Big man like Anthony Joshua taking down the legendary Vladimir Klitschko. What a fight!
My poetic recommendation for today is missing because I have left it too late… APOLOGIES!
A lens can compress distance,
force motorways to fit between screen and face.
It is still a wall.
My emotions are moving like fast cars.
There is a pile up on your picture.
It’s odd how easy it is to dismiss the good things that have happened to you, or that you’ve achieved in a day only to focus on all the things that were bad or could have gone better. In fairness, I feel like this happens to me when I’m less disciplined on the structure of my day with regards to working hours. Structure is important for my productivity, but also my mindset, need to sort that back out. Hmmmmm…
Rah. So I thought I’d recommended this poet to you guys already, maybe I just told you to check out his blog earlier on. Who knows, but Tyrone Lewis! @TyroneLewis22 is a bad boy poet. When he featured for Spit the Atom (a night run by the collective of the same name) he delivered a firecracker of a set. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, his use and referencing of pop culture is elite and so refreshing. As well as poet, he is also a a photographer and filmmaker. He is currently doing a documentary on the UK slam scene called ‘Scores Please’ which you can watch the first few episode of here. Watch him do his thing in the embedded video (oi oi) below.
I ought to address you
It is getting harder for me to write you away,
metaphor no longer covers so well.
I have too many poems in blank envelopes.
I open them on stages and read aloud.
Finish, then reseal in anonymity.
I should write your name in the blank spaces,
deliver these letters to whom they belong.
But what if love doesn’t read the same to you?
Second blog post from the motorway. Large up the Poetry Takeaway it’s always a pleasure.
My poetry recommendation for today is Gabriel Jones aka Bump Kin if you’re following his music production which is so very dope. The way he uses imagery is left field and spectacular in such an incredible way. Follow him on twitter @GabrielPJones and a video of one of his poems is embedded below.
These buildings are built in shackles.
The chains have rusted to bricks,
corroded into infrastructure.
Scratch away the names,
remove their glory and expose the chains.
I’m writing this, in the back of a car on my way up to Glastonbury. Read into that what you will, all I’m saying is think main stage, think Jay Z. I might just be making history. The problem with being in a car for me is that I’ve got a dodgy knee that I need to stop playing football on and get checked out. When I sit for too long it gets really stiff and painful. So I’m in the back of this car just waiting for the worst to happen and be in an awkward agony on the motorway.
My poet recommendation is the mega babe Laurie Bolger (@LaurieBolger). If Yomi is uncle then Laurie is like a fairy godmother. She’s an incredible human being of epic bubbly proportions. Her poetry is accessible, down to earth and feels like a warm snuggle with a cuppa, on a couch, watching the telly. Buy her debut collection Box Rooms (so warm) here. Anddd you guessed it, a video embedded below.
Nothing can grow here
The air in this room is dank.
Fertility is dying on the walls.
The windows are opaque with mildew.
There are mustard plants, wilting.
Ngl I forgot about NaPo till about 20 minutes ago. I had the first line of this piece in my head so I’m grateful for that. Look what I do for you guys, what I put myself through for you, the people. Lol jk there’s another reason but… TIME!
No fire poet today as I wont do them justice… big up Shakespeare I guess.
A tree was struck by lightning,
it burned up from the inside.
Stood as a cylinder of fire encased in bark,
a gutted tree refusing to be felled.
What use is defiance against burning
if inside you are already dead?
We are reaching the home stretch, coming towards the end of Na Po. It’s the final week which really serves to prove that time moves ridiculously fast because it barely feels like April has begun. Perhaps that’s just me, and this month has been a laborious one that feels like it’s never going to end. Either way we are approaching a month till June, which means we are nearly half way through the year, which equally means we will soon be at the point where we are closer to the next year than we are to the last one. It also means that we are approaching the U.K’s interpretation of summer soon too! I don’t know what the British summer has in store for us but it’s going to be more heat than winter so I’m grateful.
I saw this man at Veranda earlier this month, and knew I had to recommend him at some point during Na Po. Joshua Idehen (@BeninCitizen) poet, musician, and twitter… I don’t even know how to describe his tweets, but I catch plenty a joke following his interactions. Anyways his work… LEVELS. He’s got an energy that he brings that is just mad. I’ve gotten fancy and embedded a video that will start at the correct time. I remember watching this whole thing, and not being familiar with Mr Idehen but his piece had me making bare indiscernible noises all the same, by myself, in my front room, late at night, when I was supposed to be being quiet cos my house was sleeping. The video is below.
At the bank’s edge
I drew a line, thick like choppy waters,
made it so I could not cross.
Now I am standing at the bank,
nudging my feet nearer the edge.
Daring myself to walk,
to find the fire on the other side.
Drowning in the middle
is more scary than burning.
Lukewarm water flooding my lungs
with thorned anchors, filling me up,
tearing me open, carrying me down.
I will drown or I will burn
or I will return from whence I came.
So again I am coming with a late late one. I need to rectify this but apparently today is not that day.
I was on YouTube listening to poems, and thus todays fire poet recommendation is Tshaka Campbell (@pappatshak). I was at the event this video is from (big up BoxediN) and this performance gave me MAD chills. So so cold. Watch it below… embedded of course.
Answering “deep” questions
She says I never talk in straight lines.
I scribble everywhere,
then expect her to find the picture.
I am scared not to waffle.
If I speak my words bare,
their nakedness will bring shame.
I am worried about the danger
this tongue holds for its owner.
It is a knife,
my mouth was not made to spit blood.
I want to talk straight for her,
it is not my way.