Tag Archives: poetry

Poetry on the Hoof: On the one hand this, on the other hand that

On the one hand this,
On the other hand that,
On the one hand chit,
On the other hand chat,
Every move you make
You see your face again,
Every way you sit
You seat yourself in pain;

On the one hand this
On the other hand that,
shadows on the wall
smearing you flat,
Things ain’t straight
things ain’t right,
there ain’t no answers
any time of night;

On the one hand this
On the other hand that,
Sitting on the fence
Is making you fat;
It’s a superhuman effort
to forget your own name,
But every time you stand up
You shift your weight in vain,

On the one hand this
On the other hand that,
Your questions wrong
Your assertions mute,
Answers don’t stick
Opinions dilute,
You agree to agree
again again again

On the one hand this
On the other hand that,
Don’t eat too much
Don’t get fat,
Don’t worry about the kids
Don’t fester away,
At the end of every night
Is another long day

On the one hand this
On the other hand that
You’d bail out your life
At the drop of a hat
It’d be so much simpler
If you stuck to your guns,
Keep your convictions
Blank those shuns,
Ignore the loudest voices
Spurn the angry frown
Insist on your choices
Throw your weight around

On the one hand this
On the other hand that.
On the one hand this
On the other hand that.

Poetry on the Hoof: Serbian kids past present and future, tense.

Serbian kids
Listen to turbofolk,
And Californian surfing pop,
riding your pentatonic scales and beatbox bullets
With ease.

You gas gobble up the guezler with the guzzler,
The soviet command with the Yankee demand,
The eastern promise and western demise,
With aplomb and the lead free sonic shrapnel
ricochet of NATO bombing.

Economising where you can,
With the diphthongs and glottal stops,
Preferring instead Cyrillic imperatives of Ч, Ђ, Џ, Љ, Њ and Ћ.
Your present itch is our future tense.

you go
looking to Paris
looking to Boston
looking to Moscow
looking to Rome
looking to Istanbul
looking to Athens
looking to Budapest
looking to Home
looking to Belgrade
looking to Zagreb
looking to Skopje
to Sarajevo
And Podgorica
Check out Pristina
wondering wtf lol SOS.
Past Perfect or imperfect?
Provisional or conditional?
But what a future it is.
We would be wised-up
to memorise it.

Poetry on the Hoof: Terraced? Semi? Detached? Year 7 plan their future homes.

You gotta decide the lighting,
It’s November, remember.
You gotta agree,
Sort it out reasonably.
You gotta think it out,
You’ve gotta act quick.
Silence hush descends.

You’ll need pools of light
You’ll need water, air, space.
Somewhere to park the car
When the days close in.
Can I get a red phone box?
Can I get an allotment?
Silence hush descends.

You’re gonna see nothing
With windows like that.
You’re gonna be a resident, remember.
You’re gonna freeze to death
With walls like that.
Are we gonna pretend?
That we have to pay mortgages an’ ‘owt?
Silence hush descends.

You gotta make a choice,
Or you’re gonna get stuck.
Best to say little,
If you’re not sure.
If you don’t wanna pay for ‘owt can we live in a toilet?
We could use our imagination.
Silence hush descends.

Everyone’s gotta live somewhere
Everyone’s gotta have a place
They can call their own.
But if you’re gonna want a family.
But if you’re gonna get you a mortgage,
You gotta be quick,
You gotta be sharp,
You gotta get rid of those ghosts that moved onto your land.
Silence hush descends.

Some responses by then young people of Kingstone School, Barnsley to recent exhortations to a ‘Housing Revolution’. Readers may be interested to know about similar revolutions being plotted in education.

The rhetoric of crisis is also echoed in housing and education too here.

Poetry on the Hoof: Triangulated Data (v1.0)

Did he? Did she?
Does She?

Will he? Will she?
Would (will) She?

Did they? Would they? (if they did…)
Would She? (have…)

Maybe they did? Maybe they didn’t? (perhaps they couldn’t?)
Maybe She would maybe She wouldn’t (perhaps She couldn’t?)
But perhaps they did, perhaps they could have,
Perhaps She might, perhaps She would have,
Perhaps She dared where they feared
To tread
And perhaps they couldn’t.
When She would and could have
And perhaps they all just might have
Conspired, together, in cahoots
A perfect triangle
A seamless bubble
A little bit of surreptitiousness in the undergrowth.
Perhaps (they did) perhaps…

The knowledge of the car driver: Number 5 in an the series: Knowledge, traffic and arts based research.

The knowledge of the car driver is perhaps the most complete form of knowledge available to us in both the private and public spheres of knowledge. He (for the car driver is always male, the form has not yet found a way of accommodating female insights into how to navigate oneself around the world) knows how to use Satnav, A – Z or his own innate capabilities in recognising how the world roads systems should connect up; how to surround himself with the perfect soundtrack which mirrors how his own internal emotional turmoil connects to his public confidence in the morals of the highway code; and  how his mpg will accurately predict his eta. On a good day, the drivers knowledge is both organic and inorganic,  both evolved and constructed: man and machine are perfectly melded. On a bad day, you find yourself on the M25.

Arts based research has a particularly effective role to play if the driver finds himself on the Moebius Loop that is the modern outer city motorway. Poetry, site specific installations and bricolage can be bought into play on the car dashboard, creating new interpretations on ancient themes of mans inhumanity to man, the place of God in a Godless society and the existence of the Devil. The only risk to the driver is that by becoming so immersed in the knowledge that this research generates, they miss the turning for the Dartford Tunnel and are doomed to repeat their journey for a further 120 miles.

More travel knowledge here.

Poetry on the Hoof: I am not a mere Biochemist

I am not a mere biochemist
I am a DNA replicator
Intent on duplicating  my Genome
Through Vivisection and Genetic trials on Mitochondrial Enzymes.
My Phage like protein coat mutates
and my skin steams with Sulphuric acid.

A poem on the hoof: thanks to Cliff Yates

Poetry on the Hoof: Scruffy Students

Sporty scruff
Sparky scruff
Just pissed up in the afternoon

Beery scruff
Hippy scruff
Permanent student in a beetle

Lecturer scruff
European scruff
We’re all mates together in a rugby scrum

Lectures seminars
Tutorials workshops
Doubting supremacist knowledge

The only unscruffy ones are the Arabs, Africans and Chinese.
Do they know something we don’t?

A poem on the hoof: thanks to my favourite postgraduates.