I thought to stand on the top stair, check my watch
smile for 10 minutes & not talk.
it’s pretend, & how do i descend after that
sip my drink as if it never happened; digest
club sandwiches; delicates; anglosaxon
monosaturates &,
an hour later, when i’m in-doors & i’m
nothing particular…
here’s the blade, where’s the nurofen,
the paracetamol? out there, a violin
stirs the drunk playing solitaire.
my heart sinks to the sole of my shoes.
Enjoyed, Macro. Yes, have been part of many such events, the poetry add-on, and at the end you’re just hoping no-one will have noticed you were even there!
Thanks Peter.
I’ve been having trouble logging in btw. Something to do W cookies.
I like the sole and heart image, too. will use sometime I hope. the museum/galley always been a good visit, but i know exactly what you mean about those kind of events…
thanks Dean.
that’s a great image – the sole carrying away the fallen heart. So, yes: take it like that.
No, I read well , but I felt flat after it. i think the whole event was flat, thru no fault of anyone, the thing (a celebration of surrealist art) just didn’t click. i felt that most people were there for the dress-up, the visuality, & weren’t really into the poetry. & the afterglow was marred by an over-zealous folk singer playing so loud no-one could talk. so i left. but fair enough.
the first draft of my poem was a lot lighter than it ended up. I’m always prepared to sacrifice “facts” for art’s sake, if nothing else
are we to take from this, and that the ‘sole carried away the fallen heart’ your reading was memorable for the awful performance, or are you waiting still to go on?