Hooplah!
Buongiorno all those folks that still keep checks on me on here. I realise my updates are rare, but all the more precious for it, no?
I've been chosen to read this one on National Poetry Day on October 5th at the Lit & Phil in Newcastle (7.30pm). I realise probably none of you will be around, but come along if you are!
I'm also reading at the (second) launch of our anthology, Three Trick Pony, on October 10th at Newcastle University (7.30pm, Percy Building, room G11)
And I'm reading sometime in November in Gunnerton.
It lurks most of all in the potential
I thought I'd tracked it down
in the switch from strings to air-it felt right
but when I stopped I felt no less
whole, my arms no more longing to be filled.
I looked to you, I looked in countryside
and quiet, trekked to glens in special eco-friendly
boots, supportive of my arches. But when I turned
to the city it was no less there, dancing
gleefully with smog-choked Buddleia and pigeons
or weaving through the traffic, at nightclubs dancing
with men's eyes, women's, or curled up
in the furthest corner of a bed in winter, windows wide.
It seems hopeful when I'm eating, for a moment
I think it's hiding in hummus or the sugary mess
on top of a fruit crumble. I know it's not in gin
but I keep checking. I need Irish, opera and punk
to keep it strong. It seems strongest
in the curve of my nose or that photograph
you laugh at where I'm eating ivy leaves, eyes dark.
I've tried to pin it down in the holes
through my lips, tried to wash it in and out of hairstyles,
or print it in the soles of shoes over-worn and over-walked,
I thought I'd injected some of it in to my skin.
Most notably I tried to hoard it in pieces
of paper, beads and tickets, pens that won't work
or posters I had up five years before: kept it
as empty bottles, toys and scented candles half burned
to the quick, in chipped plates you keep telling me to replace
and cables for cameras long lost just in case
it tries to leave me bit by little bit and I can't
remember where it was that I might at first have found it.
I've been chosen to read this one on National Poetry Day on October 5th at the Lit & Phil in Newcastle (7.30pm). I realise probably none of you will be around, but come along if you are!
I'm also reading at the (second) launch of our anthology, Three Trick Pony, on October 10th at Newcastle University (7.30pm, Percy Building, room G11)
And I'm reading sometime in November in Gunnerton.
It lurks most of all in the potential
I thought I'd tracked it down
in the switch from strings to air-it felt right
but when I stopped I felt no less
whole, my arms no more longing to be filled.
I looked to you, I looked in countryside
and quiet, trekked to glens in special eco-friendly
boots, supportive of my arches. But when I turned
to the city it was no less there, dancing
gleefully with smog-choked Buddleia and pigeons
or weaving through the traffic, at nightclubs dancing
with men's eyes, women's, or curled up
in the furthest corner of a bed in winter, windows wide.
It seems hopeful when I'm eating, for a moment
I think it's hiding in hummus or the sugary mess
on top of a fruit crumble. I know it's not in gin
but I keep checking. I need Irish, opera and punk
to keep it strong. It seems strongest
in the curve of my nose or that photograph
you laugh at where I'm eating ivy leaves, eyes dark.
I've tried to pin it down in the holes
through my lips, tried to wash it in and out of hairstyles,
or print it in the soles of shoes over-worn and over-walked,
I thought I'd injected some of it in to my skin.
Most notably I tried to hoard it in pieces
of paper, beads and tickets, pens that won't work
or posters I had up five years before: kept it
as empty bottles, toys and scented candles half burned
to the quick, in chipped plates you keep telling me to replace
and cables for cameras long lost just in case
it tries to leave me bit by little bit and I can't
remember where it was that I might at first have found it.