Poem of the Month - 2011 Collection
Poem of the Month December 2011
Leicester born and bred, Mombowie Starchild is a performance poet and emcee concerned primarily with everything: the cosmic and human experience, observations on society - our passions, fears and dreams. But she really just likes telling stories in a rhythmical, musical way. Mombowie has performed at ‘Brightside’; produced and directed ‘The Edge’ as part of Lyric Lounge Leicester in 2009. She has hosted and performed in the ‘Beatroot’ poetry tent at ‘Big Session’ festival in recent years and is a regular compere and performer at WORD!
Oh! How they enjoy her – adore her!
Enthralled, a noiselessness falls
For all the auditorium’s caught
In inaudible awe at the adroit performance before them.
Gorging on her form forging effortless fouettes en tournant:
One-legged; upon points of toes;
Spinning her spirit’s finishing throes in this – her coda!
Though this moment’s decades ago,
These days her frail frame’s broke
In the wake of the stroke that held her in choke;
So now each day’s played out shamefully slow
No longer swathing the stage as she sinuously sways,
She exists imprisoned by physical fallibility;
With the additional, unequivocally more crippling disability
Of living within a system that’s intrinsically twisted;
So inevitably also her integrity’s tested;
Her dignity splintered,
As the personal aide who helped with her visits to the toilet
Is no more to be paid for by an NHS afflicted with budget cuts;
So the gloves are up
For this sixty-eight year old woman stood versus the government.
No need to wonder who won.
And when the ruling was done
It was considered economically more logical for her to wear pads for incontinence.
No matter that she saw it of some consequence she’s not, in fact, incontinent.
But must content.
For the coda’s over,
Bringing ever-closer - ever faster the everlasting curtain fall,
As a miasmic dust plasters the OBE plaque that hangs in her flat on the wall,
Where in her room at the back she lies in bed trying to detach
From the fact that tonight she: a Prima Ballerina in her past,
Shall have to recline in her own piss.
Because the truth of it is, she must pay with her pride for what her taxes should provide.
Born 1943 in S. Wales and brought up in Briton Ferry, attending Neath Girls Grammar School 1954-59. Worked for the Borough Council 59-61, trained as a teacher in Derby 1961-64 and has lived and worked in the Midlands, Surrey, Herts and Essex. Divorced, she has two daughters and two grandsons and has lived in Leicester since 2007. Started writing poetry in retirement and realises it is never too late to try something new.
FORGETTING OUR FEET
I follow a frieze of footprints along the corridor wall
Multi coloured, labelled - Geraint, Gordon, Alice, Sian.
Passing a window voices ring out -
Mi a fi ffair yfore
I brynnu scudiau newydd
Medd a scudiau
Clonc clonc clonc clonc clonc clonc clonc clonc.
The children are going to the market
to buy new shoes today.
The shoes clonk along.
Suddenly I’m four years old
wearing black patent leather
at Mr and Mrs Aazo’s wedding -
my adored Estonian refugees
he a musician, she a linguist
with seven languages
not one of them Welsh.
Emerging from the Registry Office
a girl calls out, “Look at that child’s shoes!”
No mention of the bride, invoking
a memory never forgotten, bringing
a warming glow more than six decades on.
Silver shoes at Audrey’s wedding
for a flower girl in azure blue
knowing she’s Ginger Rogers dancing to crowds
while the snap shows
a shy child in a simple dress.
Black canvas ‘daps’ for wandering in woods
and bowling along beaches;
‘best‘ shoes for chapel on Sundays -
which I wore to the beach and
left on the shore line.
They got washed out with the tide.
I got grounded.
Brown lace up shoes for Grammar school
with winter woollen knee high socks –
scratching my chilblained feet.
A working girl and my first pairs paid for –
white leather thongs which eluded me
and black leather stilettos which tripped me up
in chapel at Harvest – my basket of fruit
rolling down the steps in the gallery
and my new red hat covering my red hot face.
Gorgeous green satins for a college ball
dyed to match my velvet and lame dress
and white high heels for my lace wedding suit
and very sixties flower petal hat..
Then joy – my first Eccos – boots and flats
They echoed Mam’s and auntie’s warning –
‘Look after your feet,
keep them comfy, don’t end up like us -
walking through Neath market
heading for the Welsh Produce Cafe
sighing, “Oh, our aching feet ……we’re
gasping for a cup of tea and a chance to forget them!
Poem of the Month August 2011
Nicky says this about herself:
I write poetry, mostly as a way to release my thoughts, which became quite dark when I became ill, several years ago, but from even from a little girl I've been passionate about creative writing, creative arts and designing.
At best my work is emotionally driver, but I also produce well using headings or themes. I also write short stories, and have started a few books of which I know all the details but am yet to complete. I have a couple of scripted pieces, one is a stage production which we acted out and another humourous outreach performance with music and lyrics that I did at Costa Coffee live.
Aim; to create a succession of events were skip the beat can be seen with positive and negative consequences.
When his boom skips the beat, he feels all to quick, the pain in his chest, his head it feels thick, he may fall, or swiftly take in breath.
Skipping too often causes concern, and off to the hospital blue lights, flashing now he’s anxious if he will return. Wondering why there are so many tests, he longs to go home where he can rest.
His boom needs a small box, to keep the pace; I’m not sure which emotion I saw on his face anger, relief, confused?? But his fists he clenches in his dispute. Quietly I thought he uttered “pace maker, pacemaker” how can I refuse?
Poem of the Month May 2011
Pam has been working full time as an administrator at the National Space Centre for over 5 years, with what she describes as “the most amazing team of people”. She loves to write poetry and paint as a form of liberation; other out of work activities includes Kung Fu and Tai Chi as a qualified Tai Chi instructor.
Poem of the Month April 2011
Roy MarshallRoy has been writing songs and poems since childhood. His first ever spoken word performance was at WORD! In 2009. He has since been published in a number of magazines and has a pamphlet forthcomming in 2012.
His website is roymarshall.wordpress.com
Poem of the Month February 2011