10:30 am Saturday 23rd April , Edge Arts Centre, Much Wenlock, at Wenlock Poetry Festival… and for this blog, in alphabetical order…
Jonathan Edwards –
My Family in a Human Pyramid
My uncle starts it, kneeling in his garden;
my mother gives a leg up to my gran.
When it’s my turn to climb, I get a grip
of my camp’s miner’s belt, my cousin’s heels,
say Thank you for her birthday card as I go,
then bounce on my nan’s perm and skip three rows,
land on my father’s shoulders. He grabs my ankles,
half holding me up and half holding me close.
Here he comes, my godson, Samuel Luke,
passed up unitil he’s standing in his nappy
on my head. And now to why we’re here:
could the Edward’s together reach a height
that the youngest one of us could touch a star?
Sam reaches out. He points towards the light.
grrrr – software won’t import the pamphlet covers today ! to see them – click on Jill and Shauna’s names below… or come to the event 🙂 Nadia x
The Quilted Multiverse of Gardens
When the train stalls to a slow graunch
along the track, the patchwork quilt
of urban Edens comes into view,
sewn and framed in creosote, barbed
wire, laurel bush or red stock bricks.
I spot the garden trimmed orange
in Sainsbury’s bags stuffed
with papier-mâché magazines.
Next door the whirly-gig whizzes
on airy rounds, fixing smells of last night’s
still smoking bonfire into hardening towels.
And there’s the holey tennis net
looping low, once taut and high,
abandoned rackets on the lawn –
the kids gone in for tea or good.
And then it comes – a glimpse of backyard
heaven – a huge brilliant blue trampoline
stretching to square boundaries, where
a floral-aproned grandma is bouncing high,
higher, dreaming of another universe.
Pete: Hey, Henry? Henry Kessler?
Henry: Yep, s’me. Er, help me here, we’ve met?
Pete: Pete Dent. ‘Skeeter’. Denver, September ’77. Led Zep event.
Henry: Skeeter! Strewth. Denver… yeh, dense weekend. Spent the rent: beer,weed.
Pete: Every cent! Well wrecked. Best bender ever. [Belches]
Henry: Kept well?
Pete: Excellent, never better. Y’self?
Henry: Less clever. Been depressed. Remember Dee, Dee French?
Pete: Hell yeh. ‘Cheeky Dee’? Fleshy legs, heels. Bedded every geezer, every gent. Demented wench! Blew me senseless. Best sex ever – bless her!
Henry: [Cheeks redden] We wed.
Henry: She’s left me. Fled. Felt enmeshed, restless. Deserted, trekked west. Me? Self-respect severely dented. Felt wretched, bereft. Deep spleen. Even wept.
Pete: Then? Felt vexed? Went beserk, belted her? Lynched, decked, felled her? Temper vented, felt better?
Pete: Bet she bled? Wet herself – drenched her dress! Expect she knelt, begged, beseeched. Expressed regrets, deserved her desserts. Fever, festered welts. Repented?
Henry: Hey, see here… [detects glee] Jerk!
Pete: Jester. Lessens the stress. Centres the cells.
Henry: Clever, very clever. Well, best eject. Bye then.
Henry: [left] Demented creep! Beef-bred redneck!
Pete: [centre] Henpecked nerd! Feeble wet bellend! [checks cell: Henry’s ex’s tel?]