Inspired by this article on Write Out Loud home page.
Link to video version on Youtube.
This government’s passing some new legislation
to distract from Johnson’s shoddy situation.
As the country’s not fooled by his hollow sorries,
to avoid the rap, they’ve deployed Ms Dorries
to bluff and to bluster with her dodgy rhymes
in the hope we’ll forget her boss’s crimes.
Saturday 28th May 2022 3:54 pm
Beware the bear, my father said,
and he’d been taken to its lair,
read the truth, and clawed his way
from its clasp, a gasp from death
where all breath slows,
in Siberian taiga snows.
Beware the bear,
that funny, honey, sunny-featured creature
which, as a host, will greet you
to its land of ice and hut-filled woods,
with a hug and, open-armed,
insist your stay...
Saturday 26th February 2022 11:26 pm
On re-reading Yeats' poem, below, I realised how apt it is to our own period, and slightly larger conflicts; seasonal, too.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere ...
Saturday 12th December 2015 6:21 pm
We are a dead steelworks
We are a dead pit
We are a dead community
We have become a dead grandmother
We are a dead altruism
We are a dead society
We are a morally-dead nation
We have become a dead grandmother
We are a friend to Suharto
We are a friend to Pinochet
We are a friend to apartheid
We have become a dead grandmother
Tuesday 16th April 2013 11:40 am
I was moved to upload this because of the relevance of Bugarach to the end-of-the-world prognostications for today, 21st December, 2012.
in the sunset
of a fading sky.
for one half-moment,
In memory of ancestors
signed this ...
Friday 21st December 2012 2:42 pm
When reading someone's blog, you can now go directly to their profile by clicking on their name - the large green letters next to the photo spot. Try it and see! and let us know if it's useful. Don't if it's not :-)
Wednesday 14th November 2012 6:13 pm
Two tattoos and a mouth of sinew
crashed through the wicker screen
separating bar from poetry.
scrutinised the bardic hopefuls,
gassed by the grizzled newcomer's brewery breath;
might tackle the intruder.
The giant swayed:
two steps forward, one back..
What's yous doin'...
Wednesday 15th February 2012 5:41 pm
I used to love picking scabs,
when I was a kid in short trousers –
permanently scraped knees, all that.
Or waggling a loose tooth,
it sort of hurts but fascinates.
You don’t know why
but you have to keep going
till it’s out. Like sex without the climax.
If this was written in HTML
that last word would be in blue.
For those who don’t have them,
Thursday 9th February 2012 5:49 pm
Gucci and Viagra,
offers cascade like Niagara
Claims to make your donger longer
and your love-life even stronger
Satisfy your female,
by responding to this email,
can electrify your procreation.
Such claims, to some, seem spurious,
though made me a little curious,
You might advise, don’t buy it,
I say, don’t knock till you try...
Thursday 3rd November 2011 10:44 am
How do I love thee? Let me count t’ways.
I love thee to t’depth and breadth and 'eight
My hands can reach inside your top when going out for t’night
I love thee in shop doorways, in t’shadows out o’t' light
On t’way to t’pub pretend angry and spoiling for a fight
I love thee to t'level of my alcohol beverage
In t’backyard of the pub using t’wheelie bin for leverage
Wednesday 5th October 2011 5:10 pm
NB, I risk your opprobrium by posting reportage rather than poetry. I just feel the need to do so. The following happened on Friday.
Jenny’s only been in the nursing home for a week, out of place at a young-looking 66.
She hates it, yet would hate even more being sent home, back to her life of passive neglect at the hands of uncaring ‘care’ staff who whizz in and out as if afraid ...
Sunday 26th June 2011 5:59 pm
The Write Out Loud little Big weekend is over, and on the final day for those who lingered, there was Renga. each one of the remaining poets contributed to this one and, there should be several more being posted over the next few days. Have a squint at the photos in Galleries to see up to what we got.
They don't always have to scan, do they?
Two hours to Chorley
And the weathe...
Sunday 3rd April 2011 9:46 pm
What a honky-tonking, stonking
Poetry performing, barnstorming
Meek and haughty
cello and piano-their-forte
Dynamic, eclectic, electric
Night it was at Kilburn’s Catweazle
When I visited.
No causal link, nor said in drink
I just think
North London Tavern,
comes alive, this ...
Friday 18th February 2011 8:00 pm
A new poetry show hit Radio 4 last week hosted by Matt Harvey, supported by Elvis McGonagall (aka Shouty McJacket). Elvis’s ranty radical persona is a great counterpoint to Matt’s deceptively dulcet drawl which, like Totnes muesli, contains multi-grains, his being of truth, wit and wisdom.
The Dead Poets’ Slam was wonderful (or is it wondermental?), though whether they can maintain this sta...
Monday 7th February 2011 2:12 pm
I thought I might propose some prose.
“Indian’s Head,” she said, out of the blue. “that’s where I want you to scatter my ashes, son.”
I almost dropped the tea I’d brought, about her twentieth that night; surprised just as much at the fact she was talking about death at all, let alone her own.
“Indian’s Head? I didn’t know you’d ever…”
“I think it was the happiest day of my life ...
Wednesday 5th January 2011 2:55 pm
Rounding the corner,
The house seems unchanged,
Even those curtains I’d hated
I am now grateful to see.
I feel I could continue
down the path
Put the key in
Yale, worn brass, familiar
- funny, how each lock has its own feel –
And open the door into a life that was.
Children torn from play,
A smile through the banisters,
Friday 16th April 2010 8:11 pm
From clog-dancing kick-off to grandstand finish, Bolton Octagon's riveting revival of writers Les Smith and Martin Thomasson's play takes us on a swerving run through a slice of working-class life in1920s Bolton.
Bolton born, bred and buttered, and Trotters (Bolton Wanderers) fans all their lives, the writers draw from what they know to create this play, winner of best new play in the Manch...
Sunday 14th March 2010 1:58 pm
Thursday 4th March 2010 9:44 am
Train of thought
His weather-worn, mahogany,
Slumped on his chest in
I note the bag
under his seat.
Return to my book.
Onto Dewsbury’s platform.
The near-empty train
I don’t see him wake,
But notice him rise from his seat, glance up and down the carriage
Then head off.
I go back to my reading,
Something about a bag,
A heavy bag,
Under a ...
Thursday 22nd January 2009 5:23 pm
Nicola's comments have prompted me to write this, partly in recognition of her contribution to furthering open-floor poetry in Bolton, partly to plead for your help in continuing the work.
Write Out Loud was established in 2003 to encourage anyone who has a mind to, to write poetry and share it by reading it ‘out loud’ in friendly groups.
It all started with John Je...
Friday 30th November 2007 5:41 pm