At the Lyric Lounge Event in Northampton Tomorrow
Tomorrow I am going to be performing poetry quite a bit, and will be hosting a show in the Underground theatre in the Derngate Northampton at 4. Before then, you can catch me at the Fishmarket and on the route between there and the theatre for poetry happenings between!
In the meantime, here is a poem I have written resulting from the workshops with Mark Gwynne Jones. It has had a few incarnations, but I've settled on this one. For now?
Give Up the Sea
This is poem is for getting out
And getting on with it
Wrapped up, warmed up,
hot and pink
Running through the park
taking great gulps of glass
in winter. Then it’s good for you.
This poem names the disconnect
between the sunrise, smouldering unclean
cloudy window and the table
the dull yet lurid orange
ribbon ripped behind the benches.
- It gets wider at the bottom
the older it gets and that’s hard fact.
Rest your science on that, dear,
keeps your bum off the ground
and running round in circles
pretending all the diamonds are real.
If we move the edges we see
etchings and scratches
that are not wear and tear
but damage
broken as you pound your feet.
Hens eggs for new life
a conch to hear the sea.
a fat bride in nacreous white
all of them ground into sand.
http://www.lyriclounge.co.uk/
In the meantime, here is a poem I have written resulting from the workshops with Mark Gwynne Jones. It has had a few incarnations, but I've settled on this one. For now?
Give Up the Sea
This is poem is for getting out
And getting on with it
Wrapped up, warmed up,
hot and pink
Running through the park
taking great gulps of glass
in winter. Then it’s good for you.
This poem names the disconnect
between the sunrise, smouldering unclean
cloudy window and the table
the dull yet lurid orange
ribbon ripped behind the benches.
- It gets wider at the bottom
the older it gets and that’s hard fact.
Rest your science on that, dear,
keeps your bum off the ground
and running round in circles
pretending all the diamonds are real.
If we move the edges we see
etchings and scratches
that are not wear and tear
but damage
broken as you pound your feet.
Hens eggs for new life
a conch to hear the sea.
a fat bride in nacreous white
all of them ground into sand.
http://www.lyriclounge.co.uk/