Thursday, 8 October 2015


It's still National Poetry Day. Just. 

I'm in my kitchen, making a fuck-off massive pan of bolognese sauce which I'll freeze in little pots to feed my family when I remember to get the little pots back out of the freezer, which will be never. But I like crushing garlic and grinding peppercorns in a mortar and pestle. So there's that.

So, yeah, Poetry. Amazing things happen when you expose people to it. Pretty much every poet you care to think of is better at it than I am, so I'm not going to go on at length about its benefits and how it crosses boundaries and baba baba baba baba baba. Personally speaking, and I know there is no other way I can speak, there's no better place to start than Dr Seuss; I've been reading Chinese poetry recently and it's a gift; I also love Scroobius Pip, Dizraeli, Eminem and Doc Brown. But I love Rizzle Kicks too. Iron Maiden's 'Hallowed Be Thy Name' is written in iambic pentameter. Never say you don't like Poetry.  Byron isn't the only Boy on the Block.

Here's the one I wrote this morning at four a.m. And here's what I'm listening to just now 
Happy Day.  Go Rhyme Shit Up.

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