This ones for those of us who haven’t quite figured it all out yet.
Click the link below to be transported into the throws of my inner monologue.
Realised my poems have specific formatting and look awful when put into blog posts so I will probably resort to PDF links forever.
I read this one out at a poetry reading very recently, it’s pretty breathless and people laughed when I didn’t expect them to, I guess that’s the kink in transforming a poem from a written text to an oral one. I also realised when reading this (and having people laugh at it) that I am a really self deprecating poet at times. It’s an interesting dynamic, I think to write poetry about yourself (which you usually are even if you dress it up in some other costume) is a pretty self absorbed act. Maybe in some ways I was self consciously aware of the conceitedness at play and attempting to undercut it with quips saturated in self loathing on my inability to function as a fully fledged adult.
Here’s a neat little collection of call and response poems I wrote recently. Click the link to view the PDF.
body langauge [in parts]
It’s weird to think about body language, micro-expressions and the like. Especially when it comes to intimate relationships, with others or with ourselves. Consider the collection an investigation into all the unsaid crumbs we find fallen and caught in the rubbery bib of silence that swells around our bodies as we move through life nodding our heads at the right moments during conversation.
I’ve decided to start a blog. Mainly as a resting site for all the poetry I’m writing and have written. I hope it finds someone out there, if not then that’s okay too. Kind of comes with the territory so I won’t get too beat down by the lack of footfall this blog will inevitably receive.
Let me bore you with some stuff:
I love poetry. I think it has more to offer than it currently does, and it’s unfortunate contemporary state of relative dormancy is probably because of the kind of stuff forced down our resistant throats in secondary school, which doesn’t necessarily pave the way for great opinions of poetry as a concept. I don’t know about you, but if I never had to read another lyrical ballad by a dead white guy then, well, I think I’d be pretty okay with that.
I want it to matter. It’s a sad Piscean style head-in-the-clouds kind of dream but it means a lot to me and to actually state such a dream (even to this blog that probably no one will read) is a scary thing.
Anyway enjoy the words I’ve strung together that make subjectively attractive mouth noise.