Posts Tagged Poem
Archive
January 19, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: The Fragility of The Writer’s Ego and The Prop of The Writer’s Block
Writer’s block is something writers hide behind to make themselves seem more important. There’s no block. You just write right through it. Good work, bad work and everything in between – you get it down and let anyone else decide what they think. You’ll know already. But you’ll possibly be doing it to keep moving, […]Archive
January 17, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Ain’t No Fun
Here I am with another set of words – that I figure must be heard, that I assume you want to read, that I need to put down on the line even if you don’t have the time or inclination to add to your list of culture-points in your life. How do you like it […]Archive
January 15, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Horse Latitude
When I was about seven I had a black and white cat named ‘Horse’. Named after Footrot Flats, it had the inverse colours – actual black’n’white rather than white and black and it had the complete opposite personality too. But that didn’t matter. I loved that comic strip and the cat’s name was going to […]Archive
January 13, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: A Happy Memory of Working Hard and Being Paid Accordingly
This one time, back with the Irish band, we played at at the anniversary of some bike gang. They paid us in rolls of twenties. They said lewd things to the violin player. One time she was sawing away, and a beer-gut biker-guy, his helmet on, his chin strap swaying, his tummy wobbling out from […]Archive
January 11, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: When I Met Ian Gillan
The first really famous person I met – at least as far as I can remember – was Ian Gillan from the band Deep Purple. I was super exited, too, I loved Deep Purple (still do). Great band. Great singer. And it seemed kinda odd, kinda brilliant to be meeting him on the set of […]Archive
January 9, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: Motivation
My new film script imagines a world where Richard Curtis never existed. It’s called ‘Tomorrow’.Archive
January 7, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: The Sting of Jealousy
A lot of people really hate Sting. The thing is, they say, it’s about what he has to say more than it’s about how he plays. Though a lot of them don’t like his solo records, don’t listen – never did. I reckon it’s jealousy. Plain. Simple. Whatever rainforest-saving, self-serving trip he’s been on, whatever […]Archive
January 5, 2020 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: The Way The Cookie Crumbles…
I was helping move furniture (I say helping but it was a punishment, community service, still, it was a help to the person receiving the benefit of my punishment – and I quickly warmed to it. It felt good to be ‘volunteering’). We would pick up old couches and chairs and tables and give them […]Archive
December 29, 2019 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: When We Woke Up To Find Out We’d Been Burgled
the first relief was that our toddler son hadn’t heard any noise, hadn’t walked down the hall, hadn’t known it had happened. They’d broken in while we slept, taken phones and computers, iPods and wallets – all our cards, some loose change and they’d scattered a tin of guitar picks about the place. (The tiny […]Archive
December 27, 2019 by Simon Sweetman
Poem: The Best Teachers
The thing I loved the most about discovering Charles Bukowski’s poems was the way the words would stretch down the page on their way towards their journey and carrying, always, their purpose – but he was just a guy, a writer, documenting his day, his life, his ways… And I took it. And held it […]Archive
December 23, 2019 by Simon Sweetman