Merseysides Poet Warrior. Degsy Jones is a powerfull performer who has read at events across the counrty Including the Glastonberry music festival, the Liverpool & Manchester Poetry Festivals, slams and vireos special events in Merseyside,Bolton, Chester, St Helens, Wirral, Lincon and Bournmouth. He has also given performances for radio and chanel 4 TV.Born and bread on the WIrral, Degsy is a 3rd Dan Black Belt trained instuctor in Go Ju Ryu Karate. Degsy says '' my karate training has deeply influenced my poetry performance without it I would not be the poet I am, Karate is poetry in motion '' Given the space Degsy performs his Karate and poetry together this gives his performance a unique and three dimentional element. Degsy's written work is dynamic, sometimes dark and sinister, but always explosive! ''one not to miss ! '' Carole Baldock editor Orbis. You can catch Degsy performing regularley at the Dead Good Poets open floor in the Eveyman Bistro (3rd room)and Strut Your Stuff nights in the Egg Cafe Liverpool
POETRY WHORE Here we stand Week in week out talking bollocks to each other Though I have to confess some of it is quite exquisite Some of it Well is down right shite But that’s the way of the world So I’m told Some folk take poetry and themselves extremely seriously While others like myself just think its bollocks And occasionally it rhymes Unfortunately some have to try very very hard While others are simply afflicted by a gift Then there are those who are false profits While others can only tell the truth Even when they lie Some think because they are published That the sun shines out of theirs Never realizing that this attitude sells their very soul Then there are those who emerge from out of the woodwork Drawn by the allure of notoriety from the lens Pass themselves of as representative Though I have never seen them in all my days Then vanish as soon as the aperture closes Never staying to hear the voice of the true oracle Aided and abetted in their escape By those who would condone Then last but not least is the poetry whore For she is a dark and sinister thing And she dwells in every man jack of us And I would be the first to hold up my hand But it seems she resides in some Much much more than others So brethren Steer clear of the poetry whore Be true to your self And be true to others And keep the word pure IT MAKES ME WOUNDER From the dawn of our time Our species has searched for things We have searched for the smallest of things And we have searched for the greatest thing of all From the moment of our birth We search for the rhythmic beat of our mother's heart The pattern of her face The dark outer ring and the bright pink nipple As we grow We learn to trace the patterns back and forth through time Moving like a shuttle in a loom In and out of the weave Trying to find their conclusion And gain some explanation Often though we follow the patterns blindly So the lead us toward the dark as well as the light And there are always those who are drawn to the darkness This strange little knack Through out the eons Has helped us learn many things And yet we have forgotten even more We have learnt that the earth is not flat But a globe That the Moon orbits the Earth The Earth orbits the Sun The Sun the master of its own system One system amongst billions in the Milky Way The Milky Way one galaxy amongst billions in the universe We have broken free of our own atmosphere And entered in to the cosmos We know of black holes Antimatter Dark matter Even curved space We have discovered the atom And split it We have unraveled the double helix The pattern to life its self And begun to manipulate it We have done all these things And yet we can not stop torturing and killing one another We cannot stop waging war We can not stop the weak being prayed on by the strong We cannot stop children dieing of thirst and hunger We cannot stop lying cheating and deceiving one another And it just makes me wonder PSYCHO KILLER A man stands asleep on the street The puke creeping closer to his feet He wakes to fined that he’s all alone As the city gives a sickening groan Wipes a sweet sweat diamond from his eye As watches the rats in the race run by Checks his watch The time The date His mouth fizzes with the taste of hate In his hand In his coat He grips the gun And in a blink of an eye It’s all begun The voice is there In his head Do it now It says shoot them dead The gun grows hot in his hand Just one thought I’ll make a stand Safety off He draws the gun And shouts out load Let’s start the fun The breech gasps a rattling sound People scream and hit the ground Red tracer dance like fire fly And as he kills them he stars to cry Shame in his heart As he starts to come One last thing to be done One last round through his own head It’s all over And now he’s dead For some Life is but a tatty thriller When seen through the eyes Of a psycho killer
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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