All Blog posts
June 2022 Input
Summer is here and I am wilting. This month I went out to a couple of gigs and loved it. I have missed live music, especially during the pandemic.
Midsummer
Our days are longest now, we hold the light
solid between our fingers, like putty,
before twirling, once more unstoppable.
These are days we dream of deep in winter,
when we are banished in eternal night.
These are days suffused with strange rare magicks,
when our flame bodies flicker translucent.
We manifest what we will. Morning sparks
alchemical. Our fingertips bristle.
Play the music! Let us unite as one
before the world tips inevitably
back towards the shortening hours of sun.
How precious these illuminated days.
How soon, like warm embers, they start to fade.
May 2022 Input
May went so fast. It was a fallow period creatively for me, I put nothing on this blog and didn't send any poems out. I hid away from the flags and jingoism. But I did leave plague island for the first time in ages and took a trip to Porto, which was delightful. I also met my newly born nephew, so a pretty good month.
April 2022 Input
I can't believe we are a third of the way through 2022. The tulips have bloomed and died back, warmer days are just around the corner. I haven't done a lot of writing due to life being busy but I did quit Twitter, so maybe in the future I will have more time.
What a Racket
2022 March Input
March was another busy month as I adjusted to my new job and did lots of wedding admin. I also prepped and published a weird little game/ poetry pamphlet about being lost in an everchanging city, which you can find more about here.
fragmented
Reality Adjustments
Today I'm releasing an interactive poetry pamphlet called Reality Adjustments. It's a surreal dive into a city that is always changing, with mutating streets, strange jobs and one or two apocalypses There are different paths to follow, multiple different endings and elements that change depending on where you have been before.
Construction
You | hammered a sign | into the soil and | walked away.
Now we carve | out mud and sand | mix and bake together
earth | into our inferno | churn the loose | ground into cubes
make straight | lines out of leaves | that only want to curve.
You | had a simple idea | thought a while | and called it a city.
We are the ones | who stacked the | ground on top of itself,
who | spun streets from | the threads of | the slip breeze.
And when this | empty space has | been alchemically set
into | a new epicentre | of industry and | fearful commerce
there will be no | monument to all | of our cracked hands
that | struggled against | nature to lay out | these streets.
Our fingerprints | will instead be | embedded into concrete
the | echo of our voices | will be audible | in every room.
I wrote the first draft of this at Bristol Tonic, in the half time. The prompt was 'We built this city'.
2022 February Input
February has flown by on gales and storms. I've been really busy, performing two feature sets for Fen Speak and (Sm)art Festival, which were wonderful. I also applied and got a new job, turned 34 and spent too many hours lost in Hyrule. Phew. As a consequence of all this real life business, the things I have consumed have been limited.