Words and Whippets 4

I did it. I Did It. I DID IT!

I read my poems on stage in front of an audience and it was amazing!

Totally different to standing in a pub, on an open mic night and trying words out on others ears, some of whom would be trying to work what they would be saying rather than listening. I know, because I have found myself feeling guilty and having to point my attention back to the speaker.

But last night I read out in front of an audience, some of whom and come to hear me!

Yes, I am still over excited, but already wondering whether I read the right things, said the right things, should have been there at all.

I can hear faint shouts in the ether at that, but I was terrified. I haven't been able to concentrate on any thing for a good week or two, including the poems I would be reading. I just had to take on faith that I could do it, that Henry knew what he was doing when he asked me, even if faith in myself was patchy at best. (non existent for a large part of it but I should stop complaining and just get on with things .I am learning so much, and my goal is to get as good as others seem to think I am!)

Now my delighted, stomach churning, still bemused that it happened rant is over, the night was totally amazing.

Henry Raby was brilliant as usual, full of energy and picture poetry, energising the audience with laughter and serious points.
Dave Jarman, well Dave is always delightful, One of my friends knows him as the visual of two spider hands dancing on ether side of a chin because she couldn't remember his name. His stuff is clever, twisting some irrelevant scene into an important issue. With the occasional bit of uke thrown in for good measure.
I had never met Rachel Bower and her stuff was marvellous. Everyday, thought provoking, and a little mysterious and magical. I loved it.
Andy Craven-Griffiths was beyond thoughtful. Wonderful imagery with meaning, well articulated, saying things we all think about, or should, like everyday kindness.

Come to think about it, everyone was delightfully articulate and I would listen to them over and over again!
It was beyond marvellous and I thank all for their words, Henry for pushing me three years ago when I first stood up with some words with my heart in my mouth and the audience for giving me a portion of their time to listen to my words.

Thank you.

May Words and Whippets long continue.
With the talent oozing out of this small city's walls never mind the rest of Yorkshire, there will never be a lack of people to grace the stage!
Thank you

And thank you Taff, Sharon, Gegs, Marc, Dawn, Leanne and Andy, and Kate for giving a few of your precious hours to listen! (OK Taff, you couldn't come but you were there in spirit!)

Broken promises I never made.

One month down.
I am Knackered, and yes, I think it does deserve a capital K!
Last night, despite my efforts, Lady Sleep sank her claws into my soul and dragged me under. (I was in bed by 8pm. Could not keep my eyes open.)
Who cares?
Well I had intended to go to an amazing open mic poetry night at the Black Swan  http://www.blackswanyork.com/  but I didn't.  But that is not my first broken promise.
Work got me!
Drained and disconbobbulated.
Despondent and depleted.

And not just me, everyone for at least two weeks wondered what on earth was happening. All staff became a cost, not a person. Just a number on a sheet, in a column somewhere, that some bean counter was invited to manipulate in order to save money for shareholders dividends. Someone who had no idea how many humans it took to make and serve a cup of coffee, or prepare a sandwich, or order produce and take care of it. For him (or her I add because there is no difference in stupidity or lack on common sense in the sexes) it was just a matter of money = time . Less time = less cost to the business.
Well I say to that person who manipulated a computer model for a fairies promise of profit, less cost = closed, and reduced opening hours = less money = more costs = no staff!
Thank you for stressing us all out!

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest!
(Yes there is a poem in there somewhere but I am back to waiting when I get home, just waiting unable to get going with anything fun, or creative that isn't work!)
And that is what I hate.
I am not only full of nothing from work, I am full of worry for my friends whom I work with, and I feel their stress too. This is just the way I am built. I don't always pick up on it, but when I do, it plays on my mind and I just want to cry and eat chocolate (or drink beer!)

OK no more. It's over. It's done. A more practical soul has decided that although staff are a cost, they are a necessary one and needed to keep making the money they so desire.

Stop it Joanne. Now!

Positive?
Yes, there are positives.
I have been writing, posting more photos on facebook with half poems or prose. And I am trying to keep up with just one story. Thinking, long-hand, typing and some editing all on one tale. It isn't the one I decided on, but I shall keep going, and remembering. There is a lot going on in my head which is not down on paper yet. But it will be!

February is a busy month, And not just because it is the shortest.
Open mics, poetry slams, creative witting, and Chinese new year, along this pancake day! (Why don't I eat pancakes more than once a year?)
That is a lot to look forward to!

And getting this grumble written down is good. I might not be blogging the most creative things at the moment, but its a record, and who knows what weird characterisation my brain will invent when I reread it in a different frame of mind!

Thank you for putting up with my shit!
xxx

Sleep, Say Owt Slam 6 and Monkey Poet

It has been a while.
Too long actually. I should post more.
But I have done more, just not on my blog.
So it is high time to update it, yes?
Well, I am doing it anyway. Bugger what others think.
What I want to say is important to me!

OK, guilty rant over, last night I performed in my very first poetry slam.
I am still reeling from the after affects of  https://www.facebook.com/sayowtslam Say Owt Slam #6.
The poets were amazing, my fellow slammers had lots of talent, with the words they wrote and then performed to almost riotous applause.
A heartfelt well done to the winner, Lily Luty and to Stephen Quinlan  https://twitter.com/wretchedascrisp who was a worthy runner up. And to the lad I was sat next to but I have failed to remember his name, He decided to show his skills for the first time at a slam! I have great admiration for you mate. Other great poets who's names I do remember were Rose Drew, and Bob Horton, ace performances every one!
I have to give a great big thank you to Monkey Poet,  https://www.facebook.com/monkeypoetuk who talked to me over my own performance before I quite recognised who he was, and gave me hope that my attempt was not quite as bad, or my subject matter a bit too ordinary for a slam.
Ok, the fact most of my score were quite solid 8s should have been a clue but it could have been an alcoholic fuelled fluke? No, well I have never been good with honest praise from other people. Call it an adorable character flaw!
I also have to thank Monkey Poet for this!

I have already read half of it, and am quite glad no one else is about to listen to my attempt to read aloud, or listen to my laughter. So much to say, and said well. A proper collection. And well worth a read if you cannot get to see this guy in the flesh.

Thanks also go to Stu Freestone https://twitter.com/stufreestone and Henry Raby  https://twitter.com/HenryRabyPoetry for organising a wonderful night, and of course starting Say Owt Slam in York to give poets a chance to do and experience something different with the spoken word.
How long will this feeling of elation stay? I have already gone back to mundaneity, doing the washing, and drinking tea, but every time I think about last night, a grin appears on my face and my chest feels tight. And I can't stop rhyming. This isn't meant to be a rhyme. Just a marvellous thank you for such an amazing time!
No, It wasn't a poem, it was meant to be a sentence, although I imagine there are some out there who could point out why it wouldn't be a sentence either.
This is my blog and I'll write it how I like, thank you!

Well all I have to do now is tell you my poem. It is titled Sleep and was written over a fortnight of bad nights when I couldn't. Did the poem stop me sleeping? or did my sleeplessness inspire the poem? Might as well ask what is consciousness? The answer would be the same.

Sleep

I am cursed.

As many are, with that hated four letter word.

Work!

And sleep,

Although an enjoyment, an indulgence, nay a requirement

As I lay me down.

Pillow seal-soft beneath my work-weary brow,

Body heavy with lethargic desire

Mouth a-yawning.

Eyelids pulled and tugged by insistent gravity

So, so heavy

Until the light goes off.

I sigh,

As the suddenly endless night stretches to the dawn.

My mind awake once more.

Tick.

Tick,

Tick as time ambles forward.

But I will not look.

I will not!

I will not look at my phone

Will not look to check the time again!

Oh shit, its 1am.

Tick.

Tick,

Tick goes my insidious brain

Entwined with who knows what again.

Sleep,

Oh sleep, please come.

See, all my caffeinated blood is gone.

Hear, the silence is all but complete.

Feel, the bed is warm and comfortably neat.

It presses against my legs and chest,

Teasing me with its gentle touch.

Throat vibrates with deepening snore

And yawn.

Yawns as great as a walrus in majestic lethargy,

Mouth so wide,

Like a whale that gulps and strains the sea for sustenance.

So I do seek for sleep.

But it does not come for me.

What!

What was that noise?

Heartbeat racing, thumping against tightened ribs

Feet gone cold in breathless fear.

No!

It is nothing.

I know its nothing.

Body heavy, clumsy, slow

But that ominous creak.

That door slam in someone else's home.

I am listening now.

And sleep is gone.

A tangled web,

Bejewelled with frost laden mists of night

Glistening in the bloated orange dawn.

So obviously avoided by the fly

Is sleep, that will not come.

A poor courtier I

with no relaxing lullaby

With which to entice it into my over active mind

When the hours of darkness arrive.

Yet finally.

When alarm screeches incessantly into my ear

And I crawl from vile bed,

Snoozing seconds held to my breast so dear

As I fight for those last moments of rest.

Duvet tangled around sweaty feet.

Eyes, hot aching piss-holes in my head.

I am obliged to drag night heavy limbs through knee-high,

mud-thick mist,

To work.

Too early for the birds.

4 am.

5, or 6.

Far to early to cope with shit.

Far to tired to think of owt but sleep.

But without this nightly battle, my poem would not be complete!

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I hope you are enjoying my poetry journey as much as I am.

Thank you for reading.

Joanne xx

Say Owt Slam 2

What an amazing night.

So may wonderful and talented poets to listen to on one short evening, almost too much to take in. But I tried and enjoyed every minute of it.
What a slam. And I so want to be in it, but to try and rank myself with those that competed that night, my beer poems will need a great deal of work, and I need some more open mic nights to quell my nerves, and to practise, practise, practise.
Well I might manage to talk myself into doing it some day, meanwhile I have Say Owt Slam 4 to look forward to on 22nd March back at City Screen.

I must give my congratulations to everyone who participated, to Jack Dean who won, and to Sophia Walker who was just so magnificent and touched on a myriad of important subjects with insight, imagination and boundless tact.

Thank you for such an informative night.

Back to more mundane matters, after my last post which was just a moaning rant, I have managed to do totally nothing that I wanted too. having the first cold in years for the past two weeks is no excuse, but it was interesting to explore How I felt exactly with a vague idea to use the experience in what I am sort of writing.
I did have the very unpleasant sensation of trying to cough up my uvula, (you know, that dangliy thing at the back of your throat). It just vibrated with every breath and played a cacophony with my gag reflex.
I am still coughing now, but only when I talk, or laugh and its getting better. No gold watches to cough up any more.

Well I have had a go at words in poem form, but only once, and that was in the dark, with a tasty pint of York Brewery Snowflake in my hand, while listening to some ace spoken word artists, and not up to any decent level at all. I will have to start editing some day but meanwhile...

Say Owt Slam.

Only here to nick ideas.

To be inspired,

Not enspired which would be painful.

But after my day,

At least this work would be gainful.

Both elated, and deflated

At the talent on show.

Where would I fit in?

I doesna know.

Tickled by words

Beyond my ken.

But I never had a Barbie.

I had Sindy instead.

Beyond the remit of this rhyme.

My mind both sings, and lingers

Wondering what delights I'll hear next time.

It thrumbs to internal  bringers

Of joy. The thought provoking word

That makes me laugh, and cry

And is fleeting as a snow shower

In the middle of July.

And as solid as a rock

In a blink of a poets eye,

Thank you for reading. Xxx