Imperial

This is a new poem, a draft, not a funny one, inspired a little by thinking about the royals, because of the recent birth, and also by Wales Wildflower Day, which happened recently at the National Botanic Garden of Wales, and which I was lucky enough to attend. Who ever thought the buttercup was such a blighter? Well, it is, so here you go:

I am trying to find the beauty in you, buttercup.
I am looking only at your golden heads.
I am attempting to forget what the expert said:
That your species is invasive.
That your style is ‘creeping’.
That your taste is acrid.
That your sap can cause blistering.
You carry your poison so prettily,
You are lovely to behold, intermingled
With the daisies, as if you were one of them.
As if you could ever be ‘common’.
You will live for a thousand years
And gradually those daisies will be crowded out.
You will block the light from them, put them in the shade,
Steal the soil’s potassium from beneath their roots,
Secrete toxic chemicals from your own that
They will drink, unknowingly.
Thinking that you are a friend.
They will feed it to their children and their children
Will become weak. You will smile as their heads grow limp,
As each generation is born smaller, feebler.
One day, there won’t be any births at all.
And still the passersby will look at you,
And marvel at your pretty golden heads,
So many of them, like cups, reflecting the sunlight
From above, so beautiful, full only of themselves.
The soil beneath now richer than it ever was.

Super-Tired...

I can't say that this poem is about me... It's about some ladies I know, though, and who I wouldn't mind being like... It's about a feeling I sometimes feel, though normally I am happy to help people out... It's also inspired by this amazeballs Superman dress that was just made for me by Nelly's Treasures, who share the upstairs balcony space with my Queen Mab shop in Cardiff Fashion Quarter... Hope you like it, anyways x

I am a superwoman with a superwoman’s needs
A superwoman’s super good at doing super deeds
But sometimes, well, it’s super-swell
To not be super, just to dwell
In the ‘woman’ part of who I am and simply be
This super greed can supersede the need you have for me
And if I don’t I won’t be able
Next time that the world’s unstable
Next time there’s a perilous plot
Next time some crazed soul has got
The earth to ransom and near-ruin
I won’t be there, I’ll be doing
Other things because you didn’t let me have some rest
I’m super sorry, but don’t worry, now it’s off my chest
You’ll understand my needs which aren’t so super after all
High flyers sometimes tire, need to stop or else they fall...
So for today, I’m not that super
Go away, and let that blooper
That mistake, that fatal blunder
Be your own, I’m all snowed under
                                                            My superwoman suit has just been washed and isn’t dry, yet
                                                            I’m super sick of all of this, and want to just ask why it’s
                                                            Always me (or Superman),
                                                            When the shit has hit the fan
                                                            You call upon instead of seeing what you might do on your own?
                                                            I am a super being but before, weren’t you alone?
                                                            My kryptonite is every fight you don’t need me to do
                                                            So, go away, because today, that super being’s YOU.

This Mouth Spits Ink

As some of you will know, I was plucked from poetic obscurity during my third ever gig by iconic poet Peter Finch about 5 years ago. As a result, my fourth gig was in the Welsh heat of the BBC Radio 4 National Poetry Slam, and my fifth gig live on BBC radio.

I have always made it my joyous 'job' (if you can call it that) to pluck out and promote talent in a similar manner through my social enterprise Jam Bones, through which I have organised over 60 events in the past few years.

Most recently, I was startled and impressed by a young poet called Johnny Giles, who came to my attention during a spoken word event organised by Alwyn Jones in Tommy's Bar. A naturally gifted performer, Johnny is possessed of a compact, charismatic presence which captures audience attention from the very beginning to the always-too-soon end. Already writing poetry for 5 years, the transition from stage to page has been a relatively recent one, but one which has seen the young poet already win fans and the respect of his poetry peers, myself included.

As a result, I took the step of making Johnny Poet in Residence at my new Jam Bones event, Back of the Pub Poetry Club. It really is a rarity to find a poet who is both brilliant on the page and kick-ass on the stage, but this is one who manages it. Expect striking; stand-out simile; astoundingly original metaphor; a deeply developed sensitivity to human frailties, human cruelties; rare tenderness, quirky humour, and strong, sometimes political, passion.

The next Back of the Pub Poetry Club takes place at the Tair Pluen, inside the Owain Glyndwr pub, on Sunday 21st July, from 7pm. It is free of charge, and if you would like to read yourself please bring up to 5 minutes of poems. 

And, of course, do come to hear Johnny read, as well as many talented others. Do also take a look (and follow) his new blog (please click on the image below). Two fantastic poems are on there already, and I am eagerly awaiting more. Enjoy!!!