Stephen Davids led off the first session of open mic readers, shocking us all over again with his memories of making love with (someone else’s) granny.
Liddy, recovered from flu but not from her dissertation, had treats from that delicious collection of poems about all kinds of goodies from chocolate to oysters (with a few lines about digestive tragedy along the way.)
The title of Kyle’s tribute to Ireland was a little ambivalent (“Could be Ireland, Could be Anywhere”) but the landscape in it, that “cries often by itself “ was beautiful and recognisable as the wild wet cliffs of the Atlantic coast in the far west. In “Lost Verse” he wondered that so much poetry appears and vanishes away (“written minutes of lives lived”).
We were very happy to see Holly, taking time out from her work to keep us company this evening despite facing a long journey home to London at the end of the evening.
“Purple Pollies” was the title of her poem, in which exotic “pollies” finally took wing after a creative relationship.
Geoff Pimlott had a poem from a friend in Thailand, Venetia Walkey, about an artificial tree in an artificial world which brought to mind the expensively designed shopping malls in big Asian cities like Bangkok.
Geoff revealed that though he is not Irish, he is in fact one of the Tribe of Little People! Geoff’s own poems “Morphine”, the “velvet round my pain”, and “The Congo has Healed” showed that however small the stature, the spirit is enormous.
Lorri had breaking news about the Old Testament and the goings-on in Sodom and Gomorrah, and Dónall insisted on hearing her Dirty Poem again. (blame St Paddy – tears before bedtime, I thought.)