Author: poetre123

Visionary

Yes folks, it is 2020, so what better title for a poem and indeed this blog post, than “ Visionary” ? From now on, life is going to be all about changing the way we see things, changing the way we do things , in order to survive. I am hoping we can still have some fun along the way.

With mainly fun in mind, I have set myself some “poetry goals”  to get me through the year. Write a poem a day! Submit at least one poem a month! Perform at open mics at least once a month! Keep hosting my Poetry Cocktail Open Mic Night! I know, they are not rocket science but it keeps me writing, which keeps me healthy.

As the 1 January passed, I remembered to check out Visualverse.org. They post an image at the beginning of each month and you have one hour to write in response to that image and submit. I have been reflecting a lot on the bravery of Greta Thunberg and in my view some of the ill- judged responses to her activism and this came to mind when looking at the drawing they used, together with how quick we all can be to judge what people present on the surface, how interesting it is to look beyond that. Women activists know stuff, they are impatient and at the same time understand human foibles all too well. Often, to be heard,  they have to stand out in ways that society does not quite get – until years later.

I wanted also to write something where the woman was the main protagonist, she is not a passive recipient of  either desire or hate. Here is a brilliant woman who is ahead of her audience and she means business.

Thank you to Visualverse .org for the monthly prompts , the opportunity to write and the joy of sharing it on- line .

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Visual Verse: on – line poetry

Sometimes it is great to get inspiration from photos and drawings. That is why Visual Verse.org appeals , plus the time- limited brief of one hour. It is a good way to focus eyes , head, heart and mind. Surprisingly, the tight timescale squeezes out unexpected imagery , forgotten words and inspiration. Thank you for the opportunity to respond to the art produced, from the comfort of home but always with an international twist.

Here is my poem published October 2019:

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Lackadaisical

Lackadaisical

I have been feeling lackadaisical- it was only when the word arrived in my in- box from an online dictionary that I was able to recognise my affliction…

“lacking life, spirit, or zest : languid”.

How to depict this in an image? Well, take a look at Panda and you can probably see it in his face , read his body language… So far, I have retained my stuffing and -unlike Panda- my mouth remains firmly in place, so I hope theses are signs of a temporary affliction only. All of which is merely an excuse for my sloth – like posting pace.

I will now make up for this by doing at least two posts! Thereby proving that you can  lash Lackadaisical to  a pole and dance around it with Energy.

Panda is 60 years old and very wise. Panda 🐼 suggests that I should no more, “ alack the day” , but jolly well just get on with it!

 

Having a Ball! with news of Nov 15 Poetry Cocktail Open Mic…

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Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

Since I started on my own poetry road, I have kept my eyes forward, said yes to as many opportunities as I can and of course, I keep on writing. Combining this with a part- time job as a social worker is interesting! To be honest, I would not be able to carry on in this role if I did not have the truth of poetry to buoy me up.

The poetry / spoken word/ Open Mic / City Arts/ Notttingham Writers Studio community and the individual poets I have met have been encouraging, inspiring, challenging and compassionate. Thank you, because without this my cultural and spiritual life would be a lot poorer. It is so energising , getting to learn new things and hearing all your wonderful tips and your works.

Sometimes it feels strange, I am on uncertain ground having come to  creative writing later in life, I am both a  newbie with little idea of how to progress, but also an old hand in life experience .Connecting with others over our work is a buzz , whatever your perspective or circumstances.

Poetry makes me want to keep on, keeping on- and that’s a long way from how I felt nearly two years ago.

Here are some poetry gigs I have been involved in very recently, or am about to take part in:

Saturday 14 Sept, 1p.m. City Arts “Words of Wisdom”launch at Nottingham City Home’ Fun Day, presented by Henry Normal ( on film) , Poet Andrew Graves and academic ;

Saturday 14 September 14:00, Poetry Aloud stage at Stuff of Life Festival, Nottingham. Performed with Ellie Betts and Mina Ahmed as part of “ Tell Tales”

Friday 20 September, 6pm. Derby Cathedral, Moon Installation poems organised by Trevor Wright

Tuesday 24 September 7pm Word! Spoken word stage , supporting George Sirtzes , beeston-library-part-of-inspire-poetry-festival.

Thursday 26 September 7pm Poetry Crane Collective Showcase ( tbc) , also,part of Inspire Poetry Festival

October is for resting and writing. Oops, but then comes along National Poetry Day October 3rd !

🗣🎉🍸15 November 7pm for 7:30 start,

                POETRY COCKTAIL OPEN MIC @ Holy Calzone

STOP Press! featuring, Award – winning Poet, Leanne Moden

“Leanne Moden is a breath of fresh air for an art form so often concentrated on oneself, looking around her with a humorous but curious gaze many can’t achieve. Her work is both beautiful and dirty, bold and timid, but at all times open, honest and a joy to hear.” Hollie McNish, Ted Hughes Award Winning Poet

see Facebook, Poetry Cocktail at Nottingham Poetry Festival 2020

welcome to the bi- annual poetry night, host Gail Webb

theme “ Coming Home” 

Hope to see you there! 🗣🎉🍸🎉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poeting in These Prorogued Times!

Well, who would have thought it? Parliament has been rudely interrupted by the Boris , just because he wants to tour farms, fisheries and factories in an attempt to show us that he really understands how this country works. Just shut up shop, stop all debate and swan around the countryside with a hapless media in your wake.

Nothing for it, I must turn to poetry in my hour of need:

All The Bs.

Banksy, will you paint us out of this mess?
A graphic picture of Boris might do
Floppy and bouffant in his style and dress

Politicians have failed, along with Press
No one can decide what course to pursue
Banksy, will you paint us out of this mess?

Now we will have a buffoon, more or less,
To sit in Number Ten with his own crew
Floppy and bouffant in his style and dress

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Perhaps a timely portrait will add stress
To the phrase,”Boris, we do not want you”
Banksy, will you paint us out of this mess?

How Boris can rule is anyone’s guess
He is crass, lacking insight, nothing new
Floppy and bouffant in his style and dress

Boris cares only for his own image
Now entering as the joker on stage
Floppy and bouffant in his style and dress
Banksy, please do paint us out of this mess.

Gail Webb

 

 

 

 

 

 

Being A Poet.

028D51AE-1031-4D6E-A12E-CF68246AEEDC Picking up a copy of this BoSHEmia , Origins Edition, August 2019 @ FiveLeaves Independent Bookshop, Nottingham. Proud to have had two poems accepted. 🗣🎉🍸❤️#BoSHEmia#FiveLeaves

Life Of A Pioneer Woman.

I cannot believe that it was 28 January 2019 when I wrote this found poem as apart of the Concrete Poetry workshop at Bromley House Library, words taken from books in the collection of Alan Sillitoe’s library held there:

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Loss

img_0338“ Time to write something about poetry “, I thought. This was what came out :

It is 17 months since my Dad died. Yes, he was old, yes, he was ill. I can even say, yes, I knew somewhere deep within, in my gut, that it was coming. But when it happened, it brought a slurry of debris, a landslide that overwhelmed me with suffocating grief and even smothered my tears. Like everyone else, I comforted those who were left, attended to the death certificate, the financial aspects , spoke at the funeral and managed to go along with today’s requirement that we “ celebrate a life” . It was good to see those long lost relatives and the Ramblers and others who had loved my Dad . A common theme was, “ he was such a nice man, a real gentleman” and I am lucky to be able to concur with that wholeheartedly.

After the funeral, normality resumed in the form of Work and family life. I had shared the loss with others of course, my Mum, my own children and my husband. Life would carry on and my Dad would be the first one to want that  – “no need to be morbid” was a strong mantra when I was growing up.

So, back to work five days a week in social work dealing with other people’s loss. Back to normality. My body gradually made it known that it would not let my grief “ go gentle into that good night” . At first, I put it down to not sleeping properly, to getting older myself, to hitting    a brick wall in a job I had done for 31 years. My brain was struggling to retain information, I found myself looking across a table , intently focussing on what someone was saying , but not being able to process any of it. Gradually I felt myself slipping away, sliding down with the slag heaps around me , unable to hold on to anything firm , nothing could break my fall. Next came the car accident – someone went into me and my car was a write off. He had one of those huge 4x4s which survived unscathed. Of course.

Yes, I know it is a cliche. “The Crash” resulted in my crash. It was the archetypal last straw and all the things my body had been trying to tell me now happened. I felt the loss of my Dad so much, it was beyond words so that is exactly what happened, I lost my words. For months my brain could not keep up with my tongue. My legs started to give way, out of the blue. I thought I must be going mad as all the things I had done before to get through trauma and loss did not work. I realise now that mainly what I had done was just keep on, act as normal, go to work, hunker down and let the storm pass, smile and say “ I’m OK, thanks, how are you? “All the time, I was deeply depressed.

This all stopped. I needed silence, I needed quiet, predictable places to be . I needed to stand on firm ground with people that could hold me and show me their kindness. I needed to be in nature and especially by the sea. My Dad was a sailor as a very young man, as part of National Service and he never lost his love of the sea. I wrote poems for him, and for me, as I sat in a silent cottage on the  Isle Of Mull  overlooking the ocean.

Poetry has helped me cope with the loss of my Dad and to work through the grief. We all lose so much in this life, whether family, children, friends , lovers, animals, homes, countries , that ways of  acknowledging this, of working through the meaning of our own and others’ lives and of holding the grief without clinging to it are essential. Poetry does help.