LAUNCH OF PLASHET SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY

LATEST: £430 RAISED!


Since 2013 I have been a part of the pioneering Spoken Word Education programme. As a result of this programme I gained an MA from Goldsmiths College, and am a trained poet-educator working in schools. Last night the school where I have been resident poet celebrated the launch of our first poetry anthology. Working regularly at Plashet School has given me the valuable opportunity to forge long-term links with both teachers and pupils, something not possible for most creative artists. I am very lucky to have this wonderful role.

The anthology is entitled 'Us', and was produced as part of a collaboration between myself and the school's RE department. I worked with a number of classes to produce poems on various topics of spiritual importance, such as death, war, faith and gender identity. A number of these poems were collected for the anthology, which was sold to raise money for Care 4 Calais, a charity working with migrants and their families. A number of poets performed their poems at the launch event last night. Here is my favourite poem from the anthology:

Poem by Safa

I’m here sitting in my classroom

I have education

I have clean clothes

I have friends

I have a supportive family

And I’m treated well

Yet there is a girl out there

Who’s sitting at home

Without education

Without clean clothes

Without friends

Without a supportive family

And she isn’t treated well

But that’s not all

She’s been forced into marriage

Even though she’s so young

She’s been stripped of her freedom

Even though she’s so young

They took away her childhood

Even though she’s so young

I’m probably living her dream

Yet we come from the same place

And live on the same planet

The evening was rounded off with a fantastic performance by guest poet Bridget Minamore. I am very proud of what my students have achieved, and had a wonderful time working with them all!

FATHER'S DAY POEM

The Dad

is on the platform.

His baby son

is gurgling away

in the pushchair.

“Where’s the train?”

asks the dad.

The boy says nothing.

“Point at the train for daddy”

says the dad.

Still the boy says nothing.

“Go on, point at the train for daddy”

says the dad.

The boy looks at his mum

but does not point

at the train.

The boy doesn’t care

about the train

or about his dad.

“Point at the train

or we’re not getting on”

says the dad.

The dad looks over

at the mum.

He is angry, frustrated.

The boy has let him down.

The boy who won’t

point at the train.

UPCOMING GIGS!

Summer is upon us, and I have several very exciting gigs coming up. I will add to this list as and when new bookings come in. For now, here is a selection of places where I can be seen waffling over the summer:

• Story Street at the Cally Festival - Sunday June 19th

• Village Green, Westcliffe-on-Sea - Saturday July 9th

• Village Beach, Grays - Saturday July 16th

• RHS Wisley, Arts Fest - Sunday July 17th

• Comedy Club 4 Kids, Edinburgh Festival Fringe - Sunday Aug 28th

• Edinburgh Book Festival - Monday Aug 29th 

• Unbound! Aberdeen - Monday Aug 29th

• Booked Festival, Aberdeen - Tuesday Aug 30th 

• Appledore Book Festival - Thursday 13th & Friday 14th Oct

BOAST POEMS - Inspired by Muhammad Ali (1942-2016)

Muhammad Ali came up with some wonderful quotes. Lots of them actually read like poetry, and are surely the precursors of the belligerent, boastful lyrics that characterise certain strains of hip-hop. This can form a really interesting basis for poetry. What outlandish boasts can you come up with? Start off with a list of adjectives, then turn each one into a ridiculous boast. You can turn the poem into a riddle like mine if you want, or you can combine the lines to create a group poem. Finally, you can finish by having a battle in class!

Quote by Muhammad Ali

I done wrestled with an alligator,

I done tussled with a whale;

handcuffed lightning,

thrown thunder in jail;

only last week, I murdered a rock,

injured a stone,

hospitalised a brick;

I'm so mean

I make medicine sick

What am I? by Joshua Seigal

I’m

PRETTIER

than a butterfly princess

STRONGER

than a gorilla on steroids

CLEVERER

than a professor with two brains

BRAVER

than a warrior in a lion’s cage

TOUGHER

than diamond girders

CUTER

than a hamster-sized kitten

FASTER

than a torpedo made of light

RICHER

than a sultan who won the lottery

FUNNIER

than a headmaster with no trousers

SWEETER

than sugar-coated ice cream.

What am I?

A: a liar.

Poems for Abney Park Cemetery

I recently did some work with the Hackney Pirates, a fantastic children's charity based in, erm, Hackney. Over half-term, the work involved using the nearby Abney Park cemetery as a stimulus for poetry. I wrote three especially commissioned poems for the project, and I am delighted to be able to share them here. Each poem was written in order to model specific writing techniques, such as personification, metaphor/simile, the five senses, rhythm and repetition. Here they are, along with pictures of the items in the cemetery they were inspired by.

Abney Park Chapel

I have seen the slow rolling

of the seasons, the cycle of life

and the ceaseless turning of the earth.

I have bridged the path from ground

to sky, my finger touching heaven

and my feet set in the soil.

I have heard the cries of widows

and the laughter of birds

taking flight to the stars.

I smell dust in my stone nostrils.

I taste ash in my toothless mouth.

Lion

He’s watching you.

With eyes keener than guided arrows

and claws sharper than angry knives,

he’s watching you.

He’s waiting for you.

With a neck stronger than varnished oak

and a mane mightier than an ice-capped mountain,

he’s waiting for you.

He’s ready for you.

With teeth poised like soldiers

and limbs as agile as an acrobat,

he’s ready for you.

He’s protecting you.

With a heart as pure as fire

and courage as deep as the ocean,

he’s protecting you.

 

A Tribute

Tommy,

you raced

through

the past,

weaving

your way

in and out

of years.

Tommy,

you dashed

across

centuries,

your bike

churning up

the dust

of memory.

Tommy,

you pursued

immortality

like a

two-wheeled fox

chasing

a hare.

Tommy, you lie in the ground.

Quiet. Still. Fading away.