David C Johnson

Biography

David Johnson is a witty and quirky performance poet, who mixes his stand-up humour with his own verse. His inspiration comes from the bizarre world that we live in combined with a wry commentary on change and progress. David has been a featured artist at poetry and literary festivals in Bristol, Cheltenham, Bath, Kingston, Swindon, Oxford, Hay Houston and Austin. He has also appeared at: Nuyorican Poetry Café, New York; Sweet Lorraine’s, New Orleans. In April 2005, he completed a three week tour of the USA. He was a featured poet at Austin International Poetry Festival 2009. He was a featured poet at Larmer Tree Festival 2015. David is co-founder of Paralalia, a poetry partnership dedicated to promoting and encouraging live poetry performance and to bringing poetry to the public ear and eye in new an unusual ways. He is a multi-slam winner -Swindon Literary Festival Slam Champion 2003, Oxford All Star Slam Champion 2004, Lydney Arts Festival 2005 Slam Champion, Thornbury Arts Festival Slam Champion 2006. Runner-up in Bridport Live Festival Slam 2008. David has co-written and appeared in a play for National BBC Radio 4 called “Slam Bangin’ Home Again”, (October 2004). His most recent Radio 4 play was "The Boy Fathers" (June 2007). He helped organise and performed on BBC Radio 4 Extra's late night poetry series “Poetry Stand Up”. His commissioned dramatised radio serial Brunel 2206 was broadcast in March 2006. David participated in Radio 4’s “Word of Mouth” (New Year 2005). David was part of the organising team for the secondRadio 4 Slam series broadcast in September/October2009. He was Poet in Residence at Bristol Poetry Festival 2005 in September and is official poet for Bart Spices Ltd. Bristol. His show, about his tour of USA in 2005, (Arts Council supported), “Tales from a Paralalia Universe” with Peter Hunter toured England in autumn 2007. He was Poet in Residence for Bristol Cycle Festival 2010. He will be featured at Arnolfini in the Bristol Spring Poetry Festival 1st May 2010, Bath Fringe Festival 2010 and at the Appledore Book Festival in October 2010. His collections of poems include - “It’s funny how one thing leads to another” April 2005 (ISBN 0-9548117-1-2 Paralalia) and “Bombazine” (ISBN 978-0-9548117-5-4Paralalia). He co-edited, designed and contributed to “City Bristol Today in Poems and Pictures” an anthology of new original verse linked to full colour illustrations of Bristol. " Holding on and looking out "(ISBN 9780654811761 Paralalia) April 2010. His latest Collections are "Fallen Apples"( ISBN 9780954811778 Paralalia 2012) and "Earwig in the radio"( ISBN 9780954811785 Paralalia 2015) You tube links http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=s7oyCsvzpak http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=wckm_M-W4Gs http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZZqgYDyy5E

Samples

Without railways There'd be no "lonesome whistle" No "Runaway train" No "Rock Island Line" No Waterloo Drain No climbing up "Beattock" With overnight mail No Tay Bridge disaster Destroyed in a gale No Poirot sleuthing The Orient Express No heroine tied up Mouthing distress As the engine looms And the music swells No Hogwarts train No vanishing spells No Thomas, no Edward And no Fat Controller No jam-packed commuters Wearing their bowlers No "Chatanooga Choo Choo" No "Track Number 9" No "Taking the A Train" No Santa Fe Line No "Brief Encounter" No "Whitsun Weddings" No Soul Train Ridden by Otis Redding No "Adlestrop" remembered No Wakes Week hordes No nerdy train-spotters With nerdy clipboards No painting by Turner Of Rain, Steam, Speed So I think it's conclusive That all of us need Railways. Written by David C Johnson ©July 2013 "Don't be so silly David" Written by David C Johnson November 2009 I do not recall much washing at school. A weekly splash, in the bathroom upstairs, Overseen by matron, in her starched, cool Linen apron. Four cast-iron tubs in pairs Occupied by pre-pubescent confreres. Not one pubic hair to crown each jewel. Our grubby towels draped on backs of chairs. I do not recall much washing at school. 'Though there was no line 'round the bath, the rule Was five inches deep. Any more earned glares From matron enthroned on her cork-lined stool. A weekly splash, in the bathroom upstairs Was sometimes a moment for silent prayers That my flaccid penis would not unspool. For bath-night was no time to attract stares. Overseen by matron, in her starched, cool Manner, who'd bark out, "stop playing the fool" "Don't be so silly", as ones stiffness flared. How I did rue my recalcitrant tool. Linen apron, four cast-iron tubs in pairs Small details from a time of few cares, Before the Jacuzzi and spa-whirlpool. Nice boys protected from worldly affairs. Was it really so, were we spared the cruel? I do not recall. Waiting for the doctor We are waiting for the doctor To verify what we know. The hours seem long. The duty medic is working through His list of night-time calls, Giving preference to the living, Before he checks the dead. It is 10.30 , in the evening, Before I make the call For Mr. Gayton to undertake The collection of Dad's body. This is done discreetly Down the stairs' broad flights. Whilst Mum and I sit silently, In the dim lit sitting room, Not wanting to see or hear The deed that must be done. (My mother still remembers Her mother's rude removal, In a plastic body bag Slung over someone's shoulder.) Mr. Gayton is broad Devon, Like his dad before. He asks me sotto voce For my father's teeth. I get them from the plastic mug On the bathroom shelf And wrap them in white tissue. He slips them in his jacket pocket. The teeth, the corpse and Gayton Drive off into the night. The unmarked silver van Death's low key calling card. Written by David C Johnson © October 2014 Climate Change – What will they say? 2007 Fifty years from now, half a century on When the sea laps 'round our grandkids' door Halfway up a hill that forty years before Stood proud in the landscape by Dartmoor When Plymouth Sound abounds with Great White Sharks And there's no time to embark on a new Noah's Ark. Do you think that our grandkids will say: We understand. How were you to know grandma? How were you to know grandpa? We'd have done the same: Holidays in Spain; four by fours ripping up wild terrain Fifty years from now, half a century on When the oil has been burnt up fighting for peace Mono-culture GM crops have died from one disease 'N glass encased nuclear waste shimmers under seas When the God Delusion and the science confusion See that neither had the answer to the question Do you think that our grandkids will say Que sera sera. We don't blame you grandpa. We don't blame you grandma You needed those breaks from all the stress How were you to know that you'd leave such a mess? Fifty years from now, half a century on When the wilds have been ploughed up for bio-fuels and beef The corals have all died on the Great Barrier Reef George Bush's grandson is the new Commander-in-chief And Richard Dawkins is a god in the church of non-belief Do you think that our grandkids will say It's a pity but shit happens. What were you to do, Grandpa? What were you to do Grandma? Cotton shopping bags, central heating down a notch Solar panel powering for your wristwatch It should have worked, don't recriminate It's just a shame that we're now in this state Fifty years from now, half a century on When the talk is of the Gulf Stream abandoning our coast Britain freezing up to be the opposite of toast Whilst the rest of the world burns like a Sunday roast And our Government is run by some celebrity host Do you think that our grandkids will say We know you really tried. We don't blame you Grandma. We don't blame you grandpa Low energy light bulbs, recycled waste Farmers markets with organic fish paste You tried. We know you tried. It's just a pity that we've got nowhere to hide

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