The Poetry Marathon

In some Native languages, the word plant translates as ‘those who take care of us’*

In Welsh, the word plant itself means children

Wrapped up in these words is the eternal cycle of Earth

Of birth and death and rebirth

Ancient secrets and forgotten truths hidden in ancient words

And when these words are seldom spoken

It leaves a whole sleeping legacy of wisdom

Waiting to be awoken.

This is the true power of the spell –

Words already magic because of the truths that they tell.

• Quote from Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Dance

Dance

Dance

Gasp

Five, six, seven, eight,

Mirror, mirror on the wall,

From the tippy top – do it all,

Turn

Twist

Heads

Flick

Boom-boom-cha

Take a water break

Let’s recap

Has everyone got that?

Two groups

We’re filming for the video

200% this time

Take it home

Make it your own

Practice

Practice

Practice

Walk to work with a jerky gait

Along the corridor in four counts of eight

Home again – that count was late

Sweat

Tears

Fire

Soul

Dance

Dance

Dance

Passion

Goal

Dance

Dance

Dance

Gasp

Now that the red mist has softened to a dew-scented kiss

Formed from the droplets of the same passion-condensed liquid,

Was there any other point to the carefully crafted conflict?

Fair and square the winner took the right to evict

Play, laughter and tenderness – leaving love derelict.

Tickets are printed on black paper, embossed with the red moniker

Of this park or terror and wonder, laughter and magic

Entry is through a hall of mirrors – reflecting both the hilarious and tragic

You leave without knowing if any of the images belonged in reality

Exit Dysmorphia and on to the next attraction –

To Bee or Not To Bee

An obstacle course distraction

Where you must avoid touching any bee icon any cost

Or a trapdoor will open sending you straight into hell –

Your sad demise signaled by a bell

Both your dignity and the game being lost –

Not for the faint-hearted the next is a ghost plane

Where you sit facing backwards to face passengers in pain,

Laid out on stretchers and hooked up to drips,

As you hurtle round backwards through the most horrific of trips

Themed after a journey the owner took at six

Having survived the ride you will enter the magical festival site

A myriad of festival simulations all in one price –

Be repulsed by fetid aromas piped through your nose

Or experience the thrill of being thrown over crowds

To get closer to bands nobody knows,

Enter the Find My Tent maze at your own risk –

It’s full of diversions and unimaginable tricks,

You could easily spend the whole day just on this game

And when you emerge nothing will ever be the same.

Why would you celebrate not having to do things?

This sounds like a jamboree anthem for a benefits nation,

A Nanny state of higher consciousness,

A cult of antipathy.

Why would you celebrate losing the capacity to do things?

Is this a lullaby into passivity?

If I had a moonshadow following me,

I’d hope for more magic than an excuse to be lazy.

I lunge for the window

Suffocating under the panic of the cottage that flooded and the school that burned

Exhausted by lessons only half learned

Studying again.by the dim light of a firefly.

Insufficient to bring relief to the eye

Even now as you grow weary

And lethargy sets in

You understand a little more clearly

That though their light may be dim

It has an agenda – to attract mates or prey

Something you should try to remember –

And you knew not which because neither did they.

The courage for a decision appeared to be Dutch

Hidden in the bottle now in their clutch

A strange heat rises under the gaze of their eye

And you learn once again to fear the firefly.

Fierce fists lash out at what cannot be seen – a silent mugger, new and keen,

Being fed lies and rules imprecisely

Too overwhelmed to argue concisely,

They just want everything to be alright,

Y’know, after this fight –

Justified anger has once again missed their target

Vision obscured by a too-vague remark,

They’re in the wrong corner and left in the dark bit…

There’s nobody to trust to just be explicit

Until their mate’s dad’s uncle’s neighbour

Clarifies all

By telling them exactly how it is

Over the garden wall –

You won’t be seeing him in a mask  –

How would this lot get through a war?

He’s tellin’ ya – most of this lot couldn’t get through a door

And all he needs to know is when – at last –

Can he go on the piss?

And he was right, y’know –

You won’t see him in a mask –

Nobody will see him in anything at all,

Not on that ward –

You won’t see him in a mask –

Not even taking his very last gasp

True to his word.

A contagion of stupidity

Infected Ogmore-by-Sea

An intellect-free tragedy

Played out in Cymru –

Elsewhere a total of five revellers were stabbed with knives

Ending their wait for a second spike

As impatience reaches new highs

And people find new ways to risk their lives.

Meanwhile, on the Isle of Sheppey

A gathering of far too many

Partied their way into a considerable mess,

Forgetting their cares and the NHS.

Now for the News where you are.

Salty and spent dream generators editing the clips from today into an old cine Super 8,

Tangled hair whipped around smiling faces,

One hand to link the chain and the other to cling to railings like drunks,

Fighting the intoxication of a windy sea day taken straight out of Blackpool

circa 1984

Daft and dizzy

In October just before the razzle dazzle illuminations

Queuing at the Winter Gardens – embossed tickets in hand – not available at the door

Light pockets – birthday money spent – a little here and there wherever we went

And the pinch of posh new patent leather that’ll need wearing in…

That kind of carefree playful gust that brings the mood with it

And paints a facsimile smile with the memory it whips across your lips-

Tickling against coke floats and screeching on the swing boats –

Rough sand exfoliates the dulled senses

Sloughs off the worries

And you’re brand new

And silky smooth

Against the sheets –

Sliding into technicolour dreams and imaginative treats.

You did a good job to create such depth in your landscapes –

I see you have layered some prickly tree, on top of solid hill

And delicately dumped a tissue-paper sunset over the top –

How many shades of yellow did you use?

You did a good job to create such depth in your people –

I see you have layered some prickly disappointment over some solid naivety

And delicately dumped some powerful rhetoric over the top –

How many shades of green did you use?

Collage creator

Universe imitator

Life simulator.