Originally from Surrey, Robert now lives in Devon, where he was recently voted Bard of Big Jim's Fish Bar, and winner of an impromptu poetry slam on the number 12 bus, (Newton Abbot to Brixham). Robert pokes a stick at life, shakes it, rattles it and then waits for something more interesting to drop out of it. He then writes a poem about it. Host of Poetry Island at the Blue Walnut Cafe in Torquay, Robert also performs regularly at Taking the Mic in Exeter, where he was the headliner in July, and at Epicentre Cafe in Paignton. He was recently a featured poet at Jawdance at Rich Mix in Bethnel Green, and winner of the Fresh Meat award at Bang Said The Gun, (although he had to leave before the end so someone else got the prize). His work can be found on YouTube and on his website, he also has a blog at Wordpress. his poetry collection, Year of the Cassowary, can be downloaded from Amazon.co.uk.
Poem Alack!, do some settle In Somerset. Sunset set, sat unset And stomach upset, Somerset. Somersaulting vaulting sum of greater parts, Haunting, dauntless Taunton, Summer parks. I'd settle soon in Somerset, Besotted thus with summer sex, Haystack fumbles, aching, wet, Hanging round at nights with the Badger set. Think of all the joy I'd get In Somerset. Although, I do suspect, A sudden thought remains unsaid, I don't like barns, or farms, Or country vets And that is why I'll settle not In Somerset. POEM I have probed the depths of literature But my friend Mark only remembers The one poem I wrote, The one called 'Plop'. And it goes something like this. Plop. Pah-lop. Plop. At nights I reach in an thrust my hand Deep into the fiery furnace of metaphor And I grab the human condition And I throttle it. And I squeeze the truth out of it. And I tear the words from the sky. And I wrestle with sentences like a demon. I am the king of ink, Monarch of the pen My nib moving faster and faster as my fingers Grip the shaft of the brio, Spilling on to the page beauteous visions, Truth, honesty, existential angst And what it means to be alive. And yet Mark's favourite poem of mine is Plop. Pah-lop. Plop.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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