Hello everyone and Happy Mother’s Day to all us mums (despite the clocks going forwards and loosing the lie in today!! – Conspiracy!)
Here’s my video poem for mothers everywhere – so if (due to the clocks changing) you have forgotten to give yourself time to nip out and get a bunch of flowers – send this link to mum instead.
Have a great day!
Taken from http://www.urban75.org
By concrete honey-combed Centre Point
Briskly paced towards Soho
Passing illuminated tooting taxis
Striding down the Charing Cross Road
To join a queue of alternatives
Outside the stuccoed dome crowned bay
Under the fretted signage board
Spelling the name of the band who’ll play
Tonight, at the Astoria
Earnest in Camden High Street fashion
Invested Kensington Market attire
Sticky carpet hugged our tread
Glued our shoes to a concert flyer
And another, and another
Patchouli on the dance floor
In the mosh pit, down the front
Cramming narrow stairs crowding corridors
Tonight, at the Astoria
Black buckled winkle pickers
DMs, Converse, cowboy boots
Only the walls knew what we were
Dressed in t shirts ripped and loose
Painted leather on our backs
Tassled skirts and Celtic gods
My bloke’s hat, flour dusted like Carl’s
A new militia danced in clogs
Tonight, at the Astoria
No more the legend, the dirty old friend
No more thoughts of getting out alive
The heavy handed security ejection
Of devising a way to get back inside
Romance could not save you
The Mayor would not waiver or
Heed the petition that meant you were loved
But you made us legends, you were our saviour
Those nights, at the Astoria
The Astoria. Image from http://www.urban75.org
By concrete honey-combed Centre Point
Briskly paced towards Soho
Passing illuminated tooting taxis
Striding down the Charing Cross Road
To join a queue of alternatives
Outside the stuccoed dome crowned bay
Under the fretted signage board
Spelling the name of the band who’ll play
Tonight, at the Astoria
Earnest in Camden High Street fashion
Invested Kensington Market attire
Sticky carpet hugged our tread
Glued our shoes to a concert flyer
And another, and another
Patchouli on the dance floor
In the mosh pit, down the front
Cramming narrow stairs and crowded corridors
Tonight, at the Astoria
Black buckled winkle pickers
DMs, Converse, cowboy boots
Only those walls knew what we were
Dressed in t shirts ripped and loose
Painted leather on our backs
Tassled skirts and Celtic gods
My bloke’s hat, flour dusted like Carl’s
A new militia danced in clogs
Tonight, at the Astoria
No more the legend, the dirty old friend
No more thoughts of getting out alive
The heavy handed security ejection
Of devising a way to get back inside
Romance could not save you
The Mayor would not waiver or
Heed the petition that meant you were loved
But you made us legends, you were our saviour
Those nights, at the Astoria
Artwork from ‘Igniting the Volcano’ – Nancy Walker
I love that they scuff about in sarongs
That their hair is chestnuts and curls
Beads or gold string their necks
And they smell, strong
Of coffee and heat
Their women
Of lemons
Softly baked
Melanzane skin
I love their juggernaut tongue
Unbroken over cards and bambinos
Smoking
All cinnamon eyed
And glitter
They strut taught
Or well met
Farfalle paid gut
I love that, only in Italy
Over Naples’ sprawl
The giant Vesuvio feels the tread
Of a woman in high heels
A crimson, sequined dress
We were nearly there
You in the driving seat
Him with the map
denim shorts
patchwork patches
grandad cardies
Swan Vesta matches
Me in the back
with Giggly Sis
hippy frocks and
bright red socks
headscarves, dreads
and celtic art
all off to a festival
heard about on the vine
from a bloke down the pub
with a roll up
a nose ring
a quintessential
dog on string
We drove between hillsides
sussing the signs
followed the road cutting
Welsh weathered divides
Campervan motor
ticking along
like grit in the oil
was singing a song
“Next left!” He spied
tracing the route with a finger
no-one around
not a throng
not a crowd
were we sure this was right?
would we party tonight?
The engine whirred
in the steep of the climb
remembering its birth year
was ‘79
Giggly Sis
took a swig from her can
and pointed ahead
to a crusty with van
who followed an ambulance
with curtains
and buses
with chimneys atop
These weren’t our kind
but authentically
Traveller
we had to admit
we were authentically
Amateur
This crowd were like family
closed up and so tight
they wouldn’t want us
around for the night
and as for the music
the tents and sound systems
there was nothing but one bloke
on bongos with rhythm
You wound down your window
I held my breath
“Alrigh’ mate
anything going on
around here tonight?”
Mate, in his khaki
his earthy clad boots
rainbow woolley
a trench coat
hair matted like roots
shrugged
didn’t smile
couldn’t beguile us
a gentrified nod…
Well!
Not wishing to appear
rude or unclear
we kept bumping along
the occupied track
You held the wheel
He held the map
relieved to discover
a route to get back
“Keep going ahead
then bear to the left!”
Jagged with rock
craters like pockmarks
far more minor
than a casual mistake
the “road” crossed the ridge
and melted away
“Oh for f**ks sake!”…
You put on the brake
and got out the Camper
twirling dreads with your hands
He took the map
and examined the land
Roman road
and maybe
probably
300AD
I cannot believe
just what happened next
it was me in the driving seat
laughed at by Sis
sheep on both sides
sure footed and ruffled
the only way down
looked nothing but trouble
“Left a bit!”
“No Right!”
“Take it easy”
“Too tight”
“Hard! No! Gently”
“Easy”
“Oh God!”
Tyres puffed
under suspension’s lament
every scrape every crunch
echoed a dismal descent
palms spread
You braced the side
tin cans and pans
rattled inside
He with the map
flapping his hands
“Steady! Keep steady!
I’ve got a plan!”
Locked on
white knuckled
I tried to sit happy
above
what felt like
a crumbling chassis
“I’m going over! Gonna roll!”
But as I swore
I couldn’t hold
another inch
another quiver
the valley below
grew clearer and nearer
He with the map
climbed back inside
“Now drive! All the way
Down the hillside!”
Giggly Sis
and You got in
rocks became
mole hills
deep craters thinned
we flew all the way
racing inkspotted earth
realising just what
our lives were worth
retracing the route of
a Roman road
back through the woods
tearing through brambles
damp bark and moss
back to our roots
forgetting our loss
as a pathway wound
weaved and tangled
and we drove forth
spangled and mangled
Campervan motor
ticking along
like grit in the oil
was singing a song
Just have a gander at these blogs by the people who shared links to their sites in my last NaPoWriMo post.
They are all very different from one another and I have really enjoyed exploring their material so please check them out.
Ladies and Gentlemen I give you:
Kruti Joshi’s Life and My Musings
If you would also like to share links to your poetry, please feel free to leave a link in the comments boxes below
I am off to finish a new poem that the kids have prevented me from doing for the last week – wish me luck, a clear head and peace for the next 2 hours….. ahhhhh…
Anna x
Yesterday’s post was about the rather awful and glammed up photo of me that I was prepared to share as a guest on Carol Forrester’s blog Writing and Works for NaPoWriMo. Far too glam for me , but hey, a little bit of powder, a little bit of paint…..
I really enjoy reading the blogs of other poets to checkout their styles and subject matter and thought it might be good fun to invite you all to share links to your blogs or the poems you have written for National Poetry Writing Month this April by popping them into the comments box below.
I will Tweet and Facebook the link to this page once comments and links have been entered. You can always check back to this post to see who has offered to share!
Have a great day and I look forward to meeting some new blogs soon.
Anna x
If you fancy seeing a picture of me looking something like one of The Real Housewives of Beverley Hills then head over to the fabulous blog Writing and Works run by Carol Forrester.
I don’t ever look like this in normal everyday life but when Carol was looking for guests to write a post in celebration of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month), she asked for a photo of me to go with the post I’d written.
Now, I never take selfies, I just can’t get that photogenic angle and I rarely get a photo of me without the kids managing to ambush the shot with a “photo bomb” so I recently agreed to a studio session on a girls day out. The look I wanted to achieve? Rock and roll of course! Messy! Grungy! My eyes lined with black flicks! But the artist decided glam was the way forward and I came out looking like Alexis Carrington. Grrr!
Anyway – please checkout Writing and Works and my post too which discusses inspiration and “what is the point of poetry?”
Enjoy the sunshine!
Anna xx
Just leading you to visit the April issue of Brit Mums Poetry Round Up to take a look at all the wonderful poetry that mums somehow, have the time, to squeeze into their days. I was surprised to see one of mine in there again – my poem for Mother’s Day – We Are The Mums, has made an appearance in the Round Up too! Cool!
So, grab a cuppa and take a gander into the hearts of mothers and talented ladies. There’s more to them than apron strings.
It’s been lovely to discover more blogs dedicated to music and/or poetry recently. When ever a blogger likes a post I have written I do try to checkout their blog too. We all do that, right?
What I would really like to do to celebrate World Poetry Day is to keep the introductions going a bit more and would like to invite you all to share this post and include a link to your own blog in the comments box below. Keep sharing and we will all discover a whole new gathering of writers! Exciting!
I will Tweet and Facebook the link to this page once comments and links have been entered.
Have a great day and I look forward to meeting some new blogs soon.
Long live the Fans!
Anna x
Anna Ghislena 