Late last Friday night, on the mean wet-leaf strewn pavements of Manchester, I slipped and landed on my right hand. Pain, spectacular bruising, impressive swelling. Very British. Didn't want to make a fuss. Soldiered on. Ibuprofen. Visiting friends, taking in sights and culture. Back to work Monday. Resigned to not cycling so buy weekly zone …
Category: writing
hippo haiku
Late yesterday afternoon we walked up towards Vauxhall, along the narrow and uneven pavements of Battersea Park Road and Nine Elms Lane, construction sites lining both sides of the road. Then tucked in to follow the river path and soon spotted up ahead, in the cloud-darkened waters, a large curved honey-coloured structure being towed towards …
Hilaire – Letter from Battersea
I'm very pleased to have one of my poems published on The Stare's Nest - a newish site with some great, socially-engaged poetry. In my own small way, I hope to highlight the injustice of Shaker Aamer's continued detention in Guantanamo Bay.
Virginia Woolf at the National Portrait Gallery
Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded. This quote from Virginia Woolf is printed on the back cover of Frances Spalding's Virginia Woolf Art, Life and Vision. How true, how true, I want to say. I recognise this sentiment; it's the source of my early and on-going compulsion to write a journal. To …
Continue reading Virginia Woolf at the National Portrait Gallery
Fourth Friday summer party
Just over a week ago Fourth Friday held their summer party at the Poetry Café, and I've been thinking about it, off and on, since then. I almost didn't go, feeling a tad lacklustre, a bit drained by the humid weather and slightly dreading what the conditions would be like in the café's basement, which …
extra time
Inspired by today's BBC Sport Prom, which explored parallels between music and sport, I thought I'd share this poem I wrote several years ago after my first couple of visits to the Proms. At the Proms We remember not to hum along. Wide-eyed, ears pricked, we clasp each other’s hands to stifle rogue conducting, dampen …
the P word
I don't easily describe myself as a poet. Labels of any sort are generally problematic to some degree. Scratchy. What's my problem with 'Poet'? In some mouths, it can sound like an insult. Perhaps I'm subconsciously adding 'Minor' or 'Failed' in front of 'Poet'. Certainly, there are many people, including members of the wider writing …
Meanwhile, back in defence
Friday evening. Fifty or so people gather in a corporate art venue, the Bloomberg Space, for Errors Hit Orient. Nick and I are here because I saw a tweet from Studio Voltaire about the event, mentioning B.S. Johnson. We're not quite sure what to expect. The idea sounds a bit mad, but definitely unmissable. Someone …
talent times two
Another excellent and uplifting Loose Muse last Wednesday evening at the Poetry Café. The featured writer in the first half was Patricia Foster. A poet and educator, Patricia performed her poems with great charm and presence. Many of her poems draw on her Jamaican heritage and celebrate her close bond with her family. The Broomstick relates …
Loose Muse feature
Wednesday night was blowing a gale in London, but the threatened tube strike had been suspended, and the day's lashing rain finally dried up. So, given the circumstances, there was a good turn out for Loose Muse at the Poetry Café, where I was billed as one of the two featured writers. Unfortunately, Sally Spedding, …
Hilaire 