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So the two miles I rode this morning to the ferry make my total 1111. #strangelyabroad #strangelyonthemove #milestone

My Name Is Written in Blue Ink

Pissed of with the Torys This might be the poem you need.

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Violet-Finn Blackstaffe performs Sarah Kay’s “Worst Poetry” at The Pub Corner Poets Adelphi Session.

The pub corner poets is a collaboration between pubs, poets and film makers giving original work and new artists a chance to be heard. This project born in “the city of poetry” Hull, works with students to create original works and celebrate spoken word in all its forms. With a strong local ethos key to its model, the PCP aims to collaborate with local establishments offering a mutually beneficial relationship, exploring the rich cultural history of its home Hull and sharing that message with its wider audience.

A student for student project the key here is their “have a go attitude” ranging from first timers to published poets the PCP has one simple goal “The Joy Of Spoken Word”

Worst Poetry

Without question, you are the worst thing that ever happened to my poetry.

And I’m serious, I’ve heard about writer’s block but this- is ridiculous. My poetic fluidity has dried up faster than a woman hitting menopause to the point where this dry spells got me praying for some inspirational discharge to leak from the folds of grey matter in my brain and…shit! See what I mean?

I’ve been thinking for far too long with my heart instead of my head, and I think people may be starting to notice and I’ve got a reputation to uphold man! And no it’s not my time of the month, so don’t ask. It’s my time of the day, or what used to be, when I could sit down and write a really gritty, angry poem, one that just seething with angst- but now I can’t! Because I’m just too damn.. happy! Or should I say sappy?

Because I used to watch Face the Nation for international news, then the Daily Show for international hope, turn out great political satire ripe with biting wit and sarcasm… but I can’t do it any more!

You know why? Because I don’t watch those shows any more, because you’ve got me watching the stars- and I don’t mean Brad and Angelina, no- I mean those stars. You’ve got me watching them, thinking about whether you’re watching the same ones as me and- maybe that would make a good poem? And, and, and… this is crap!

Like a slap across the face of my muse who’s had to withstand so much abuse she’s threatened to leave my side, leave my mind! I try to tell her: please, it’s just not a good time, but she leaves me with my please and really bad rhymes and- I can’t do this!

I refuse to let my words sink to such levels of atrocity, refuse to submit to “Roses are red, violets are blue, my poetry sucks and it’s all thanks to you!” But you turn my brain to mush and it’s so hard not to let my thoughts run off in moments of ridiculous romanticism and irrelevant metaphors like- dipping my tongue and hands into the paint can of my mind, I splatter gooey gobs of thought onto the wall, then watching as the rest of the world tries to make sense of my lovesick babble, they come with black sharpies and try to connect the dots, forming man-made constellations from my nonsensical thoughts…

And this has to stop! Because writing in abstract metaphors so that you think I have a more poetic view on the world than you is against my poetic ethics. Which, rhymes with ethnic, which, incidentally is one more poem topic you have rendered useless. Because I’m a hoppa, means I’m of mixed blood, which means I never fit inside the check-mark box, always fall between the cracks, and always writing about finding my culture, where I belong.

But those poems have fallen to the wayside as I find I belong up against your chest, your arms around my back, my head under you chin, eyes closed.

I sit down to write a poem, and the only thing in my head is you- and I don’t understand why you’re the worst thing that every happened to my poetry, if you’re the best that ever happened to me.

pub-corner-poets

A motivational speech

I am the words you won’t hear, you know you don’t need me cause you won’t know you need me til you felt the fear

the fear like what sometimes we forget to have. See we, are the steadfast- straight as laces wrapped round little fingers of rats running races- boys and girls who spend the best days of our lives working to make sure we can -spend- during the rest of the days of our lives, careful to forget that by virtue of being here -we-deserve better.

But We do not work to achieve we work to delay, exist for tomorrow cause tomorrow we can play at running forward and far, climbing high telling ourselves that our wings aren’t made of wax so when the sun rises we can all fly away, but we sat by and watched the cage door close cuz we were too busy pluming feathers. Pushing pencils while the sun rose penning papers to say I don’t like Mondays cuz we don’t like any days even though we made the days the way that they are and when the sun sets there’s always one more pencil left to push

Then We teach our kids the way we were taught, eat, piss, shit fuck sleep and repeat cause we inferred from fickle forefather figures that that, is all we were built for, that is the subtraction of our parts told that we were born to give birth and given equal starts so we grind a fist into the dirt until our bones don’t work. And it isn’t worth it.

Fly the coop, take your pencils and push them down the throat of anyone who says stop.

We deserve better. Now prove it.

The pub corner poets is a collaboration between pubs, poets and film makers giving original work and new artists a chance to be heard. This project born in “the city of poetry” Hull, works with students to create original works and celebrate spoken word in all its forms. With a strong local ethos key to its model, the PCP aims to collaborate with local establishments offering a mutually beneficial relationship, exploring the rich cultural history of its home Hull and sharing that message with its wider audience.

A student for student project the key here is their “have a go attitude” ranging from first timers to published poets the PCP has one simple goal “The Joy Of Spoken Word

pub-corner-poets

My Queens Garden - Oli Strong

pub-corner-poets

What happens when a spoken word poet invites Jesus to a party.

Adam Hutton - Jesus Christ is at your party.

pub-corner-poets

A motivational speech

I am the words you won’t hear, you know you don’t need me cause you won’t know you need me til you felt the fear

the fear like what sometimes we forget to have. See we, are the steadfast- straight as laces wrapped round little fingers of rats running races- boys and girls who spend the best days of our lives working to make sure we can -spend- during the rest of the days of our lives, careful to forget that by virtue of being here -we-deserve better.

But We do not work to achieve we work to delay, exist for tomorrow cause tomorrow we can play at running forward and far, climbing high telling ourselves that our wings aren’t made of wax so when the sun rises we can all fly away, but we sat by and watched the cage door close cuz we were too busy pluming feathers. Pushing pencils while the sun rose penning papers to say I don’t like Mondays cuz we don’t like any days even though we made the days the way that they are and when the sun sets there’s always one more pencil left to push

Then We teach our kids the way we were taught, eat, piss, shit fuck sleep and repeat cause we inferred from fickle forefather figures that that, is all we were built for, that is the subtraction of our parts told that we were born to give birth and given equal starts so we grind a fist into the dirt until our bones don’t work. And it isn’t worth it.

Fly the coop, take your pencils and push them down the throat of anyone who says stop.

We deserve better. Now prove it.

The pub corner poets is a collaboration between pubs, poets and film makers giving original work and new artists a chance to be heard. This project born in “the city of poetry” Hull, works with students to create original works and celebrate spoken word in all its forms. With a strong local ethos key to its model, the PCP aims to collaborate with local establishments offering a mutually beneficial relationship, exploring the rich cultural history of its home Hull and sharing that message with its wider audience.

A student for student project the key here is their “have a go attitude” ranging from first timers to published poets the PCP has one simple goal “The Joy Of Spoken Word”

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zellah7

OMFG

delicatephantoms

pub-corner-poets

My Queens Garden - Oli Strong

#poetry #poem #spoken word

clementinevonradics

I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body. You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name. I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you. You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own. But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless. and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.

(via volatilebodies)

pub-corner-poets

Some late night angry.

Your last poem - Tyler Mortimer

pub-corner-poets

To fall for love.

We stood on the ledge. And I jumped first, looked into your eyes and fell. The sun halos your hair like gold as the knife edge of the building lift you higher.

You look like an angel.

We stood on the ledge. And you knew, the look in my eyes said that you should jump to. And baby you said those words as if they were as important as your last. So that as you fell, I could hear you.

You sound like an angel.

We stood on the ledge,but we fell into each other, no problem for us, but Then the wind grew so load and I could feel the bottom coming. But your smiling that smile, and they say your life flashes in front of your eyes before you hit…. And if it does… I want to remember that.

But you stop. You stop falling. Your not coming. Tied to the top still, emergency rope. Don’t come. Climb back up. I’ll watch from here.

You look like an angel.

I hit the ground, So that’s how it feels to fall, in, love.

#poetry #poem #poems #spoken word #spoken poetry #beat poem #beat poetry