Tag Archives: Online Writing

Find Me On The Bolton Arts Trail

25 Jun

Write Out Loud

I am a member of Write Out Loud, an organisation bringing poetry to the masses.  Sometimes the masses don’t want poetry, but we bring it to ’em anyway.

In practical terms, what this means is I check the website every day and enter all free competitions.  I was a regular at the Stockport monthly WOL meeting until last year, but life got in the way; as well as my fear of reading my writing out loud.  Then Julian Jordan, the WOL founder and a very nice man, guilted me into attending the June meeting, and I enjoyed myself so much I am confident I will once more be a regular.

Write Out Loud have meetings all over the country.  The aim is simply to encourage poetry performance, and everybody is welcome.  I keep a link in my blogroll, so check it out.

WOL works in creative partnership with Bolton University, which is where the title of this post comes in; I’ll let Julian explain:

One day, perhaps all towns will be like Bolton, which had an original poem on display in each of 36 town-centre shops, cafés, hairdressers and the theatre, so as to bring poetry to a wider audience. It was all part of a town-wide arts festival running from 15-21 June […] The poems were selected from 175 total entries submitted by members of the Write Out Loud website online poetry community which was created in Bolton in 2006. Though most are locally-produced, displayed work comes from as far afield as Chicago…

Other arts stuff was going on, of course; but I am a self-absorbed poet (aren’t we all?) so I was only interested in the fact that three of my poems were selected.  I dragooned the Hub and Spud on Thursday afternoon so we could check them out.  I know many of you can’t make it to Bolton, or travel back in time, so here is a mini-trail, created especially for you:

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Sigh.  As usual, my techneptitude slaps my self-promotion into place.  Picture no.12 should read:

12. Finally, pose with the warm and friendly man, Ishtiaq: Amore furniture store manager, who offered us tea, coffee and discount on anything we buy, as well as professing to love my poem.  The treasure at the end of the trail!

And the tapestry photo should read:

9. Stop to admire the art work.

What a great idea Bolton had; it gave me the best day out I’ve had in ages.

UPDATE: If you can’t read the poems in the photographs and would like to, click on this link.

I Really Wasn’t Intending To Blog Today

20 Sep

Honest; I swear.  But then I got the email to say the readwritepoem anthology for napowrimo has gone live and it looks so good I had to share it.  Find it here.  I’m on page 20 (or 34-35 if you use the bottom bit).  It’s well worth a look – where else can you read a whole book of great poetry for free?

As I am already here, I might as well share this poem for Writer’s IslandWe were asked to use this visual prompt:

Vane Kosturanov: FISHERMAN   You can check out the artist here; I didn’t know of him until yesterday but I love his work.

*

A WAG’s Tale
WAGs: collective noun for wives & girlfriends of sportsmen; it originated in British tabloid newspapers
*
Fish sits in his bowl.
Mouth opens.  Wide.  He swims side to side.
Feed me, he says. 
Feed me today.
Feed me.  Feed me.  Feed me again.
Fish is a bully; he feeds on her guilt.
He swims round his fake castle, fake flowers, fake lake.
Left side right side front side back side.
Forever the same view, same home, same space.
Feed me, he says; feed me again.
Fish is a parasite.  Fish is bored.  Fish is alone.
Fish must wait for his manna from woman.

WAG waits in her opulent home.
Mouth opens wide, her yawns become sighs.
Need me, fame says. 
Need me today.
Need me.  Need me.  Need me again.
Paparazzi are bullies; they feed on her gilt.
She swans round her fake castle, fake marriage, fake love.
In Hello magazine she glows as she shows off her home
(secreting the fee for an uncertain future; she has hate expectations).
Need me, fame says.  Need me again.
Fame is a fiend; it tires of her, even as she waits in her manor
for the rich man who made her his woman.

 

 

  

 

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