The oven was hung with icicles,
the toaster was singing a song,
while a plant and a pie were playing I-Spy.
The kitchen was totally mad.
Such was the vision of one young man,
a runner-up in the 5-8 category.
Not a verse from his poem,
just four odd lines pulled at random
from "Kitchen" - a totally hilarious offering.
He sits to thunderous applause.
Thoroughly well deserved.
My turn to read.
I down the rest of the Chablis.
(The rest of my glass, that is),
pick up the type-script,
grab the right elbow which is off doing a jig.
Everyone thinks it's nerves, of course.
Which it isn't.
It's a tremor I have.
Alright then. It's a tremor exaggerated by nerves!
I read three lines (and a bit).
A door bags open.
The Old Woman of the Sea enters.
Shuffles to the rear.
The papers in my hand flap like flags in a high wind.
Why am I even reading this?
I know the damn thing, word perfect.
Am I afraid my mind will go blank?
That must be it.
But why so many nerves?
I'm well used to speaking in public.
Too much Chablis?
I can't see the damn lines to read them, anyway.
I bet they can't even hear me at the back...
not above the flapping of these papers.
I chuck the script.
All the entries are on display around the room.
I read them earlier.
Didn't do a lot to boost my confidence,
seeing what I'm up against.
Do professional poets
have to earn their living this way?
There's always someone
worse off than yourself!
Somehow I croak my way to the end.
Reach for another glass of Chablis.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...