Back to The Fringe for some poetry. It was about celebrating Spring, though I either didn’t really process that or didn’t really care (and/or don’t have any Spring poems anyway).
So I got up early, second poet this time, and read three short new poems. The first, Stuff, Not Nonsense I wrote late on Friday night, so was up reading it just after 24 hours later…the second – very short – is called It Takes Time To Heal But Time Is Not A Healer (there are nearly as many words in the title as the poem) and I finished with an upbeat recent one, called Why You Should Never Tell Your Mum To Get Fucked or Fuck Up or Fuck Off. So, all poems I’ve written brand new in the last couple of weeks.
They seemed to go down pretty well – I always crack up that the poet following will remark about how they’re now going to do something serious. If I was thin-skinned I’d worry that was some sort of dig. But I really doubt that’s the case anyway. Just a recalibration for the audience.
It was only an okay-feeling from me towards the open-mic this time. It was breezy – no one dragged the chain, there was nothing wrong – but I didn’t get the vibe of last time. So when it was done it was done.
And I couldn’t get on board with this month’s guest – Bardic Echoes – a gang of poets and musicians, all very druidic and hippie-ish and not for me. So I bailed.
Still, there’s always next month…
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