Property

Sell the house in the summer,
the light will make it seem free
and joyous.

You can draw back
the blinds,
leave no shadow to chance,
no gloom on the veranda
or the stairs or the landing
or anywhere else –
just a great profusion of multi-sourced
brightness,
trick them into thinking -

Such space
Such freedom

and all the time
you are just happy to get
the damn thing off your hands.

This is an old poem (3-4 months) - I seem to have edited it down in the process of posting. It was a little too clunky for submitting anywhere, but I feel it needed a home and why not here?

I keep thinking I should transmit some more missives but there isn't much to report or repost at the moment. I do have a poem available at Gulper Eel however.

Unspeakable generous acts

I

Despite what you may
have heard, or perhaps deduced,
I am not St. John of the Cross.

I am moving through
Providence Place and
wistful for this world
in its many forms.

I am longing to screen-print.

II

Don’t you miss that routine of
near touching?

My god,
you ate lunch
and I changed my path just

to be closer to you,
to know you,
to appraise or
take audit of you –

I heard some of the ‘young
chums’ were in this evening.
In that instant I despised you.

III

It is your gathered,
templar tongue I take the
time to hear – it is often
more bold than not.

There is too much to see
and do, so
I am sick with instances.

The beach

The beach! The beach!
It’s the first day at the beach!
Some boy flexes his bicep
and scrutinises a girl’s
derrière –
I look at his, just
to make sure that
all is balanced and beautiful
at the beach.

Po' Fo' in Parentheses

The Bicycle Shop, St Benedict’s Street
Monday 10th May, 7.00pm
Part of the Norwich Fringe Festival

“I strongly suspect that when this revolution takes place, art will no longer be distinguished by its rarity, or its expense, or its inaccessibility, or the extraordinary way in which it is marketed - it will be the prerogative of all of us, and we will do it as those artists did whom Freud understood not at all…the artists that had no ego, and no name.”
Germaine Greer – Town Bloody Hall speech


How could the notion of the artist with ‘no ego, and no name’ functions in a society driven precisely by the ego and the name? Is it fair to argue that performance poetry is a projection of ego and nothing else?

Well, it's a fair if somewhat bold question - one that Tim Clare, Veronika Wilson and Sarah Ellis set out to answer on Monday 10th May ( with kind assistance from their chair, Nathan Hamilton) - first some highlights from the Q& A session

Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' In Parentheses 10th May 2010 - Highlight 1# by brokenloop

Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' 10th May - Highlight 2# by brokenloop

It's interesting stuff I'm sure you'll agree - an edited version debate is available to be heard and downloaded below (you can download by clicking the little downwards arrow on the right-hand side) :

Norwich Fringe Festival - Po' Fo' Debate - 10th May - Edit by brokenloop

I'd like to add that I will blog further about this topic at a later date - however, I feel it's important that it's presented in a raw form without me yammering all around it. I would strongly encourage you to use the comments section below to air your views however...


Many thanks to the Writers' Centre, Norwich for their support with this event.

On the subject of cooking

At 19 the world was so vibrant and rich
And now at 25 – ah why give a damn?
The tarnish is best sort of stout a remedy
rich with sorrow you chug-belly you gave
it all over to the sharp spirit the buttons
in a matchbox and a collecting glass into
which water drips and you plant chillies
on the balcony and hope the horizon
is still vibrant and rich though hope enough
is enough to make it vibrant and rich you
have chosen the right words to call this
thing by what it is just as we play dress
up daily so the day is dressed to the thing
the words that’s the thing you see the tender
spirit is tender because the words are placed
so no other reason you are not tender because
tender is unique to that instance tender is universal
and multi-form and I am not certain that tender
is tender in your eyes meat is tender it is best
tender and still with its juices almost still warm
but seal the thing and retain its flavour do not
let it grey to obscurity now.

The Rialto : Young Poets Feature

Read this blog, it will explain all...

Lo the iron foot

He scrapes – lo the iron foot – a cluster of toes at the end –
He carves wild circles –
leaving an array of spectators frowning  –
   
self-aware, he tries
treading softer with the other -
to compensate see?

The crumpled paper of their faces grow
sympathetic to his squealing,
begin to undo themselves a little.

Now lament
ol’ iron foot – or applaud the endeavour -
the stability of the heavens
under his callous, grating orbit.