It is 6.30pm at Glastonbury Festival. I have been watching the poetry stage since midday and the headliner C R Avery is about to go on. I was asked to write a blog about this, about the poetry. About how the poets performed and what the highlights were and on and on. I won’t. Because gig reviews like that bore me to tears. What doesn’t bore me and what didn’t bore me were the poems I heard today. The words. So instead of giving my meager own opinion on who did what and how good I thought they were at it, I ended up writing down the lines that stood out, that made people laugh or smile or scream or sigh. And I’ll share them on here. Check out the poets that you think you might like. It has been a spectacular day. Now, I’m off to watch C R Avery.
ps. I missed the first poet – Anna Freeman. She is brilliant and will perform again and I will write about her. I had to stay in the poetry office and look after the computers for that bit. Gutted!
A world where transparency was the only shade of skin
The day a child realized that life isn’t fair
Some men wear their shadows as skin
You will never be able to escape your shadow but never let yourself believe the darkest part is the greatest
We are women now and like our mothers, we know how to laugh
What do you do when you get so used to the poison you thirst for it
No-one warns a little girl her body is a thing
What comfort are words to a woman on fire? So I hugged her
You are a woman. Your body is a metaphor for creation.
These streets are built with cracks in them, so it’s no surprise kids fall in them.
“I saw my father fall through those cracks, I’m just waiting to see if he’ll come back”
Society, now you see me, because you fear.
See me in the eyes of a mother who has buried her son.
What’s the point of living if living is just a war…What more can you expect when you’re living behind hell’s doors.
Little boy, every kingdom can be overthrown.
They tell you not to join a gang, but not that you’ll grow up in one
Where are the flowers resting against railings for these young female victims.
She is the universe contained in a single pixel, a rainbow raising out of the oil spill.
Disappointment is viral
You will see poetry written amongst the broken glass and the graffiti.
Andrais de Staic
A fiddle in hand, hair blowing in the wind, he starts…
Hard to be a gypsy to an Argentinian father and West Coast mother in Ireland, living in Gallway. They said why can’t you be more like us?
There was only one thing I was good at – to play the violin and hit the road
Little Old Lady – She goes to church on Sunday and she tends her husband’s grave.
She lived through two world wars and fought with Emeline Pankhurst for the cause
Tights not stockings. She’s a bad girl – no she’s not.
I’ve got better things to do than lech and leer and fantasise
Poetry – just random words in a random order…what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck is he on about?
She’s not a friend of brevity….what the fuck is she on about?
There’s a bloke up on the stage
He likes to think he’s from the ghetto
Most of it is bollocks and none of it is true – what the fuck is he on about?
It’s just random words in a random order.
Some people call it poetry / But I just call it torture / As entertaining as a kid with a recorder.
There’s a woman on the stage / She’s yet to make a point / It would be kinder to sedate her.
Poets are like fairies, if you don’t clap, we die.
Sausages on grills abandoned / Couples pegging it in tandem – Essex Lion
Officer I swear to you I’ve only had a can or too
Ask Bob ask Linda we’re not Lion we fucking saw a fucking lion
These boots aren’t made for walking / An inch of style, a yard of pain…But that suits me just fine / I was made for talking / These boots were murder from the start
Who wants footwear like their dad?
All sensible and dry and drab
Someone better call a cab
These boots weren’t made for walking.
(On Nigel Farage)
In London they think Nigel Farage isn’t real. In shoreditch they think he’s a piece of live art.
Polish plumbers take all the jobs in Britain even jobs with nothing to do with plumbing.
Bring back inches, bring back wars
Polish plumbers, there’s the door
Morris dance for Nigel Farage
He seems to think that if he’s nattish, you won’t spot the inner fascist.
A love poem for my dream woman
She’s like super nanny – but older drunken and Northern
As sumptious and stylish as a gothic candelabra
Enough to turn the navy straight
Think boozy busty night club rep meets super nanny – I think I need the naughty step.
I’m begging you, I’m on my knees
Just give me all your stds.
August in New Orleans
And it’s hot as a breath
A foolish place to make a place.
Make your life a shovel and you can dig a tunnel that eases someone’s passage
We all watch our fathers fall to earth, they become less tall
Try and recall the last time you saw something for the very first time.
In the Apalache mountains / Our power to drag a new comet trail across the evening
He is a one man eclipse of the sun.
She deleted Metallica from my ipod and made me wath Desperate Housewives.
She made me shave more regularly and eat humous and then she left me.
I miss you – I won’t spoil it because the lyrics keep the punchline – but I loved it!
X marks the spot where two lines interconnect.
You have no need for the supernatural…and sometimes even my numbers are irrational.
We dance like particles…
Electrons flow between to polar points
I am the North and you the South
We can’t help but be attracted.
When we deviate, it’s anything but standard.
You are the constant variable in my life
I want to hear poetry.
I’m the colour of freshly dug up mother earth
The colour of real ale
I’m the coco powder, you’re grandma shakes over cakes.
Compose songs for every punk rock bone in your broken body
I remembered the punch line to the joke we forgot
Laptop Love: I want to open you up and turn you on
Mac – I do video editing on her but I write poetry on you.
Now it’s raining heamoglobbin again.
Techno techno techno techno techno techno techno techno techno techno
Who the fuck need a range rover in Birmingham, Manchester or London
What you call a necessity is like a red rag to a bull to me.
…It’s just vanity and it’s not fair.
It’s bitch being the cat that never gets the cream.
You can call him what you went when you’re in your own home
Cos as you Italians say – when in Rome… (His name is Giovanni but when little teachers said they’d just call him John)
Solo come un bambino
Solo come Stephen Hawkins
Without you I’m like Baywatch without the hoff – there’s only so much satisfaction one can gleam from watching women run down beaches.
You’re the chicken in my korma
Dying for a dump in the car back from Glastonbury
‘You fool cried’ my arse, I was saving myself for the services.
The turtle’s head was peeping out, there was no going back.
Have a good shit when you need one.
She looked for men in Pick n Mix
She fixed me down with liquorice laces.
Judge a philosophy by it’s best teachings, not its worse students
Mud washes off. Sleep revives.
Still he seems nice enough and talking’s not so bad
Finding a deeper meaning, all our heads in the skies
Howling for the cemetery. What? Three pound for twenty embassy
Guilty cos he’s middle class…As filthy as the top ten charts
And I leave through the same one when the birds tweet.
Meet me at midnight, hand me a rose
Spin me a soft web, spun full of woes…
Tugging at the tide with a puffin at his side.
I am half way across the car park in what seems like less than a second.
A hand on my back, a dark dig in my ribs
I forget to make fists with my fingers.
I am completely helpless, energy sapped. I shut my eyes and wait for something bad to happen.
This is an ethical mugging
I must split in two at souls grittiest depth.
Let’s fall asleep on each other like Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse now.
I’m tired of not knowing what it is Brian Adams and Mel C share in their hit…Even food don’t taste that good, drink ain’t doing what it should.
Not blocked, still hungry, just flowing more slowly
I’ll slip past the cctv so the man sat back in the glass can’t see me.
At this point my appetite is limitless I eat stale cake and I don’t care what the filling is.
Leave your gifts at the base of trees….knitted scarves, stuff they can use.
Too much green can turn your dreams into myths.
If nobody can trust you then nobody can help you
What points to evil leads to evil.
The greatest reward is the feeling that grows inside you when you do something right
Let’s turn off our phones and be alone
Let’s take of all our clothes and watch the sun set on the city.
Allow ourselves the pleasure of watching each others shapes
My body is a storm cloud ready to burst and flood the river up
When I write it feels like I give birth to the words.
I sat and meditated while the lesser rappers jerked off and wondered why they never made it.
Lets just listen to the rhythms of our flesh ageing.
When I was getting picked on, you were big enough for both of us…
And when I followed you to youth club and was shocked by what I saw
And you never let em tease me Laura, although I’m sure you were embarrassed.
How we played cricket with the wheely bins for wickets.
Laura I love you like I always have
And one day not far away, we’ll sit there watching your kids putting on a play.
Change ain’t dangerous, change is essential
He said change don’t come at the end of your pencil.
I pray to the burning and I don’t suffer no fools who believe that the learning’s done
Half priestess-half circus freak
The geek who can work the beat
March to a beat / Refuse to take a seat
Baby in belly given chance to be a man
He knew all he’d ever be was the product of the city that changed his destiny
I am a sucka for a cuppa and I can batter a fish and chips in 5 minutes
I was raised by the church and educated by Eastenders
I want to be a mirror so I can see what you see
I wan to be your bed your sheet your pillow and your cover
I want to be your student ID, part of your identity
Scaffolding hold together pieces broken and scarred
Stimulated by the sudden smell of bliss
The compulsive component of a character I missed
Replace essence with an empty shape
Can I scratch out your stare
Swallow sun let singe.
NOTE: All lines copyright to the poets headed
Have a great night,