Half way through my funeral
the doorbell rang
– the wrong door
Half way through my funeral
the choir sang
– the wrong song
Half way through my funeral
the church bells rang
their tower swayed
Half way through my funeral
the angels sang
our preacher strayed
Half way through my funeral
the walls crumbled
I turned around
Half way through my funeral
you removed the lid
without a sound
Half way through my funeral
I left
through the right door
Half way through my funeral
You stayed
You wanted more
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo, we were invited to write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something. So I’m on prompt – but I’m off illustration. I had planned to use only my own work this year, but this poem called for Hieronymus Bosch. At the least the photograph is my own. That counts for something, right? 😉
My parents had lots of vinyl in the house. A number of them were live albums, many of them with the imaginative title Live at… It’s with a big, happy wink that I choose my title for this post. I would haver never thought I’d introduce myself as Live at anything. But I’m glad it happened.
There’s a place in Southampton called the Art House, and it’s magic. It’s where creativity happens, it’s where people grow, it’s where souls meet. Sometimes when you don’t look for magic it finds you. And that’s how this story began…
I discovered the Art House three years ago through Twitter. There was a red headed woman offering a creativity course online. I wasn’t really interested in creativity, but curious about the e-learning. So I joined. And things started to happen.
I met many wonderful people in the course. We liked it so much that we went from one course to another. Growing our creativity, growing our personalities, growing friendships. When my family decided to go on a holiday to the south of the UK, I thought it was a great chance to meet some of these people in real life. And check out the place where these courses came from. So I went, and we met. It wasn’t one of those meetings where you feel really uncomfortable and suddenly realise you don’t know the other person that well. It was like meeting old friends.
Little did I know I’d be perfoming on stage there, almost two years later. But it was the only place where this could happen. The only place where I wouldn’t run away. I had cheered to many friends one through Facebook, who went on stage for the first time. After all the “you can do it”, “you did it”, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to see you”, chickening out myself just was not on option. So I went, I got nervous, and did it. My favourite part was seeing the listening faces in the audience, and hearing the laughter. If I ever go on stage again, I want the camera to be recording the audience. That’s the part I want to remember 🙂
The prompt was to record one of our own poems we have written this month and share the recording. I’ve never read one of my poems out loud before, not even for my boyfriend. So this was a stretch.
The fact that I’m not hiding from the camera is thanks to an online course by Holly Gillen (formerly Holly Sugrue).
Many thanks to my Facebook friend Graeme Sandford. He’s been around my first attempts at poetry and has challenged and supported me from the beginning. I’ve recorderd sound snippets for him, which also contributes to today. Even more, he’s recorderd some of my short stories or put music to them (check out https://unassortedstories.wordpress.com/a-fools-fairytale/ for example, the recording is at the bottom of the page). I guess he he showed me the worth of putting sound to what I create.
If you prefer to read the text, it’s here. I can assure I’ve made the video by skipping any form of perfectionism. I wouln’t have stood a chance otherwise 😉
At the bottom there’s a video of me performing this poem. My debut 🙂
He was a knight in broken armor
She was a princess without reins
He was looking for adventure
She didn’t want to be tamed
Out they rode, together
On a palomino horse
Making plans for their future together
Taking nothing but the clothes they wore
They were mugged within an hour
everything they owned was gone
They were left behind unconscious
dressed in naught but blood and mud
He spat out a tooth and grinned
– at least they didn’t take our dreams
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled
– neither our good fortune it seems
Now we have nothing to lose
and that will bring us courage
Courage is quite rare these days
we can sell it by the pound
So off they went and continued their journey
naked and unarmed
They bartered everywhere they went
Refusing cash payments in any form
Courage cannot be bought they said
You can only gain it through work that you’ve done
They bartered for food and shelter
They bartered for stories and games
They never bartered for clothes
But then the winter came
To be clothed would cost them courage
To stay naked was certain death
She refused to settle down for the winter
He blamed her for her pigheadedness
They couldn’t agree to disagree
or compromise to keep the peace
She left him one night
without a word
but with a broken heart
He traded his last courage
for pants and a shirt
and a place to keep him warm
For food he sold grief
to people who couldn’t mourn
A man with a broken heart
was a rare thing where he lived
and his legend grew quickly
Since money couldn’t heal his broken heart
he quickly became the richest man around
Then one day a palomino horse came to town
He broke down and couldn’t stop crying
Please take everything I own with you
I can see my dreams are dying
After he sent his fortune away
His free range princess returned one day
I have half a heart to offer you she said
I’ve eaten the rest to keep me alive
He was a knight with no armor
She a princess with half a heart
They reigned there life together
I will forever be their bard
Day 3 of OctPoWriMo. This is a poem I edited today to create the definite version. Later on tI’ll write a brand new poem, I was just too eager to publish my contribution for day 3 and feel like I’ve caught up.
Performed at The Art House, South Hampton, on April 24 2015
I’ve added a video of me performing this one to the bottom of the page. It was shot on April 24 2016, and it’s my first time reading a poem on stage.
Amsterdam, the ancient New York
in the fall of 2001
Red lights, big city
I don’t remember what I wore
(I may or may not have looked like a whore)
You want coke, heroin, Viagra? the little man hissed
And so did the second
and the third
For the life of me I couldn’t imagine what I’d need Viagra for
For one: I’m a woman
For two: I was in heat
I’d heard rumors though
Viagara could make your lips swell
like Mick Jagger
that rock ‘n’ roll cunt
But my panties were tight as they were
and tights are always tight when you’re six feet two
no need to fill them up even more
Scene one: a bunch of transvestites
taking the obligatory walk on the wild side
checking me out for size
– wrong gender
Scene two: a staggering stag party
hanging their cocks out to piss
vomiting at the same time
wetting their shoes
Scene three: lone riders
wanting to ride a white horse
popping pills, cheap thrills, banana bar bills
– what for?
(I still wish I’d remember what I wore)
Would you believe me if I tell you nothing is more boring than the red light district at night?
But I was in heat
and I didn’t know that
yet
People kept a safe distance
for I steamed
my pores evaporating
juice
juice juice juice
We ignored all the french fries,
burgers,
pizza
(a lover’s gotta eat, right?)
and chose a sex cinema instead
Fucking going on
24/7
like there’s no tomorrow
like yesterday wasn’t born
Behind us a plastic bag rustled
the guy took out some tissues
to blow his cock
I guessed
How hot
Not
The action was up and down
up and down
she moaning (not)
him groaning (not)
the director was a master of suspense (not)
Maybe we witnessed a climax, or ten, or none
Maybe Harry met Sally
and Sally met Sally
We had no reason to stay
We had no reason to go
We never touched I think
I would have remembered
or would I?
Amsterdam, Sin City
in the fall of 2001
Red lights, big city
The most boring thing I’ve ever done
(I think I still have that dress I wore
it would have been of more use on a whore)
I enjoyed writing in this strange form so much that I wrote a completely different one, called First we take Berlin. And when I decided to go on stage for the first time, I picked it as the one I’d read. Because I thought it was the most difficult one, and I didn’t mind a challenge on top of a challenge (performing… argh!). It’s here if you want to see it
Unassorted stories 