I have created a board on Pinterest with images and pictures that I think would be good jumping off points for poems – it is here.
Last night I went to Buzz Words – a local poetry night including guest poet, workshop and open mic readings. I realised that I had not been for a long time Due to college and health and busy-ness but Bobby Parker was reading and I really like his stuff which I think I initially discovered during the Cheltenham Poetry Festival. Apart from wanting to hear Bobby read, and try out a new poem myself – I like attending workshops as I nearly always end up with a usable poem from them.
The same happened this time. I’ve had a couple of ideas knocking about in my head for a while, ideas that I thought should be in poems but I wasn’t quiet sure how and so when the workshop started I had material that just sort of slotted together with the brief. Stuff I would have tried to make 3 poems out of clicked nicely into place in one poem.
So basically what I am saying is – if you are stuck with writing go to a workshop. In fact sometimes I find just going to poetry readings work, as if hearing other poets work unlocks something – it becomes safe to write as you are not the only one? Or something like that!
It is that time of year again – I will be attempting to not only write a poem a day through out February but to spend an hour each day working on poetry stuff. I have book cases full of note books with stuff to type up, only a fraction of it is poetry but that is still a lot poems just sitting there, awaiting editing and reading etc…
Also I am once again in charge of the WoPo site, so you might want to go and check out the fabulous writing exercises and guest authors I have lined up for you all
Having said all of this I had better actually get started and do some writing or typing or both!.
It is the beginning of 2015 and a time to start a fresh and plan my writing and poetry year!
And this is ever more complicated as I am now having to keep a two year diary for bookings!
Anyway, one of the keys is to be able to keep writing, I sometimes get far too busy and that is not good nor sustainable as I need to produce new stuff!
So as always I am planning on taking part in the writing challenges such as Month of Poetry, National Poetry Writing Month and the one I help co-ordinate World Poetry Writing Month. These writing challenges allow me to carve out a specific time to write. What is happening at the moment is that my brain is full of ideas that mull and brew and then when the challenge time comes I can just sit and spew them all onto the page or screen!
Other things that need sorting is what I do and don’t have published – I’ve had to pull my ebooks at the moment due to the VAT issues so will probably end up on Amazon after all
I want to get out their more and promote the books I have but not entirely sure how that is going to fit in with everything yet!
This blog is a bit tatty as well with blogs missing that were written and then not sent live and so on, so I shall be having a bit of a sort out and hopefully work out exactly how many poems I have written.
I may even start sending them off again. I tend not to do this, or I mean to and forget and so on, somehow I still get a couple of poems published a year but it’s hit and miss as I don’t send anything off :/
Basically I have a lot of admin to do, it would also be nice to get back to some of the local events that I am not involved in somehow!
I have a beautiful note book to start the year with which will inspire me – I’d better actually go and do some writing
Written for National Poetry Day 2014
Remember the tide lapping at the shore How we walked on shingled beach War bomber fractured in the mudded flats Metal bones peeking at low tide Recall the estuary filled with birds calling You showed me the eddible weeds That grew there Warm salt, bitter Remember the old lady who swam Hat of neon pink, skin of blue There by the wall They build it as wave defence Black tar oozes and regular concrete blocks Bring to mind the pill box set inside Full of junkies’ needles And discarded love
Remember the storm that ripped the sky Spiking down and blazing the land How the sky turned dark Blistering heat and oppression Broken in the thunder The tent sagged upon itself I got wet But was denied the shelter of you I caught you a green crab By curved chimneys reaching into the sky Their roundness cloud factories You said it was edible You said it didn’t belong We put it back But I got a rash From algal blooms You drove me to town for my prescription
Thinking now Of how thisteled sand spiked my feet You carried me to my tent Where an adda lay in wait I scared it and felt sad We saved an orange ladybird The first we’d ever seen That night I was cold A whole in the canvas let in the night I thought of your arms And dreamt of tangled feet Throbbing footpaths greeted us In a misty summer dawn The mass of creatures writhed Lady bugs of all colours And not just dots but all kinds of shapes They made fitful crunches as we walked I gave up trying to save them Most starved, some bit And the sun set like a child’s painting With a moon that arose on it’s heels The whisper of the waves Lapped froth at day glo sandled feet You gave me a padded shirt To keep me warm It smelt of you
Remember the belt of rope you wore To keep up the cut offs frayed to faded fluff A sometimes shirt tight across your chest The skin turned bronze upon you Whilst I hid in sunblock and gingamed cotton There was no hair upon your chest Though you were older than me We went swimming in the sea I cut my foot on carelessness Oh my polluted sea I wept for the crimes of people You smiled I have always wondered Was it for me? My heart hurt at it’s beauty As to keep you I enthralled you in Greens and greys, browns and blues Blending together in landscapes only we saw I rescued a fledgling So sickly small It hopped on to me I was filled with hope Later laying in long sun dried grass You said it would be fine I believed you though I knew it could not be true And little rabbits stopped near us I caught them to pet You laughed that I released them Each with a new name That meant nothing but my love
Do you remember the bike rides, in the ink of night Drunkness a murmur on everyone but ours breath The smell of wood smoke as we cooked And chatted without care Subjects and philosophies dripped from our tongues The stars were pin pricks of ice In my spin
Remember how it could not last How they said we could not be The disapproval The anarchy We did not have the guts to try And the summer evaporated Autumn put dreams under glass We said goodbye So chaste the taste of you The scent in my mind A look of longing You held my hand And gave me a memory
Dear Mr Grove
This is an amazingly harrowing spoken word / performance poem about our education system here in the UK by Jess Green.
I have been working on my visual poetry journal again lately, this was last nights creation.
The text says:
For shoes, bags, Dresses – That just WOW number
Meaning Nothing in the empty dark
Sinking down on digitised Gold…
Give in and consume, be part of it and dream of meaning
After all there Are Bargins too
Be Found – money drips Away
This year is the fifth year (on average) of The Monster Blogs and so I am doing various give aways etc… March I decided to make a hand written and illustrated poetry book called Berries and Blood. There will only ever be a max of ten of these and only that many if I can source the gaze box card I used for the cover – at the moment I have enough for one other copy to be made. There will be other hand made poetry collections but not this one. It may appear as a print edition later but I’m not sure about that yet.
All my hand written and illustrated books are restricted to ten copies ever. Hand bound with extra hand done extras to the cover are restricted to 100.
To win this book you have to comment below on the thread and I will put all the names in a shaky bag and get one of the kids to pick at random at the end of the month
Sometimes the word spill does not come
The page is blank and the pen still
The void aches, filled with tantalising edges
Glimpses of the worlds that would be
Sometimes they are un graspable
They are elusive things, ghosts of stories
Yet to be written.
Words tumble through the mind
Until the thought is obliterated
The void fills
Pens shifts, fingers clack
Via a compulsion of their own
First as gibberish until structure is imposed
Flowing sweetly onto the page
Barely aware, there is just the writing
To write, the written and be writing
Consumes all until that last word is down
To write the words, I need the thought
To form the thought, I need the pen
To find the pen, I need to shop
The Stationers, aladdin’s cave
Which thoughts should I think
Pink glitter, or stealth nib?
I choose the pen to form the thought
That lurks in the shadows of my mind
Winkled into the light by a tip
Ink slick and smooth
It is an obsession – stationary
A longing for pens, different to hold
Forming different patterns as they glide