Earshot was a really enjoyable night. We had a drink with Mark Niel before the show and he was really awesome. You could really see how much time and effort he puts into his poetry. I could feel how much he loves poetry in his performance, which was really strong. I learnt a lot from him about engaging with the audience, mostly about how much I can get away with:
He ended the show shoeless, jacketless and with his shirt half off. :D

These were the poems I read at the open mic and the performance needs some work but I’m hoping they’ll be ready for future performances:

Sailing (I will Be Poet Laureate)

I don't
want to
live in
a world
where things
are only
fun when
I say
it aloud.

This is fun.

Where I
sail between
status' and
you have
a life.

An earth
in which
you convey
pain in
a way
that is
artistically okay.

And I
can only
scream.

A world
Where I
will always
be an
okay poet
who reads
like a
pro.

You in 
my head
Will always
Be Jack
Kerouac.

I don't
want to
only find
you interesting
when you
talk in
that tone
of voice.

When you
Shout me
Down because
I disagree.

How you
Take my
Stuff without
asking, ever.

I will
Never be
Pretty enough.

How if
I wrote
down my
life and
handed it
in, I
would receive
a third
and told
that nobody
lives in
clichés

Or how
I like
to believe
that if
I buy
an organiser
with pockets
I will
be a
better person.

 

The small
things will
change my
life.

I want
to live
in a
world where
I loathe
how you
like to
"shoot hoops."

How your
American accent
has an
English twang

How I said I'd never write another metafor you.
And didn't.

The Painter And The Poet

On a particularly harrowing day,
When I'd had two cold showers,
Couldn't paint a thing,
And fuck me, it was November.

I hate November.

 I chucked down my things,
Threw my head at the ceiling
and screamed

"God! If you exist,
send me a sign
Or I'll throw myself
from the roof!"

The very next day,
God sent me an
emaciated avant-garde
poet, who still
lived with his parents.

I said
"God, this shit ain't
fucking funny.
I'll throw myself, I swear."

And God said,
"Quit your whining.
You're on to a winner."
And the poet said,
"Your frappachino looks amazing.
Can I photograph it?"

So I said "Yes"
and the marbled mess
of my frappachino ventured on
Facebook.

Two weeks later,
having still not thrown myself
from the roof, we sat
in a piano centre
and he said

"Let's start a jazz band"
and we da-dum-dum-dummed down the street,
with Sureshot in my mind,
singing "I wanna be jazz, man!" 

Then we coasted through July
and I realised he couldn't spell
"Failure"
and I laughed
because irony is the only kind of humour.

And he became the only man
I would never consider
fucking like a hyena
and slipping out before
breakfast.

The only man
who would put up with my shit.
Listen to me moan
and scratch my cheek
with a stubbly kiss.

The man
I loved
because he would hear me talk
and write it down.

And God came back
said "I told you so."
I said sorry
for ever having doubted.

God said
"While you're here,
I'm writing a book,
I'm not sure,
would you mind taking a look?"

So I read it and
really it was very good
about love
peace
and how fairies would
rule the earth
and I said
"Quit your whining.
You're on to a winner."

 

I’m hopefully going to performing at the Cheltenham Poetry Talent night hosted by The Cheltenham Poetry Society on Wednesday 5^th May. The prize is a £20 book token but I think I’d like to win more for the kudos than anything else. ^_^