Biography

Carla is an experienced performer, writer and poet from Milton Keynes. She is currently based in Cambridge.

Relatively new to the performance poetry scene, Carla blew away audiences in MK with her combination of comedy, surrealism and thoughtful, emotionally-charged work, winning the Monkey Kettle Performance Poet of 2009.

She is part of the poetry collective Poetry Kapow! - not only performing regularly but providing stage design and management, lighting expertise and specialist performance photography.

She has performed at:

- Milton Keynes Gallery for a night dedicated to the work of James Lee Byars
- centre:mk for poetry busking (even more difficult than it sounds)
- Farrago Summer Slam, London
- Tongue in Chic
- Poetry Kapow!
- Ludamus, Milton Keynes
- Hammer & Tongue Cambridge Slam (gaining 3rd place!)
- The Naked Stage, Cambridge

Samples

*DJ Spinsta*

She’s a middle-aged academic
Workin’ the decks
She’s a lady DJ
She ain’t piano she’s forte

She gets her track list
From radios One and Four
And sometimes classic FM
Mixin’ up her joints
With a bit of Westwood banta

But these ain’t no desert island disks
These are kickin’ locks
These are bangin’ tunes
These are
These are
These ain’t no desert island disks
‘Cos we’re kickin’ against the pricks

She’s knitting the tracks
Nailing the downbeat
As it kicks
Kicks
Kicks
Kicks in
Shoutin’ out
To the St Neots massiv’
We’re going down, down to the dirty, dirty
Dirty South
Yeah, Holler, innit

She’s cross-fading not cross-stitching
Not flower-arrangin’
She’s bad-ass and bitchin’
She’s super-bad and fly
She’s a member of the WI
And if you ask well enough in advance
She’ll arrange to pimp you a ride

She’s been shot in a drive-by
Broken down in a lay-by
But conveniently not on the same day

She’s buildin’ and breakin’
She’s strobing and phasing
She’s the patron of Cambridge young rappers conservative club

She’s slammin’ on the backspin
Scribble scratching
Twiddling, tweaking, tearing

With a look of pure abstraction
She’s in the zone
Hydroplanin’
Fingers flying off the turntable like fire

Pausing for the downbeat
Downbeat
Downbeat
Downbeat

Degree
PhD
Degree
PhD
Master of philosophy
Mistress of the decks

She’s vice-chancellor of phat tunes
A hip-hop demoness
In academic dress

She’s DJ Spinsta

And she’s out - one



*The battle won and lost*

Your eyes are like cold steel spearheads
The tip of which is pointed at my gut
A feeling like a brick deep inside
Drops and falls
And my face becomes a mask as you draw me close

Your kiss is a passionless curse
A bleak foreboding
Of the sad and limping night song
Where you loom over me like a granite figure
Carved by the night

Your arms are like pillars
Supporting the bridge of your body
As it arches over me
My body a river running beneath
Taking me back to Rome

I am there now
Gazing beneath the stars
As a gentle wind whips past me
Brought back to a shuddering reality
By the force of your breath

Which quickens and falls
As your arms crumble
Cursing into rubble

My own body no longer a river
But merely a stream
Lapping past the bricks
As you lay your armour down
Next to me
You expose yourself to the elements
As I have done

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.