Monthly Archives: August 2016
Changing Places and Faces
The face of a man,
at the end of the journey,
familiar, though not entirely
similar, to that of the man
who began
down the winding path,
the hearth left behind,
we welcome
another open mind.
Unicorn (for Charley Barnes)
A single horn
adorns the head
of she who treads
the dawn
of the faerie realm,
she takes the helm
of imagination
now reborn,
Painting Faces (for Jane Blundel)
The boys, they ask for tigers,
Super-heroes, dinosaurs,
Pokémon we’ve never heard of,
and monsters, of course!
The girls, they all like ‘Frozen’,
fairies and butterflies,
princesses, all of them,
the stuff of lullabies.
On Saturday 27th August 2016, poets from Worcester and members of the Worcestershire Literary Festival committee wrote and performed poetry on demand for the public in the CrownGate shopping centre. We were most fortunate to have a ‘captive audience’ as Jane Blundel was face painting next to us, so we pounced on shoppers as they waited with their children.
Jane is lovely, and an impressive artist, the children she painted looked magnificent. You can find Jane’s company, Funky Faces here: facebook.com/FunkyFacesFacePainting. The Worcestershire Litfest and Fringe would like to thank Jane and, of course, all the poets.
A truly wonderful day!
Encumbered by Idiots Or ‘Cheaper Alternative’
Ah, present participle,
my indecent docent,
fallen from the pedestal,
a recent, pregnant regent,
the retraction of action,
malediction of abstraction,
a fault in my faculty,
a compulsory complacency.
Empty Page
Extricate the extrovert,
liberate the liar,
hyperventilating hypocrite,
inspired first-time-buyer,
the science of mythology,
contradicts the smitten,
the chance to dance
with all, as yet unwritten.
Lacuna is now available to buy!
This fabulous first collection from poet Kieran Davis is now available to buy direct from Black Pear Press. UK postage: Non-UK postage: Kieran lives in Worcester with his wife and children, he is a…
Source: Kieran Davis
Event Horizon
Eyes, like aspergillums,
an intermittent trickle
and sprinkle of salt waters,
that sing hymns and belt out
anthems, simultaneously.
Famously, the fickle fates
of fathers, are the sires
to daughters of destiny,
kings that felt doubt.
Posthumously,
the poet’s page reaches out,
a crime, defying time,
most humorously.
Happen
I endeavour not to let
‘things’ happen to me,
but to brave my world,
and ‘happen’ to it.
Silly Poem #304
We all like variety in the bedroom,
some like stuff you wouldn’t believe,
my wife said sex is better on holiday,
not a nice postcard to receive…
