast.
When I had felt there, some magic in the air, but its not now like it was in the past.

The streets were lined with drummers and artists, and European hippies giving henna tattoos.
For sure there was crime, but it mostly felt fine and those out in town enjoyed their booze.
So its nice to look back at that moment in time, and wonder if Ive been inspired.

Cuz its me that now chants, and sings out songs of peace, and thanks for the soup when I was tired.

 
Poetry written by Ben Westwood, Musician and poet. UK
Copyright Ben Westwood. 




Follow the true story of a young teenager running away from home and the state, in a premature search for independence. In poetry.

Making choices that often only a young mind would make, Ben tells his
 story and memories of being in the social services system from eleven years old, as well as 1990s London street life, as a missing runaway sleeping rough.

From angels, predators, shocking times to heart-warming moments, Musician and now debut author Ben Westwood gives an insight into the mind of a rebellious-spirited youngster trying to find his own way in the world.
You can read the first fourteen poems written for this project at the following link.
http://benwestwooduk.blogspot.co.uk/2017/07/complete-list-of-current-published.html



To order a signed colour copy you can order via paypal below.
The price is £18.99 including postage and packaging


Signed to
Delivery address


If you'd rather not wait until my next print run, and would like a cheap option, then I have a black and white version that you can buy direct from Amazon for £13.99 at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1981314350


And also digital PDF versions are currently available for just £7 and will be sent to your paypal email address.
You can purchase a PDF of Poems From a Runaway using the paypal button below.



Preferred Email Address


Poems From a Runaway - Great Haywood


Great Haywood




Another bad letter for school today,
And my mum has already got stress,
I just feel now that Im a burden on people,
And this is just gonna make mess.

Dont wanna hear anger, dont wanna hear shouting,
 And I dont wanna make my mum swear.
 I just feel its better for everyone here,
If I made my own way elsewhere.

I dont really know where Im going to,
 But the road down to Stafford aint far.
I just really hope, that I dont get caught,
By someone that spots me from a car.

So I make my way a mile and half down the road,
Until theres a turning to take,
Theres a sign that says Stone and the name of its cool,
So that is the way that I make.

Never heard of this place but I think with that name,
That theres surely something to see,
So I head on my way, and I think by now,
That my mum could be looking for me.

I walk through the village of Little Haywood,
Still trying to head towards Stone.
Across the road were two girls and one recognised me,
And I told them Id run off from home.

They offered to help me get somewhere to sleep,
Well sneak you some food too they said.
I met them both later and at first the plan,
Was for one to sneak me into their shed.

I cant get you in, because my dad is at home,
But heres a blanket you can keep.
I know just the place, theres a ditch down the road,
Its sheltered and youll get some sleep.”

So we made our way and walked up the road,
Through the village and to the top end.
And then we get to a junction where theres a main road,
The way to Stone just round the bend.

One girl pointed over to across the road,
And said look theres that ditch that you can stay.
Its covered in trees, look we got to go back,
Because theres not much light left in the day.

Theyd gave me a pillow and I made a bed,
With a blanket and a bag that Id lent.
They gave me some fruit and said weve got to scoot,
Well see you tomorrow then went.

I wondered around for a short while,
But soon did come quick the dark night.
And every few minutes came fast cars and headlights,
I just hoped I stayed out of sight.

By now I know that Ive crossed the line,
And Ive actually now ran away.
 But Im under the moon and now look at the stars,
And I havent thought once about the next day.

When morning came I then wandered around,
But theres nothing at all here I can do.
So I waited around, to meet up with the girls,
When Ill see them Ive not got a clue.

In the afternoon I then bumped into them,
When they got back home from their school,
The police have been asking us all about you
She said, but I just kept my cool.

Well pop up by later, and drop you some food,
One of the girls had then said to me,
Ill sneak out my pudding and come and bring it out,
To you, once Ive finished my tea.

I met them both later and one girl had said,
Maybe its time that you went home.”
I said Ill be alright, Ill just be one night,
Then make my way over to Stone.

And then around midnight I must have been tired,
As I stared at the branch of the tree.
For over five minutes Id contemplated,
If there was a big spider in front of me.

Id got really scared and then so made a leap,
Right out of the bush quick like a stag.
Now what do I do, because in theres my blanket,
My food, my coat and my bag.

So I make my way just a few yards down the road,
To a house with some lights I could see.
I knocked on the door, a middle-aged man then answered,
I said Please mate could you help me?

I think theres a spider in the bush Ive been sleeping,
And I just need to get back my stuff.
How old are you mate? he then asked me,
And why are you there sleeping rough?

Seventeen I then said, and Ive been kicked out,
Is there anything at all you can do?
Ill just get my torch he then said in reply,
Then I will come there to help you.


We walked to the bush and then he shone his torch,
And said Its alright theres nothing to fear.
Your stuff is alright, and there is no sight,
Of a spider that would bite you here.”

So then I said thanks, and then off the man went,
And I felt like a fool for my scare.
And then I could see around four miles away,
A helicopter up in the air.

What if that helicopter was looking for me,
Its probably not In my head I had said,
Before closing my eyes, to try for some sleep,
 But Ive still got those thoughts in my head.

Id got no more than around one hours sleep,
And Id woken up covered in sticks.
I went to find warmth but there was nowhere at all,
By now it was sometime around six.

Two hours go by, oh now what should I do?
I shouldnt stay here one day again.
But most of my morning I simply spent trying,
To get myself out of the rain.

I did all that I could, to try and find shelter,
But theres nowhere this village is small.
And then on my way back, again to the ditch,
It seemed that Id hit a brick wall.

I dont know how Im gonna survive,
No money, no food and Im wet.
Theres nowhere to go, except for back home,
And then I just had got upset.

The only thing, I could think of to do,
Was to flag down a car that comes by.
And tell them that I, have ran away,
Theyll get me home into the dry.

So I see some cars, and I wave and I shout,
But the first five or so cars ignore.
And then a nice lady stops whilst I am crying,
I tell her I cant run no more.

Get in she says, Ill help you get back,
Im a nurse then she showed me ID.
I said I was scared that Id let them all down,
But she said theyd be glad to see me.

We got to her house and she gave me a towel,
And then she rang the police from her phone,
Walked back in the room and said theyre on their way,
They all just want you back at home.”

A policeman came by, and then picked me up,
I was scared that my mum would be mad.
Dont worry he said, You just need a bed,
Youre alright and everyones glad.

If youd not been found within the next half an hour,
We were gonna put you on the TV.
And then said last night, that theyd got a chopper,

Out all night looking for me.



Poetry written by Ben Westwood, Musician and poet. UK
Copyright Ben Westwood. 

To view all fourteen current poems from this project click here.





To order a signed colour copy you can order via paypal below.
The price is £18.99 including postage and packaging


Signed to
Delivery address


If you'd rather not wait until my next print run, and would like a cheap option, then I have a black and white version that you can buy direct from Amazon for £13.99 at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1981314350


And also digital PDF versions are currently available for just £7 and will be sent to your paypal email address.
You can purchase a PDF of Poems From a Runaway using the paypal button below.



Preferred Email Address