Why are dollshouses so sinister yet so alluring? Their very presence and loneliness makes us come to all sorts of conculsions. Yet (most of us) love them…
Here is a poem I have penned about the haunting aura of a dollshouse and its inhabitants. I remember being so frustrated as a child that they didn’t notice me, or look at me. I was excluded from their very small existence.
In the Dollshouse
Plastic Mum and Dad stare stonily ahead,
they don’t see me at all.
I urge them to look at me
as they sit by a fireplace
that doesn’t bring warmth.
Why don’t you see me?
They don’t care who I am,
I can’t be let in on their secrets.
And their thoughts stay private.
A tiny kettle by a lifeless cooker,
that never boils, stands next to a
sink which doesn’t get wet.
A bathroom next door, where the
toilet won’t ever flush.
A baby who doesn’t cry,
lies naked in a blue cot.
I put the parents on their hard bed
– and urge them to find sleep.
But their eyes never close, they
simply look through me.
Their limbs hard and cold, they
can’t take off their painted-on clothes.
I put a tiny blanket over them
but they don’t get warm.
I abandon them
when it’s time for tea.
Now, that brought a shiver up my spine. I’ve had dollshouses and plastic people for years, yet that made me cold. I guess these figures will never tell us anything.
Feel free to send in any toy poems yourselves. I’ll rummage through the poetry cupboard too.
There’s bound to be more spooky toys – I’m of that generation!
Thank you for tuning in, PL’s. More poetry action real soon…..
Yes, Poetry Lovers, it’s that event of the year. They say there’s beautiful fireworks out there, but I have to take their word for it. I’m busy having my hands over my ears, and snuggling in with Dobby. Always loathed it – especially bangers. So, to show my displeasure, I have penned an anti-Guy Fawkes night poem.
Read on if you dare…
Bonfire Night
Fireworks burning bright
at 6 o’clock at night.
Freezing against the cold night air,
they say they’re pretty but I don’t care.
They’re obnoxious and way too loud,
and any sparkler draws a crowd,
to whom I wouldn’t give the time of day.
I wish they all would go away.
A stuffed figure in orange flames,
I don’t want to play these games.
You can keep your potatoes in their jackets,
and all the other crap in little packets.
I’d much rather be warm at home,
I wish those fireworks would leave me alone!
Thanks for looking, Poetry Lovers. I’ll be back soon with more poetry japes. Same time, same channel…..
Well, last night we had the second virtual Poetry Performance evening, bringing Poetry at the Adelaide into our own homes. A great success.
Hosted by the vibrant Clive Rowland, we had a full programme of original and innovative poetry. Starting with the clever John Sephton with two small and classy poems Blue Notes and Expecting to Fly. The latter being a surreal love song.
This was followed by PP regular Carol Wain with an acrostic poem Familiarity. Strong and poignant, Carol
Dressing the part was another prolific regular Andrew Evzona, in full Halloween garb. Creating a great atmosphere, his poems included the very touching Home Address. A moving and innovative account of the family home.
Relative newcomer Bob Kimmerling blew us away with his beautifully detailed and vivid work including I watched my Father dig
Clever Heather Montford read two poems by the late, and much missed, Frances White. One of them being the beautiful Damsons and Dahlias – with the incredible description – Film Star Kisses – what an amazing line!
We were delighted to see Tom McColl with The Phoney War, which has the saddest and moving last line. Then the relatively new The Usual Address. Fascinating and compulsive, Tom. Please come back next time.
And welcome back to Tony Josolyne with the strong and vivid Rambling.
This brought us to the break where I kicked off a discussion on poetry titles after reading notices ie Roger McGough poetry competition – closing date 7th December 2020, so still time to enter!!
Then a climatic atmosphere as our featured poet Math Jones was introduced. A very welcome return, his last appearance was at the Adelaide in 2018. Been too long, Math! A big, big welcome back to you!
Math read some beautiful pieces. A poet who really goes from strength to strength. Catch his Facebook live streams – they’re quite something!
Math entranced us with five amazing pieces – my own favourite being The Midwife, haunting, striking and so razor sharply articulated.
Look up the fascinating recent interview I carried out with the amazing Math. Worth a look…..
Math’s set was cleverly chosen for the season with communications from ancestors, fairies and incantations drawn from folklore, that verged towards the intense and remarkable. Stunning poems, Math, well done. We knew you’d come up with the goods!
Followed by a strong Q&A led by Clive. It was great to see the two of them back together again on that virtual sofa!
A good start to the second half, with the talented Pat Cammish performing Grandmama’s Tale. Beautifully read, Pat.
The original and enigmatic Robin Clarke followed with The Family – a clear account and reflection that was so true, it was almost uncomfortable!!
Fran Thurling’s incredibly detailed They’re Selling the Old Farm House was next, a poignant telling of a family home. More delights from Connaire Kensit with Stepping Stones containing colourful childhood memories. A stunner, Connaire!
Then our very own Poetry Performance founder, Anne Warrington performed a wonderful piece Oh, the Joys of Teaching, vividly reflecting on her experience as a teacher.
Ruthless poet Heather Moulson came up next with Happy Families – a loaded card game, revealing reflections on that timeless and frustrating card game. Then Longing, part of a trilogy that just needs the third piece to be written!
Ruthless and ambiitious – will walk over anyone to get what she wants. Best to be avoided!
The lovely Barbara Lee was an apt climax for a great evening. Barbara kept to the family poem theme and gave an explosive and traumatic account of her own family life. Powerful and thought-provoking, Barbara. Well done.
Drained and elated from Poetry Performance’s successful evening, we look forward to the next virtual session on Sunday 6th December, hosted by Heather Montford.
Of course, we’d rather be back upstairs at the Adelaide, but at least Zoom – which seems to be in it for the duration – will bond us together during this bizarre and unique period of history.
Thank you everyone. We’ll meet again soon.
Thank you for tuning in, Poetry Lovers. We’ll return shortly for a Bonfire Night theme! Same time, same channel…….
Hello, Poetry Lovers. So, Halloween is looming, eh?
I’ve taken the liberty of penning two poems about this certain night. The first is in the style of Pam Ayres, and the second is – er – in my style really…. Well, read on…..
halloween, you’re such a bore!
Trick or Treater’s at my door
Out with fun-size sweets I go
Recently purchased from big Tesco
A kid with a cape and witches’ hat
Says that my offering’s not all that
Now listen here, you ungrateful snitch
All I did on Halloween was draw a witch!
I‘d have loved to have been a trick or treater
But the only thing on Halloween was Blue Peter!
And I never got a badge, I sigh
The kids bid a nervous goodbye!
They all leg it into the night,
My fun-sized treats gone from sight.
(Luckily they were on special offer!)
October 1968
Coal black night where witches fly
“Can I come with you, aye bye and bye”
Grey skies on a school afternoon
they say witches fly right to the moon
But what IS Halloween?!
Conkers lay dead on the ground
come now, you’re home safe and sound
shall I draw you a nice pumpkin pie?
Americans don’t eat them, that’s pie in the sky!
But what IS Halloween?!
Teacher shouty and brash
school dinners with corned beef hash
Friday afternoon I’ll draw her a witch
but Mrs Ross’s a bad-tempered old bitch
But what IS Halloween?!
She’ll love her favourites Maxine and Pat’s
mine will get a glance and that’s
that. I’ll take it home, hope for the best
that Mum will take the slightest interest
But what IS Halloween?!
This question actually comes from my lips
Mum says shuttup and eat your chips!
no-one cares less about stupid Halloween
witches don’t exist, this is bloody obscene
It’s actually the eve of All Saints Day
now for chrissakes go and play!
But what IS Halloween?!
Wasn’t that a hoot?! Do submit any yourselves! What fun!
Thanks for tuning in, I’ll be back for more poetry antics – same time, same channel……
Hello, Poetry Lovers. Today we feature a stunning and nostalgic poem from the lovely and talented Trisha Broomfield.
Badedas on Bath Night will hold many memories of that one night of the week. Once again we’ll inhale that classy Badedas. Still the best really, but it’s the Coal Tar soap that really brings back the bathroom for me. I still buy it when I can…… Anyway, read on….
Badedas on Bath Night
Cuticura talc and coal tar soap,
Badedas on bath night
a trail of foot prints across the hall,
water soaking sisal,
transistor radio balanced on discarded clothes,
tights wrapped round water pipes,
hair dried by two bar fire,
eyebrows plucked to threads
in time for bed, quilted dressing gowns,
plastic rollers stabbing into scalps,
Ashes of Roses, candlewick, radio Caroline
posters peeled from papered walls,
Cupid’s Inspiration, the first LP I’d ever own
and through the painted window frames
the dream of romance never to be known.
Trisha Broomfield 2020
Wasn’t that just wonderful? Which of that lovely piece brought the sharpest memory? Definitely for me was the drying of hair over that two bar fire, it’s a wonder how many of us are still alive! Health & Safety would not like that!! And those candlewick bedspreads – I think I had a green one. Fabulous, Trisha, bless you for that.
I’ve tagged a glamorous picture of Trisha at the end there – I think the middle one resembles me!! I can’t believe how I’d sleep in those things.
Thank you for tuning in, PL’s. More poetry antics and japes soon……..
Today, I’d like to feature a poem by the lovely poet, Barbara Lee. Someone who I’ve come to know well during these last months. Not only are we fellow poets with a mutual respect, we are also cat lovers! So a full ten out of ten there!
Barbara has written a lovely piece called Pink Slippers, which is so full of relevance and great imagery.
This is a picture of Barbara Lee who looks just as glamorous outside the picture. Anyway read on for this charming piece
Pink Slippers
Today I bought some pink slippers
For the winter months here
I never prepared that I would be spending it so near
I always plan a trip away
Last year it was San Francisco on my way
But this year I won’t be venturing very far
Or going out late in my car
I will be snuggling up on my settee
With a nice cup of tea
Watching a film or reading a book
The cats giving me such a look
Which says we are all here on our own
My pink slippers and me at home.
B Lee 2020
Wasn’t that wonderful, PL’s?! Great stuff, Barbara, keep them coming.
Here’s a nice Slipper gallery for you all.
Thank you for tuning in, Poetry Lovers. We’ll be back with more poetry antics real soon. Same time, same channel….
Hello, Poetry Lovers, the Reliant has taken us back to our beloved Memory Corner. This time to the winter month of December 2019. The 2nd, in fact.
This was a wonderful night at the Troubadour Cafe. Thanks to the lovely Anne-Marie Fyfe, a strong, talented poet, and inspiring teacher, the very cream of poets gathered in the Troubadour basement on the Old Brompton Road.
All of us blissfully unaware of the emptiness that was to follow in 2020. Well, this is a very familiar tune now…..
This is one of my hearthrobs, Barney Ashton-Bullock, who read stunningly that night. Joined by many other of my pashes…Angus Strachan, Michael Dench, Mark Chamberlain, Ian McLachlan, Matthew Paul, Fran O’Leary, Lady Po and so many other wonderful poets.
Another poet I want to mention is the lovely Greg Freeman. I was so glad to see him that night. A very clever man and poet. It was that kind of magical evening.
And inevitably, here’s my own performance, I read Colours of ’73, a memory of living through Heath and the blackouts. Funny, the memory flashed up as I was in Tesco! Buying toilet rolls, I think. Little did I know that they would become a precious commodity!
Lord knows what I’m doing in that first image, but I’m gripping that microphone like Billy-O!!
So, thank you Anne-Marie and Troubadour and all my lovely poetry pals for making that such a remarkable evening.
Thank you once again for tuning in, PL’s. We’ll be back with more poetry antics very shortly – same time, same channel…..
Yes, Poetry Lovers! We’ve got the fascinating and enigmatic poet, Michael Cutchey on the show today!
(pandemonium)
Now settle down, PL’s. I know you’ve been queuing all day but we don’t want to frighten our guest, do we?! Because here he is….Michael Cutchey!
(our guest sweeps down the lighted stairs accompanied by disco music, almost drowning out the rapturous applause)
Michael, thank you so much for coming on the show
(Loud standing ovation. Security are nervous)
Pleasure, Heather. What a gas!
And may I say how much I love the white suit, Michael, especially with the black shirt! (cheers from the audience – So Cool! etc)
Many thanks. I’m off down the discotheque later so…..
(our guest looks around nervously)
Er… is Dobby here? I don’t want to get her fur on my suit! Also she bit me last time…….
She’s head of security now, my sweet. Dobby’s got her paws full!
Now, tell us everything about your acting and performing background
I’ve always been a bit of a performer. At school I struggled with dyspraxia and learning how to even hold a pencil, so I relished the chance do anything practical.
I’m very lucky to have had some amazing acting tutors throughout my education. After school, I studied performing arts at college, and found it a deeply enlightening experience. After that I joined some local am-dram groups who have become close friends and supporters, alongside my poetry family.
What a lovely way to put that, Michael. Yes, I think of us poets as a family.
So how did poetry become a part of your life?
Funnily enough, I wrote my first poem at six years old, and it was apparently so well received by my teachers that they laminated it and stuck it to the school library wall!
After that I had a bit of a haitus, until I was in my early 20’s. After that, I couldn’t stop! Over the last ten years I’ve managed to churn out nearly 700 poems, it’s become an integral part of my life, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every minute.
That is so impressive, Michael! 700!! I’ve got a lot of catching up to do!! You really are a prolific poet.
Who were your greatest influences?
Anyone who knows me knows I love Horror as a genre, but it might come as a surprise that the poet responsible for me discovering the art form was actually Sylvia Plath! She has such a powerful voice and paints imagery so vividly, it’s breathtaking! Other than Plath, I also enjoy a bit of Charles Bukowski, albeit no thanks to his controversial nature.
Stylistically though, my biggest influences are probably the two great titans of Horror, Howard Phillips, Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. The latter has some amazingly sombre and melancholic poems, such as The Raven, The Mourning Palace and A Dream Within a Dream to name a few.
On the other hand, H. P. Lovecraft was less prolific as a poet, than as a writer of lurid stories for pulp magazines at the turn of the 20th Century. Again he is a very controversial person, but his impact on the horror genre is undeniable.
I can see those influences in your work and performance. It works for you too.
Tell us about your project/plans…
Aside from the usual churning out of more poems, I have been picking away at a novel for a while now, although I’m still a little rusty when it comes to prose. It’s a horror story (obviously) about a man and a haunted house, set in the mid 1800’s.
I’m also hoping to arrange some anthologies of my poetry for potential submission to publishers.
(spontaneous round of applause)
Gosh, Michael. I want to read that right now! And I think you should get those poetry subissions in….
Now, you know what I’m going to ask – what is the best poetry gig you’ve done – and the worst?
I have to admit I consider myself very lucky in that I don’t think I’ve ever had a bad gig, at least not in my opinion. I always enjoy reading and try to go at it with gusto, and I think the audience appreciates that and enjoys it.
One standout gig for me was Halloween 2019, where I performed Lewis Carrol’s Jabberwocky in full Victorian garb for Write Out Loud Woking. Halloween is always my favourite time of year because it means you can dress outlandishly, and I like to think I look good in a top hat and a cravat.
We second that, don’t we, Poetry Lovers?!
(huge round of applause and out and out agreement)
Your stage presence and dress is stunning, Michael. You have such a style.
We have so enjoyed talking and listening to you. Now which discotheque are you off to tonight? The Write Out Loud one? Or..
.(Our guest suddenly looks very nervous)
Ah, I see Dobby’s returned…..
(our esteemed guest legs it)
Wah! Dobby! Not the white suit!!!
(tears up the stairs, Dobby at his heels)
(Loud loud applause, audience go mad)
(shouts up the stairs) Thank you so much for coming on the show, Michael!
Wasn’t he wonderful, PL’s?! I hope little Dobby isn’t too hard on him! I dread to think of the cleaning bills for that wonderful suit!
Thank you for tuning in, Poetry Lovers, we’ll be back soon with some more poetry antics. Stay tuned……
Heather Moulson 