To mark Spread the Word’s 30th Anniversary, three London-based emerging writers have been commissioned to create a short original piece of written work. These Emerging Writer Commissions aim to showcase new work by London-based emerging writers, and provide a developmental and profile-raising opportunity. Three London-based deaf and disabled writers have also been commissioned for our Deaf and Disabled Writer Commissions.

The 30th Anniversary Emerging Writer Commissions are generously supported by The London Community Foundation and Cockayne – Grants for the Arts.

The Emerging Writer Commissions were printed, alongside Deaf and Disabled Writer commissions and Borough of Literature Commissions, in the Deptford Literature Fesitval Anthology.

Last Orders by Eliezer Gore

God’s boredom has made him a comedian

The joke is me driving off a Scottish cliffside in a classic black and orange Benz. The trees caught me and threw me onto the H1. An angel pulls me over for driving while dead. I show him my mother’s prayers that paid for this car. I speed past a lengthy pedestrian queue. Distracted by the sight of my grandma, I wave. She kisses her teeth or was it the skid of my tyres. My brakes aren’t stopping. Actually there are no pedals. Dazzled by the light in my mirror. I am moved by the appearance of Jesus with my wheel in his hands.

A mothers short prayer

i
Almighty puzzle maker
God of storms and daughters

ii
Lord thy kingdom is full
with husband, son and prayer.
Am I poor enough?

iii
Is my heart too boastful in its weight
envy stirred from feathered lines on my skin.
I’ve learned to grow idle wings

The mourning after

No need to jump

Sorry mum

I opened the door

The knock was me

Shook the graves in your skin

A slit of breeze

I’m just beyond your window

I’ll pop back in

Don’t open the curtains

Look, my ghosts on TV

I’ve finally learned transparency

Notes App

Mothers day gift

ticks to Zim?
zara black dress,
print pics of dad?

Movie idea #302

Rom com about a ghost and a mirror

6th form reunion guest list

T.j
Honour
Renaya?

Plz buy

Silver tequila
Thank you cards

Dreams

sinking in sea of pebbles
margate ?
feet splash across water???
dads laugh as I’m buried in stones

If i ever get the money

Mermaids stole my uncle – THE MUSICAL

Send by Thursday (if your bad)

I’ve left your keys by the green gnome.

Cheating the Sunday quiz

Hymn

is a religious song or poem of praise to God.

Mum says hands grow heavy from holding up whispers and the heart bursts through the throat.

Healing

is the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.

I’ve seen it in practice: collapsing bodies scaffolded by hands.

Damned

are those condemned by God to suffer eternal punishment in hell.

Pastor doesn’t believe in the word.

He told us not to wait for him as the world ends.

I’ll be somewhere
hands muddy
chest hot
helping the damned up steps

Heaven is tired of hearing my father complain

I conduct a trial
in my therapist’s office.
I steal my fathers voice.
It slips, landing where
my stomach retreats

I speak as my character witness
testify boys in hoods
watched me play dress up
and cheered me on

I brought my mothers pot
as evidence that sudza
is born from porridge

I conclude my father
would not approve
of me being here
when there are ears at home

Casting call

Unpaid supporting roles:

Spine: any age or race, this is the body’s middle finger, stubborn, upright.

Mandem 1: black male 18-25, professional verbalist, rowdy pacifist.

Aunty Silvia: black female 40+, nurse who knows too much, sleeps on bus, must be bilingual.

██████: we are looking to see as many people as possible, we’ll decide by process of elimination

Gods boredom has made him a tough critic

[00:00:00]
Abi: Heaven what you saying, how we doing this eternity? South east of the kingdom,
make some noise!

[00:00:13]
Abi: Ah, okay, maybe not everyones risen yet. Whatever. Aight so hear this, mum is at
my grave, in the part of zimbabwe the colonisers didn’t find. I’m there dad next to me,
we’re laughing like the fish eagles circling mum. What’s funny is, mum said we would run
her into the grave first. But this aint that funny cause we won by losing the least.

[00:01:43]
Abi: Uh, so this other time, like wayback, like I’m 10 or 9, Mum is filming me and dad, I’m
wrapped in the blankets I wet two nights ago. I’m standing. Like I’m barely balanced, on
one foot, with two candles in my hands. Uh, what’s dad doing again?

[00:03:19]
Dad is monologuing about discipline. I close my eyes and I remember my nightmares.
Dad. Dad is reliving his dreams of being Denzel, my ears open and tears sneak up.
They’re marching down dad’s face and crawling out from under my eyes. Mum throws
tissues, wah, wah, wah, like shooting stars escaping a war torn sky, she yells cut I think
she got it.

[00:05:03]
Claps slow like newborn rainfall

[00:05:04]
Abi: ugh, wait, please, um, Mum warned me if I stared at the screens too long I’d
disappear into them. I open pages full of my face telling me millions of people have seen
me a year ago, hundreds of comments asking if I’m still alive with no replies. so this joke
starts with a blank screen. The page has been empty for months.This is not the day that
changes.

About Eliezer Gore

Eliezer Gore is a Zimbabwean-born artist who was raised in Lewisham. Through his art transforms concrete reality unveiling magical surrealist landscapes to deliver joyous affirming narratives.This year he staged an extract of his Debut Play “Return to Soil” at the Catford broadway for Lewisham Youth Theatre’s Hatch Festival. He is the 2024 Roundhouse poetry slam runner up, Born:: Free Writers Collective Alum and a Soho Writers Lab alum.

Eliezer said; “I’m looking forward to stretching my story telling ability by weaving a narrative across a series of  poems.”