Pulsar Live Reviews

'Live' Poetry Reviews - by David Pike

The following are condensed reviews of Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evenings held at the Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard. I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summaries. Note: I only get one swift ‘take’ of poems as they are read, hence my brief reviews are best personal interpretations only, (as I see them at that time). Sound recordings were made at the venue, with poets’ permission and have been placed as MP3 files on the Pulsar web for all to hear.

The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard village, near Swindon, Wiltshire; Pulsar Poetry Evening held on 12^th March 2008.

As per usual I (DP) started the evening by playing a self-penned acoustic guitar solo, this time I performed ‘Skylark,’ a piece of music I have been musing over for some time, now think I’ve perfected the ending! I then read a few of my poems.

I recorded the following poems that were read by Michael Newman, Remembrance / Suburbia / Separation / Pub Encounter. ‘Remembrance’ told of the silent (yet screaming) agony of bereavement, “. . . the day my father died you sought to embrace me, but I pushed you away . . . your eyes spoke across the null and void . . .” You may listen to Michael’s poems on the Pulsar web.

Neil Brooks read a number of poems including, Lost Continents of the Soul / Earth Pilgrim / Magical Poem. Earth Pilgrim was a nature poem, verse included, “. . . that ache . . . a poet’s vision broken on your tongue . . . smiles reform before my eyes . . . the river is waking on its journey . . .”

It was good to see Ian Sills again, he’d travelled from Bristol to attend. Ian read a number of his well known poems such as Oscar’s Grouch / Response to the Wind Beneath Your Wings / S.A.D. and a new poem, Rock-in Chair, Led Zeppelin at the O2 Arena. The Led Zep-esk poem made me smile; Ian sang the same in (ageing) Led Zep fashion, “. . . got to get back to his dressing room to see his supply of oil of Olay . . . been a long time since we did a gig . . . been a long time since we sang these songs . . .”

David Johnson had also travelled from Bristol and read a number of interesting and amusing poems including, ‘Grumpy Old Poet’s’ Manifesto,’ which included, “. . . we who are IPod less . . . I.T. inept . . . whose ears are tired by poetry yelled . . . and beat boxes vibrate our dentures . . . let us raise funds . . . support poetry from the heart . . . that takes more than a bus journey to write . . .” Incidentally David has a brand new book out, ‘Bombazine,’ price £7.99 ISBN 978-0-9548117-5-4, details thro’ e-mail: bombazine@paralalia.co.uk

Sue Chadd’s poem ‘Totem,’ recalled a chance encounter with a fabulous animal, “. . . out during March in the sun filled lane . . . engulfed in birdsong . . . around the bend she comes . . . a bay brown hare . . . lolloping gait . . . she rises on her hind legs to taste the air . . .”

It was good to hear some self-penned songs from singer song writer Ellie Chadd; (I’m not keen on cover versions). Ellie brought along an acoustic guitar and the haunting blend of guitar and voice rang out in The Goddard Arms. The song, ‘Same Mistake,’ included, “. . . your voice revived the ache in me . . . the northern wind amongst the trees . . . whispers of the distance . . . still I miss you . . . I always seem to make the same mistake . . .”

Maddie Lestrange’s poem ‘Scum of the Earth,’ pulled few punches, “sometimes they might glimpse you as they move past . . . you behind the bullet proof glass of a limousine . . . arms dealing . . . back-handers allow airspace and landing . . . I sing in praise of the scum of the Earth . . .”

I was also good to see George Wade again. George has not been too well of late but still made the effort to travel from Bristol to attend as a spectator. A diamond geezer.

Another good evening at The Goddard Arms, our ‘live’ spiritual home. DP.

The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard village, near Swindon, Wiltshire; Pulsar Poetry Evening held on 6^th June 2008.

I (DP) started the ball rolling by playing ‘Locks Lane,’ on my acoustic guitar and then read a few of my poems.

Steve Feltham read some of his work including a poem which initially seemed controversial, the poem was titled ‘Asylum Seekers.’ Verse included, “. . . come in their thousands . . . don’t pay taxes, don’t’ pay rent . . . are they going home or going away? . . why do they come, why do they go? – swallows.” I know that Steve is an ardent bird watcher, (twitcher), there is very little he doesn’t know about bird life, always interesting to hear.

Neil Brooks read two new poems, ‘Watching Swifts in the Rain,’ and ‘The Egret.’ I liked the poems and asked Neil to send them to me – they are now published in this edition of Pulsar. It pays to attend a Pulsar ‘live’ event, if I hear something I like, I publish, (DP). Neil’s poem, ‘Status Anxiety,’ included, “everyone wants to be on TV . . . obsessed with celebrity . . . apprentices suck up to Alan Sugar . . . at the post party, they ask me what I do . . . I am between jobs . . . I have no income, I am a bloody poet.”

I was good to see Sean Butler again. Sean cycled to The Goddard Arms from Swindon; there you are then, an eco friendly poet who used pedal power to cover the approx 14 miles round trip, fair play. Sean’s poem, ‘Hair of the Dog,’ made me smile, “my mate John used to play naked statues in a shed with his girlfriend,” (a confession made at a Swindon pub).

Michael Newman won the year 2007/08 Pulsar Poetry Competition with his excellent poem, ‘English Riviera;’ the poem is published in this edition of Pulsar. Michael read the winning poem and later read, (and sound recorded), his poem ‘Remembrance,’ which may be heard on the Pulsar web.

Susan Richardson travelled with her husband from Cardiff to attend; a fantastic effort. Susan has a new poetry book, Creatures of the Intertidal Zone which is available now thro’ Cinnamon Press, ISBN 978-1-905614-16-5, price £7.99. Susan recited most of her work from memory including the poem ‘Metamorphosis,’ which was recorded and may be heard as a Pulsar Sound File on the Pulsar web. Metamorphosis, (from Susan’s book), was about living in the frozen lands of Scandinavia and transforming to become a penguin. Verse included, “To begin with, nothing drastic / the odd cold bath, air con on max / the utter absence of shivers . . .” Final verse, “I make a nest from the last / strands in my hairbrush and what I once / knew as pencils, and string. / Soon I must force / this hard new truth between my legs / and hatch it.” Susan’s book is about journeys through lands of ice and snow and includes references to Scandinavian heroines, Gudrid and Freydis. An interesting read.

The Goddard Arms continues to be a good venue with a warm welcome assured for all who attend. DP.

The following are reviews of Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evenings held at the two venues named below. I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summaries. Note: I only get one swift ‘take’ of poems as they are read, hence my brief reviews are best personal interpretations only, (as I see them at that time).

The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire on Thursday 18^th October, 2007

I started the event by playing ‘Locks Lane,’ (a self penned instrumental tune), on my acoustic guitar; this seems to be the norm now for Pulsar events. I then read some of my poems.

Elizabeth Boyd read a poem that I think was entitled, ‘The Ballad of the Blind Man,’ which was about standing in a bus queue in Westminster London with an unknown blind man present and feeling the need to engage the man in conversation but being, perhaps, too reserved to do so. Verse included, “. . . the buses came but not the right ones . . . I wanted to speak . . . silent and tired we stood in the queue . . . the bus didn’t come . . . the cold wind blew.”

Steve Feltham’s poem ‘Names in the Sand,’ hinted at the frailty and fleeting nature of human life, focussing upon the incessant action of the sea to emphasise the insignificance of our lives in the grand scheme of things, “. . . why are we all here . . . the waves . . . washing all the names in the sand, away forever . . .”

The poem ‘The Cloak of Motherhood’ read by Crystal Butler spoke of depression and the non glossy side of motherhood, “. . . low self esteem . . . the cloak lay dirty on the floor . . .” This is where the therapeutic side of poetry (and writing) comes to the fore. Writing about how we feel helps to put things into perspective, a kind of cleansing of the psyche – to come back fighting.

John Richardson was on good form. John retired recently and was looking chilled – retirement obviously agrees with him. The poem ‘Taking the Rain,’ referred to an old acquaintance, “. . . sitting on the bus . . . memory’s a one trick pony . . . were you my first lesson . . . we did meet on a bus in a different era . . .”

Tony Hillier’s ironic poem, ‘Miss World,’ made me smile, “We’re wearing sashes . . . not Miss World . . . but if you don’t follow our example about climate change you will miss world.”

Val Evans, Steve Anderson and Joe Packer are a local, (unnamed) vocal / acoustic band who plays acoustic guitars, mandolin, mouth organ and tin whistle. The band played a number of laid back folk songs including, ‘Crazy Man Michael,’ a haunting song that I think was previously performed by Sandy Denny? (amongst others). The band also performed Simon and Garfunkel standards such as ‘Homeward Bound.’ All songs were expertly performed with soothing harmonies. All in all a good evening.

The True Heart Inn, Thursday 22^nd November, 2007, Bishopstone village, near Swindon, Wiltshire. This was a new venue for Pulsar Poetry Evenings and it was nice to receive a warm welcome from Brian and Mandy who are owners of this free house pub and restaurant. This is not a typical backwater village pub, the joint was literally jumping with people queuing to dine in the restaurant area. The evening went well considering this was an unknown quantity, (from our point of view), and that we were (probably) unknown in this region of Wiltshire.

I started the evening by playing acoustic guitar, (a self penned untitled composition), and then read poems from my new book, ‘In the Mix.’

Michael Newman travelled from Bishops Cleeve near Cheltenham to attend. Michael’s poem ‘At the Seaside,’ spoke of past holidays in Cornwall. Verse included, “. . . the seventh wave sweeps away your Wellingtons . . . discarded plants fail to reach Georgia but land on a Cornish shoreline . . .” Michael later read a poem entitled, ‘The Loner,’ which was about the mystical creature, (and in my view fabulous creature), the hare. Verse included; “stark against a lunar landscape . . . soon it will be dusk . . . now I have been spotted . . . assessed as hostile . . .” Incidentally, I recently revisited Michael’s paperback poetry book, ‘Clutching Straws In A Hurricane,’ which was published in year 2002 by Kite Modern Poetry Series, 80 pages, ISBN 0 907759 33 5, price £6.95 plus postage and packing. Well worth a look, I’m a fan of Michael’s work.

‘Annie, (pride before a fall),’ was a nonsense poem read by Elizabeth Boyd. Tongue-in-cheek verse included, “on a Friday I once heard a woman say that pigs may fly . . . she stroked her long wavy hair . . . friendly folk helped her along . . . is it true she really slept . . . or was she so adept . . . place a peg upon her nose . . . causing an enormous snore . . .”

Mervyn Penny from Shrivenham is a fan of Thomas Hardy and William Barnes and brought books containing work from these poets to read. Mervyn also recited a self penned poem from memory which noted the various qualities and charms of such beauties as Nell Gwynne, (but these lookers could be overlooked), “the one I would pick would be the one who made me spotted dick . . . what I call the good ’uns . . .” Mervyn was of course referring to the excellent pudding, (which I guess is now probably considered to be bad for you). I remember as a child being served steam pudding on which we poured large spoonfuls of syrup, delicious – I could eat one of those now).

June Wilmers poem ‘Bluebells,’ included, “. . . who upset the blue dye over the hillside . . . in stark contrast with the green grass and dark green of the fir trees . . .” You could almost see the dazzling short-lived display from these plants.

The evening went well. We were warmly received and as a bonus the Swindon Advertiser did us proud with colour photographs of the event in the newspaper and on the Adver web. Nice one.

The True Heart Inn, Thursday 24^th January, 2008 This Pulsar ‘Live-microphone Evening,’ was a different prospect from all previous evenings as it included ‘live’ stereo MP3 recording of poets performing their work, (I’ve recently purchased a new gizmo to accommodate this). The landlords had kindly set-up the lounge area to suit, with an alcove at the end of the room set aside for our use. The space we were allotted was close to the dining room and it soon became apparent that other customers were keen to get in on the recording act by making infantile and moronic noises, (it was ever thus, and we were, after all, in a pub).

Poets that performed, (and recorded), included Steve Feltham, Maggie Lestrange, Tony Hillier, John Richardson, Rob Stredder and myself. All-in-all, despite of the intentional noise interference we still managed to record some reasonable (sound) quality MP3 poems, (some of these have been posted to the Pulsar web and may be selected thro’ the following web link: http://www.pulsarpoetry.com/Pulsar_Live_Sound_1.htm ).

Brief summary: Steve Feltham read a number of his poems and I particularly liked The Old Mill which was about the coming of World War I and the forming of the PALS. Maggie Lestrange read a few personal poems about a male character she knew. Tony Hillier recalled his recent trip to India and experiences gained therein; Tony’s poem Birthday Power related to slightly officious hotel staff. John Richardson’s poem subtitled Niagara was also aired and recorded. Rob Stredder’s poem Night Boat to Cork made you feel slightly queasy, (sea sickness wise). Another good evening at a friendly venue. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evening(s) held on, Wednesday 7^th March 2007 at The Nine Elms, Shaw, West Swindon and Thursday 5^th April and Thursday 27^th June 2007 at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire. I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summaries.

The Nine Elms, 7th March 2007

John Richardson’s poem ‘Coasting,’ referred to his imminent retirement, (in 10 days time), “. . . take it easy they said . . . so, I’ll be 60, burning rubber . . . perhaps I’ll live for ever . . . coasting.”

‘War Wound 1943,’ was a poem that recalled John Plevin’s childhood encounter with a wasp. John’s verse included, “I loved the siren sound . . . calling a sleeping class to shelter . . . I loved the helter skelter plunge to dark regions . . . tasted the bliss of missed lessons . . . the sharp sting of an angry bomber . . . my cry . . . and the bringing of the box . . . a circle of faces watching an artist paint my leg blue . . . the walk home . . . swagger . . . wounded . . .”

Steve Feltham read ‘The Hospital Window,’ a poem about boredom and anxiety, “looking at the pipes . . . considering new pyjama stripes . . . out of the darkness a foreign hand grasps mine, taking my pulse . . . eyes and thoughts fixed on the window . . . the afternoon drags, then the evening . . .”

Rob Stredder’s poem ‘Iffley Lock III,’ brought memories of the Thames at Oxford to light, “I missed Spring completely . . . sleeping squirrel-like . . . wind blown waves turning the Thames to the sea . . . a mallard and her little yellow brood . . . Iffley Lock is blowing in the wind . . .”

The poem, ‘Busting Stereotypes,’ read by Tony Hillier reversed the viewpoint about teenagers and anti social behaviour and referred to a north Swindon youth club he’d attended to give a presentation; “. . . guessing it’s excitement hormones . . . there’s a buzz in this place . . . this underground . . . a place where teenagers give a bad name,” (to other teenagers), through being well behaved.”

Editorial note: poets who live outside the Swindon area have mentioned they’ve had difficulty locating the Nine Elms pub; (located at the end of a cul-de-sac off of a side road in the maze that is West Swindon). We may need to re-think this one. DP.

The Goddard Arms, 5^th April 2007

Gill Clancy’s amusing poem, ‘Letter to My Daughter,’ touched upon the tension that is raised as teenage expectations grow and parents are required to sate the need, “. . . choices for the future . . . now starting to earn. . . L plates on . . . and Dad wants a gun . . .”

Michael Newman’s poem ‘Remembrance,’ highlighted the silent agony of bereavement and the way we cope, (or struggle to cope). “The day my father died you tried to embrace me but I pushed you away . . . I had nothing left to give . . . we passed a silent evening shrieking with unspoken words.”

Gyms, don’t you just love. No! Neither do I. John Richardson’s poem ‘Health Club Gig,’ just about summed it up; “. . . all daps and sweat . . . picking up the pace I’m a blues man on speed . . . the muscle-bound Mary’s giving me the eye . . . oh bugger, the treadmill’s stopped and I’m still running.”

Tony Hillier started off with some banter, said, ‘I’m an extractor fan! I used to like tractors. Tony then read a poem dedicated to a recently deceased local, (likeable) character, Michael O’Sullivan; “nobody had a face-wide smile like Michael . . . cycling past my Walcot window . . . always on the go . . . he was a worker . . . he was class . . . a passionate campaigner for true Labour values . . .” ‘Interlude,’ made me smile with the cry, “Byron, get one free.”

Keith Hilling began by reading formal poems and later recited, ‘Brain to the Planets,’ which included the deadly (non poem word) orange. Verse included, “oh my oh my, orange is man’s juice . . . I raise my arms in two Vs and sing a siren song . . . said Brian to his inner brain . . . no words rhyme with orange.”

Neil Brooks poem ‘Morning,’ spoke of the numb feeling after the night before, (when your tongue’s like a piece of leather and you vaguely remember what you did), the poem included, “. . . a stiletto shoe lay in the hallway . . . her tights nestling by the sofa . . . my socks still on my feet . . . no conversation in the morning.”

The Goddard Arms, 27^th June 2007

David Gill, (Pulsar Poetry Competition Year 2006/07 Winner), travelled from Oxford with his wife Irene to attend. David read a number of interesting poems including the humorous, ‘Parrot.’ Verse included, “tumult in the street . . . teenagers talking their heads off . . . next door . . . a parrot . . . he’s the mob screeching back . . . but catch his eye and he hangs his head . . .” David also read a series of poems which came under the general title of ‘Language Drills,’ and covered language usage with particular focus on tenses, example, ‘Had Been,’ included, “. . . Portuguese . . . think of history . . . had been the triumphant days of the caravels . . . had been days of extraordinary man . . . had been the days of rich returns . . . had been days of drowning . . . perfect days, perfect past . . .”

Neil Brooks poem, ‘Make Sense,’ had a bitter-sweet feel to it, “the stitches of their words will not justify their pain . . . we are a handful of dust / we have grown into the people our parents warned us about . . .”

‘My Computer,’ was the title of one of the poems read by Pamela Fentiman and included, “god I want to scream . . . bring back my old typewriter . . . carbon paper . . . duplicator,” then repents, “sorry dear word processor . . . you do so much for me . . . I apologise for the fuss I’m making.”

It was good to see Jean Macmaster again and to hear her poems. Jean’s opening poem was ‘New Baby,’ which read as follows: “I’m not someone else’s happy ending, I am my beginning.” There was also a tongue-in-cheek poem, ‘Don’t Even Thinks It,’ which included, “. . . inside your head is an evil thought . . . if God tunes in you could get caught.”

Kate Orchard read a poem by David Davies which I think was titled, ‘True Golden Burrows. The Alchemist, Part I.’ The poem had a surreal almost ‘Lord of the Rings,’ type feel and included, “. . . reconnect to the circle . . . three stone circles . . . find your reflection . . . a song of your soul . . . time balances within . . . everything is joined by six-pointed stars . . .”

Mancunian poet David Davies recalled the influence of his much loved and recently deceased grandmother, someone who encouraged and inspired him. David’s poem, ‘Let Me Be With Her Tonight,’ was really a prologue to another poem and included, “. . . ninety years old, waiting, praying . . . no longer in control of her body system . . . being controlled by alarm bells / through the doors . . . the other ancients . . . our flowers of rebirth . . . she remembers disconnected thoughts.”

For the record, at all events, I read some of my own poems and played a few self-penned instrumental tunes on my acoustic guitar. DP.

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evening(s) held on, Thursday 28^th September 2006, at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, on Thursday 19^th October 2006 at The Calley Arms, Hodson and on 9^th January 2007 at The Nine Elms, Shaw, West Swindon, Wiltshire. I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summaries.

The Goddard Arms, 28th September 2006

It was good to see Dorothy Burbidge again, together with a Chippenham contingent. Dorothy started with a controversial poem called ‘Reconciliation’ which posed the view that Satan acts as a target for guilt thus letting mankind off of the hook, “ . . . Satan, it was only man who wanted to dominate others . . . so they took you . . . and on you they piled the blame.”

Victoria Slatter travelled over from Highworth by taxi, made the effort, (for the record, Victoria is a wheelchair user). Victoria’s poem ‘Frustrated,’ included, “. . . can’t do what I want to . . . frustrated . . . can’t go anywhere quick. . . . I think I’m medically stressed . . . can understand how others may think, ‘obnoxious cow.’” Victoria also read, ‘Hello, Excuse Me,’ and a poem called, ‘Change,’ which referred to the upheaval of leaving Plymouth.

Neil Brooks aired a new poem titled, ‘The Truth of Spirit,’ which spoke of creative thought and inspiration, “. . . in a tenth of a second clarity appears . . . an imagination seed grows . . . change is good as a promise . . . an infinite dance . . .”

The poem, ‘Bed of Salt,’ by Jill Carter pursued culinary aspirations,“. . . oh God, how I dreaded placing the knife through the silver sea bass . . . never again to rest on its bed of salt . . .”

Sarah Singleton read a poem by, (I think), a poet named Johnson? The ethereal poem was titled, ‘The Common Weeds of Elfland,’ included “. . . drab hair tied in a sensible knot . . . the tiles must be clean . . . the char looks down, washes the tiles . . . humans die for the strangest reasons . . . frail as bee’s wings their quick hearts give up . . .”

Tony Hillier read a selection of ‘pub sitting’ poems which were written when Tony was sampling various Swindon watering holes. One poem, titled, ‘Glupes Odyssey,’ was about a Swindon pub called The Glue Pot; verse included, “can’t do somersaults or loop-the-loops at the Glupes . . . in Glupes you get verbal gymnastics.” Tony then went on to mention a well-known multi-national corporation that appears to be taking over local pubs, (and transforming them into theme pubs of a given ‘plastic’ format), “. . . treasure now The Glue Pot, could be ‘x’ in a week!”

John Richardson referred to a recent back injury and the work of a female physiotherapist, “. . . her hands are warm and I dream, not as instructed, of chicken and boiled rice . . .”

Michael Newman’s poem ‘Fahrenheit 100,’ conjured images of the smouldering summer, “. . . the shapes of the hills dissolve as mirage . . . under threat of wilt . . . you shy away from my shirt soaked embrace . . .”

A poem titled, ‘The Ballad of Adonis Kebab,’ was aired by Robert Webb. The poem related to a male poseur, someone who was, (shall we say), very keen to be seen, “. . . a Greek God called Eric . . . there’s always one . . . a nutter by nature . . . in freshly cast bronze . . . as the temperature rose, (and people fainted), more sun tan lotion was applied . . .”

Hilda Sheehan’s poem ‘The Seal’ was of an amusing, (and surreal) nature, “. . . each day the seal from next door borrows my bathtub . . . his wet behind moves up and down . . . I don’t know why he comes, we are not lovers . . . he’s a seal and I just live here . . .”

David Ladde, (apologies if the surname is wrong), began by referring to John Betjeman and of the late poet’s particular penchant for women of a certain build, built for office life, tennis or posh society . . . All-in-all Betjeman was an astute observer of ordinary life and was, perhaps, frowned upon by the poetry hierarchy because his work was both humorous and accessible, (and we can’t be doing with that)! David later read a humorous poem, ‘Weather Forecasting,’ which included, “. . . and sometimes their right when there’s frost overnight but sometime their wrong, and when pressure rises in Frome or Devizes.”

Touring American poet Rose Solari, (www.rosesolari.com), made a big impression on the Goddard Arms audience. Rose read from her new book, ‘Orpheus in the Park.’ The poem, ‘Elegy for the Virgin,’ told of early feelings of attraction (and of crushes), “When at seven, I watched him rising, shirtless, from the blue corrugated circle of his parents’ pool . . . I ran to my older sister’s room, to tell her the ultimate thing had happened: I had fallen in love. . .” The poem referred to a time of innocence, “. . . and all I wanted on this earth, to see Brian Fugel, eleven years old, in his chopped, low-rider Levis, standing in the apple-less Eden of his mother’s rose-tree garden, a bearer of mystery, but no despair.” This book sold well at the event, and deservedly so. DP

The Calley Arms: 19th October 2006

Joanne Brooks, (Jo), gave a new slant to being environmentally friendly with her poem ‘Gone Green,’ which included, “. . . my son has seen that the government wants all cars green, so that’s what he did . . . took a can of spray paint . . . my car is now as green as grass.”

Robert Webb’s poem, ‘New Gunslinger in Town,’ focussed on AIDS and the danger of infection through blood transfusion, “. . . ghosting past blood bank guards . . . the stakes are . . . the tumbling dice . . .”

The poem, ‘Tom Brown’s School Day,’ by Steve Feltham told of feelings of anxiety felt when his young son attended school for the first time, “. . . it seems only last year he learnt to walk . . . his little hand held mine in a vice-like grip . . . it felt like leaving him behind . . . time went slowly . . .”

Neil Brook’s poem ‘Beneath the Poem,’ included, “. . . ignorance is squeezed like washing . . . beneath the poem you exist in seashore shells . . . where your mind delights in words . . . to reach the place a child dreams of . . . infinity . .”

I didn’t catch the title of Keith Hilling’s poem but verse included, “. . . girl in a clean coat . . . magazine smile . . . danced the nights into days . . . new jeans . . . dreams . . .”

Talis Kimberly accompanied herself on acoustic guitar as she sang, ‘Jam Tomorrow.’ The song took a sideways, (tongue-in-cheek), stab at politicians in general, lyrics included, “. . . well I’m a leading politician so I’m better off than you . . . collectively we’re stupid but alright on our own . . . I read somewhere we reap what we’ve sown . . . petrol in my Jaguar . . . and plenty of jam for tea . . . unsustainable and foolish . . .”

Emily Wicks was a first-time ‘live-microphone,’ reader, (although you wouldn’t have known it). Her poem ‘Good Morning,’ referred to the futility of all warfare and recalled the ultimate sacrifice that was made by thousands in the First World War, “. . . Good morning, good morning the general cried . . . and at the end of the day it’s back to the trenches, (those who remain) . . . we gave up our tomorrows for your today . . .”

David Murgatroyd borrowed Talis’s guitar and sang a few double-entendre songs, you’ll get the drift from ‘Chandlers.’ Lyrics included,“. . . well I was disappointed . . . when I heard a sound . . . of the Chandler’s wife in bed with a man of enormous size . . .” Oh heck!

The Nine Elms: 9th January 2007

Kaycie Chilcott’s poem, ‘Alison,’ was about friendship and the value of being able to rely upon someone, “I see now . . . have opened my eyes . . . you never judge me . . . you are a true friend . . .”

Touring Irish poet Ruary OSiochain travelled from Cardiff to attend. I particularly liked the imagery conjured in his light-hearted poems. Here’s an example about a staring competition, ‘Living the Life of Riley’s Bull,’ – “There’s a bull in the field next door . . . we’ve been eyeing each other . . . a mean smug look from him and I begin to lose it . . . “dog meat I call,” letting myself down . . . the cows having seen it all before, chew on . . . it’s boy’s stuff . . .”

Victoria Slatter’s poem, ‘Happiness,’ included, “. . . why am I smiling so much? . . . I am smiling all the time . . . he’s in my head . . . it’s so easy loving you . . . ultimate perfection.”Traffic lights, don’t you just love them!

Steve Feltham’s poem summed up the pain of the long distance commute, “I can see them smirking at me as they make me wait . . . and in the leafy lane, temporary lights . . . although they have sensors . . . they ignore me, knowing I’m there . . .”

Alison McLeod was a first-time ‘live’ poetry reader; she started by giving an up-front apology and said “I’m really scared!” She needn’t have worried, was soon reading like a good ‘un. A few of Alison’s poems covered the escapism of nightclubbing and the rare commodity of having time for yourself. The poem ‘Tune’ included, “thoughts are turned into harmonies . . . the DJ works his magic . . . beats that pulse through . . . mean everything to us at that second . . .”

Shaun Butler’s gentle poem, ‘Word Play,’ spoke (perhaps) of thwarted hope, “Look at me / So? / What d’ya see? / Not a lot/ Am I young? / Maybe/ Good lookin’ / So-so / Man of you dreams / Ah. Now you’re talking / What’ll he be?

Vicky Walker was another first-time ‘live’ reader and sensibly opted to savour the ambience before electing to read, (realised it’s not quite as scary as first thought). Vicky made a good job of reading here work. An untitled poem included, “. . . make me lonely . . . make me miserable and I’ll miss the friends I’ve had . . . but ask me to talk and I won’t shut up . . .”

For the record, I read poems at all events and played acoustic guitar, (mainly folk / blues), and on occasion accompanied poets on guitar. DP.

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evenings) held on, Tuesday 21^st February 2006, and Thursday 25^th May 2006, at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire. As usual I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summary!

Michael Newman drew upon interesting work from his collection including the poem, ‘Release,’ – ��. . . just now the celandines are at smile . . . there are not enough smiles to say how I feel . . . when we kiss it is like the rain touching the celandines, gently . . .” I feel that Michael’s poems are quietly understated and evocative; a pleasure to hear.

Neil Brooks started with a retrospective poem, ‘Into the New Year,’ “. . . I smoke a cigarette with satisfaction . . . with the woman I love . . . it was beautiful . . . by January 1^st a hangover . . . the usual thoughts . . .” The poem ‘adjusted,’ was succinct and to the point, “I used to be well adjusted, until I came out of the womb.”

Sarah Singleton’s poem ‘Rat Trap,’ covered the juxtapose position of being annoyed by a rodent and at the same time wanting to ‘discourage’ it humanely; “some people hate rats . . . but I like them . . . live and let live . . . a humane trap . . . one mouse dead . . . rats everywhere, in the bins and barrels . . . poison bait . . . eight months of peace . . . then, they’re back . . .”

Dorothy Burbidge read a poem covering an ecological theme; the poem (written in 1988) was entitled, ‘Summer Sum;’ – “. . . keep going, make progress, persevere, the city needs you / meanwhile great Pan is living, but only just . . . Capital, what is capital ? . . an unpolluted sky . . . warmth in our heart towards other men . . . have we completely fouled up our ancient springs?”

Yvonne Joseph’s poem ‘A Charter for the Workplace,’ hit home; verse included, “. . . do not disagree with anyone, turn a blind eye to any form of abuse . . . in fact, join in . . . always remember to conveniently forget. . .”

Talis Kimberley took a tongue-in-cheek tilt about mainlining on tea, (her only vice). The poem I think was entitled ‘The Bag Lady.’ Verse included, “. . . Tetley is a Yorkshire boy . . he’s the one you want when your world if falling down . . . when you’re cold and wet and miserable . . .”

Dave Clements from Winnipeg, Canada made a guest appearance wielding a well travelled acoustic guitar. Dave is from the Canadian folk band, Dandelion Wine. Dave said he loves Britain’s history and later sang, among others, a haunting Archie Fisher tune which carried the verse, “. . . pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield . . . riding with the brindle hound at heel.’ Dave later sang, Fantasy Song, “. . . deep in the forest . . . Michael the crazy man was walking . . . met a raven . . . soon they were talking.”

25^th May 2006, same venue as above, as follows:

Andrew Barber read his poem, ‘Money God,’ which included, “. . . for I am the money god . . . I am the foot beneath the noose that kicks the chair . . . I am the money god, immortal, divine . . . my empire grows with each child that is born.”

Tony Hillier came armed with props - a cloth cap and neat t-shirt advertising Brunel 200 events, (celebrating 200 years since the birth of Isambard Kingdom Brunel). The poem ‘Swindon Poet Proud,’ summed up the large amount of work and time that Tony has put into the community on the poetry front. Verse included, “. . . proud to be a poet in Swindon . . . but keep it under your hat . . . but is doesn’t matter to me . . . but we’ve made Richard Jefferies visible . . .” On a lighter note the following made me smile, “poets for sale, poets for sale, Byron, get one free!”

Hilda Sheehan’s poem ‘North West,’ had plenty of northern grit, “. . . walk to the spa Leyland lass . . . get pie and beans . . . wade through smoke . . . wade through the shite of your life . . feed the meter, feed the kids, feed him when he comes home from the pub . . .” The poem reminded poets present of a Monty Python sketch, a few shouted, ‘luxury!’

Neil Oliver, (originally from Durham), sang a few well known North East folk standards including ‘The Lampton Worm,’ plus ‘Fog on the Tyne,’ (a well known Lindisfarne number, also a not so well known Paul Gascoigne cover version). Neil sang on valiantly although he was obviously the worse for wear for a deep seated chest infection.

Ryszard Gajolc, (complete with cool dark sunglasses), had an off-the-cuff comedy routine where he reminded the audience that, “most students initial preferred choice of academic institution was either Oxford or Cambridge, colloquially known as ‘Oxbridge;’ failing this they either went to Durham or Exeter, known colloquially as ‘Durex.’” Ryszard then went on to tell a series of jokes of Russian? origin, including ‘Igor’s 24 hour clock.’

For the record I also played acoustic guitar, (an instrumental titled ‘Locks Lane’), and also read a few poems. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evening, Thursday 1^st December 2005, held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire. As usual I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors in the following abridged summary!

Neil Brooks, started the ball rolling and during the evening read a selection of poems including the cheerful almost pizza-like, ‘Express Delivery,’ about the rapid birth of his daughter; “. . . the infant couldn’t wait for the delivery room or midwife experience . . . no gas, air or epidural . . . on the line, “control her breathing,” . . . express delivery, a daughter . . .”

George Wade’s poem ‘Mum’s Like a Lighthouse,’ relayed feelings of a warm and calming influence, “you speak to me like boats that wander the surface of the sea . . . thank you young girl for being you . . . thanks for that steady beam of cogent thought . . .”

Ian Sills recited a seasonal poem entitled ‘CD CD,’ which was about a time when his sister requested a Celine Dione audio compact disc for her Christmas present, (Ian not being a great fan of Celine); verse included, “. . . which CD would be the selection for her collection . . . a short list of just one, The Best of Celine Dione . . . So I walked into the store, face aglow, shunning eye contact with mankind . . . her voice emerged from every speaker . . .” Do other Pulsar readers have any musical pet hates? I have a thing about the song, Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around the Old Oak Tree; to me it just grates, a bit like finger nails screeching down a blackboard.

Helen Gregory’s poem, ‘The Feet,’ relayed childhood memories of Christmas Eve when anticipation was tinged with feelings of trepidation at the possible discovery of being found awake, “. . . eyes shut tight . . . lest I might be discovered . . . the first creak of a foot on the stairs . . . I would listen as the feet came closer . . . trembling at the pause of the feet . . . in the darkness behind my eyes . . .”

Alex Williams aired a poem about his late mother and her love of cigarettes, (fags); the poem was entitled, The Fag Tree, “my mum smoked all her life and died at 73 . . . they served her well . . . she told me of a dream . . . she was lying under a tree and all the leaves were lighted fags . . . they remained her friend until she died . . .” Alex also played a ukulele to accompany a jaunty poem about the most common complaint heard by GPs, “I’m aching all over and tired all the time . . .”

The poem, ‘Before Sleep,’ by Michael Newman was succinct and cleverly understated, “clad in the negligee of night . . . our fingers clasp, our lips cling . . . this utterness of knowing, interpreted without speech . . .” The poem ‘Reflection,’ felt ephemeral, “. . . in the lake the woodland ripples . . . . now the water steadies . . . and the mirror man stands still.” Look out for Michael’s poems in this edition.

During the interval I played electric guitar to accompany Ian Sills in a rendition of a punk-like poem by Ian Vickers entitled, ‘Mirror on the wall,’ (it seemed to go ok). All-in-all another good evening at the much altered Clyffe Pypard pub, The Goddard Arms, (now converted to a back packer haunt with new rooms for over night accommodation). DP

* * *

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evening, Thursday 22^nd September 2005, held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire. As usual I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors!

Ian Sills started the evening in a confident and accomplished manner. The poem, ‘Crime Against Humanity,’ made the audience smile, verse included, “I shun the obvious rhyme, most of the time . . . the writers of the lyrics of blues, have a fixation with their shoes . . . I shun the obvious rhyme, most of the time . . .”

Sarah Singleton’s poem, which I think was entitled ‘Skull Holt,’ featured, “ . . . a bone disc . . . two thirds river worn . . . a young man 3000 years dead . . . thought, lust and fear, long gone.”

Helen Gregory read a poem entitled, ‘What Do You Do?�� which covered the in-built need we have to feel all-knowing, and (possibly) a tad superior. The poem about a female cleaner ran, “. . . she was tender, slender, walnut skinned . . . a crackling of energy you thought you had to smother . . . she cleaned . . . scrubbed their toilets ’til they shone . . . who are you? . . . As a child you travelled with Tibetan monks . . . as she cleans she sings . . . was an artist, cook, mother friend . . . what do you do?”

It was good to see Neil Brooks and his girlfriend Katie. Neil��s poem ‘Getting up for Bastard Work,’ hit the spot, “. . . saw a bit of war on Channel 4 . . . outside a blackbird croons like a saxophone . . . I wonder where ghosts lurk as I have to get up for bastard work.” Poem, ‘Me and the Goldfish,’ spoke of feelings of isolation and depression, verse included, “. . . me and the goldfish . . . I have TV, the goldfish has stones . . . perhaps the goldfish needs therapy?”

Jamie Rowel’s poem ‘Mysterious Ways,’ covered feelings of angst and how, perhaps, too much is expected of others when associates move on. Jamie’s verse included, “. . . hey God tell us again . . . to like one another . . . I’m not a good toy . . . he works in mysterious ways . . .”

Dickie Llewellyn informed the audience that work had recently taken him to Cornwall where he joined a writers’ group in shall we say a, ‘big town’ Cornish library. It appeared that the group discussed the technical intricacies of poems, dissected each section into minutia – and missed the whole point. I’ve attended similar groups, where message, meaning and passion are left at the door along with the entrance fee. The general feeling is, ‘we are quality assurance inspectors; the Haynes manual for poetry must be adhered to down to the last nut and bolt,’ resulting in a kind of poetry bleach that smells nice, but you wouldn’t want to drink it. Dickie’s verse included, “I tried to listen to their technically perfect writing . . . they spoke of stanzas, syllables . . . their wave length, (I wasn’t on) . . . change this, then that around . . . I was left with just a title . . . which was strange because it was untitled.”

Becky Cook’s poem ‘Garden Greetings’ summarised the naff world of garden ornaments, “blank eyes stare back . . . you just sit there with your fishing rod . . . no wonder garden gnomes went out of fashion . . .”

George Wade was on good form. I particularly liked his hard-hitting poem, ‘The Poem Has No Title,’ which covered the vagaries of add-water and stir instant poetry, the sort of gushing you hear on radio when people respond to competitions, (immediately), with the incentive of winning a prize such as a CD of the latest rumblings of someone’s beer-belly, or similar. George’s poem included, “. . . I’ve written so much . . . I’ve written on a bus . . . I wrote this on my bike . . . a string of words that sound like turds . . . but no plopping as they fall . . .”

Nicky Holden’s poem ‘Responsibility,’ was about relationships and included, “I was never responsible for leading you on . . . and you chose to blame me . . .”

Alex Williams read from a recently published book, ‘A Collection of Poetry,’ edited by John Grohol, ISBN 1-4116-4150-7, $12.95. All proceeds from sales of the book go to a mental health charity. The poem, ‘Sight,’ was pleasingly optimistic, “Something has happened to my sense of sight . . . suddenly I’m seeing old people, young . . . I can’t help smiling . . . something’s happened to my sense of sight . . . but I like it . . .”

During the interval, (as is the custom), I played my acoustic guitar. Unfortunately I plugged the lead into the wrong P.A. system connector, so I guess most of it went unheard, (but I enjoyed it anyway, so there). All in all an excellent and particularly well attended evening. David Pike

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry, (and music), Evening, Thursday 14^th July 2005, held at the Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire. I now give the customary up-front apology for name, spelling, and notation errors!

I started the ball rolling, read a few poems and later played acoustic guitar.

Jamie Rowel was very nervous but needn’t have worried. The poems he recited were interesting and were read in an accomplished manner. I particularly remember Jamie’s humorous poem ‘Aisle 7,’ which suggested that whenever you ask for directions in a supermarket you are always instructed to go to aisle 7, (this rings true to me). Verse included, “. . . where are the eggs? . . aisle 7 . . . where are the weapons of mass destruction? . . . aisle 7 . . . but there are only 6 aisles!”

Becky Cook’s poem ‘Smile’ included, “. . . I’ve seen your smile . . . the one that I can’t help but smile back at . . .” In ‘Prom Night,’ Becky was in a reflective mood, “. . . boys in tuxes . . . does this make having a ball such a ball . . goodbye to those we won’t forget . . . distant smiles for those we wished we’d met.”

Lynne den Hartog aired a few raunchy poems. ‘Energy in the Graveyard,’ was about a couple making love in a cemetery, verse included, “. . . two figures lie where all can see . . . strong fingers glide through jet black hair . . . but why this place he cries? . . . she replied, I’m honouring my father’s last words to me . . . that boy will have you over my dead body . . .”

Alex Williams read a few thought provoking poems including ‘The Ranting Man,’ which was about a person who could only communicate by putting everyone and everything down; verse included, “. . . take me away from the ranting man . . . he hates beer, he hates wine, hates having a good time . . he hates his children having fun . . . he hates vicars, hates priests, hates the war, hates the peace . . . hates himself . . .”

Ed (only name supplied), read a number of poems including, ‘Youth and Young Manhood;’ verse sample, “. . . temporary love . . . struggling to find the one . . . it’s natural to feel weak when all you see on TV is strong and tanned . . .”

Tony Hillier has been involved in an excellent Swindon community project that involved Tony riding his bicycle around the Parks and East Walcot area of Swindon, (population approx 13000), and asking passers-by for their views about the area they live and about poetry in general. Tony then assembled the thoughts and views of the populace into poems and published the same in a neat booklet titled, ‘Courtney’s the future she is,’ – to be reviewed in the December edition of Pulsar. Tony read a poem from the booklet entitled, ‘Courtney Climbs a Lamp Post,’ verse included, “Courtney, aged 5, climbs a lamp post . . . look at her she’s just put litter in the bin . . . Courtney’s the future she is.”

Panusha read a poem, (I missed the title); verse included, “the span of man’s wit . . . come with me now, in passion, in heat . . . the search for the black pearl . . .”

This was a well attended evening at a popular and friendly venue; there were other supporters / students / onlookers present. They helped to make the evening a buzz. It is likely that we will hold the next live event at The Goddard Arms; please view the Pulsar web for news / dates / times. David Pike (DP)

Pulsar Live Poetry Evening held at the Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard, near Swindon, Wiltshire on Monday 18^th April 2005. The following is a condensed overview of the evening with up-front apologies for name spelling errors and notation ‘wobblers.’

It was good to be back at the Goddard Arms where a warm welcome was provided by Landlady, Libby. The pub is currently undergoing major building work and the previously used event hall is being converted into a back-packers short-stay hostel. We set-up in the two-level lounge which was set aside for our event only. It made a good and cosy venue with a log fire spluttering in the background.

Keith Hilling started the ball rolling. I liked the imagery, (and title), of Keith’s poem, ‘Chav Buying a New Dress.’ Verse included, “. . . if not, why not, if not, why not . . . her knot of hair playfully copies the magazine she holds . . . the cashier watching the time . . .”

It was good to see Michael Newman again; Michael has been a bit under the weather health-wise, of late, but I noticed this thankfully hasn’t put a stop to his writing, some excellent poems were aired, including ‘Mouth Music;’ “your face illuminates text as you read to the children . . . I watch your eyes come alive . . . the tail of some passing comet under your control . . . you are stardust . . . I reflect in your glory . . .”

Neil Brooks read a Bukowski ‘remembered’ poem entitled, ‘Thinking of You Hank.’ Verse included, “. . . the words are pissed again . . . the inspiration is squalor . . . I’m thinking of you Hank . . . and of all the romantic liars . . .”

John Richardson was in an ethereal mood as his poem ‘Haunting,’ revealed; “. . . lately the ghosts of my old lovers have been going through me . . . shsss . . . that’s you they insist . . . haven’t you put on weight . . . knowing that the fixtures and fittings will survive me. . .”

Becky Look (or Leek) and Rob Dunn came mob handed with a large group of student supporters in-tow; unbridled enthusiasm is infectious, good for them. Becky’s World War I poem, ‘Marriage,’ had telling lines, “. . . one by one a million men signed the registry . . . when there came a certain threat . . . a million men fixed bayonets . . . England, with her red dress of poppy fields . . .”

Rob Dunn recited a poem from the TV series Blackadder, (World War I), ‘The German Guns,’ “Boom boom boom, boom boom boom.” Rob later read a poem about the advantages of being Welsh and the numerous disadvantages of being English, although Rob conceded there are one or two English people who are ok, (all very tongue in cheek and well received).

Simon Lester read his poem, ‘Weak.’ Verse included, “. . . what people think of you . . . skinny . . . fat . . . driving an old banger . . . people who think you are weak, are weak . . .”

For the record I read a few poems and read/played a blues poem accompanied by acoustic guitar. All in all an enjoyable and well attended evening. DP

Pulsar ‘Live Poetry Evening, Wednesday 9^th February 2005 held at the North Swindon Library. The following is an abridged view of the evening with usual up-front apologies for any ‘faulty commentary’ that may ensue. The evening was not hugely attended and there were apologies received from various quarters. It was nevertheless an interesting event held in a studios environment.

Clive Oseman: aired a few poems about loss and survival. The poem ‘Broken’ gave a bleak outlook, “. . . the surging words of sorrow grew stronger everyday . . . she feels it now the searing pain . . . the sight of him hanging there.” Later Clive aired the poem ‘Scorched,’ “. . . the blaze of your reality . . . the ferocious flames inspired by your uniqueness . . . my soul . . .”

Steve Feltham’s poem ‘The River,’ included, “. . . the river flowing down . . . streams to the sea . . . is it relieved on getting there? . . running into streams and reservoirs to be used by man . . . the story of life and its struggle.” The poem ‘Oncology’ posed the question, “how can this place be so full of death and yet so alive? . . the optimism and laughter will still be here . . . but the faces may not be the same.” Steve’s poem ‘Avebury’ had an ethereal quality, “like ghostly old soldiers left behind . . . the silent voice of dignity . . . standing.”

Terence ‘H’ Hutchins read a few poems including, ‘Extravaganza,’ which referred to school parents’ evenings, “. . . the frosted air of well groomed hair glistens . . . parents agonise . . . the evening proceeds, stronger by the minute . . . act after act glides seamlessly by . . . look to the future, just begun." H then read a poem entitled, ‘Ooh!’ which he called a mono rhyme, first verse as follows, “I woke at three, it may be two/The duvet on the bed askew/I groaned and after much ado/Tried to sleep and dream anew.” I must admit that this poem was ‘not my cup of tea,’ but there you go, horses for courses and all that.

I also read a few poems during the evening but won’t bore you with them here. The evening evolved into a general discussion about poetry, poetry publishing and small presses. We also discussed venues for holding Pulsar Live Poetry Evenings. The conclusion regarding venues is that there is no conclusion. Pubs are good, poets can perform their poems and air outrageous work, if they wish to – but then there is the drunken rowdy element, boo boys and idiots. Libraries are ok, but there is a slightly inhibited feel to such places. Perhaps we should seek a library with a bar! David Pike

Pulsar ‘Live Poetry’ Evening, Wednesday 6^th October 2004 held at the North Swindon Library, Thamesdown Drive, Swindon, Wiltshire, (in the orbital shopping complex area). The following is a condensed summary of an excellent evening in a new setting; I give the usual up-front apologies for name/spelling errors or errors of notation. The general, pre-National Poetry Day theme was ‘food,’ although this was not vigorously adhered to.

Steve Feltham’s poem The ‘F’ Word led the listener to initially believe Steve was talking about expletives; “. . . you hear it on building sites and alas by me,. that four letter word I’m talking about is ‘food.’”

Lachlan Robertson mentioned street preachers and wondered what they may exclaim when saying grace, “. . . let the lard come into your life, you may despise malted bran . . . for pepper and pepper, ah-Bisto.”

Mandy Christie’s poem, Invitation to a Throwaway Society delved into the hidden reaches of her cooler box, “. . . at the back of the fridge sits an orange, knitting a coat of furry design. . . ”

Mick Leigh recited Spirit of Australia, a poem close to his heart, “. . . I am the lean hungry dingo . . . song of the cicadas . . . the blood red heart of Uluru.”

Clive Oseman’s poem Childhood Memories was bitter sweet, “her dying so young through smoker’s lung . . . the weekly food, fish and chips . . . and bread to cover the crisps . . .”

Tony Hillier is/was currently the Swindon Evening Advertiser poet in residence. Tony read, amongst others, a few ‘Adver orientated’ poems including, A Big Reception, “finding 100 Victoria road . . . faces-off against the brick-bound post office . . . a blue carpeted reception . . . a big breasted reception, photographs of Melinda . . .”

John Richardson read a poem called Benediction which was about a food-type I am particularly fond of – cheese; “let us give thanks for cheese . . . to the smell of baking bread . . . for all those love songs sung alone to the solace of cheese.”

‘T’ Hutchins poem Post Christmas gives an inkling of festivities gone, and hopefully, to come, “. . . all that food hangs heavy in my gut, my face is wan/and now that prayer I mentioned – Thank God they’ve gone!”

Joanna Ryan’s poem Who Wants Bread refers to a conversation/shouting match she heard bellowed at children through an adjoining wall, fish-wife style, “. . . who wants bread? you - you – you? who wants jam? you – you – you?”

Rob Stredder was on good form. Rob’s poem Gone Before included, “she smoothed her hair with an automatic hand . . . time sprinkled like sugar on cornflakes . . . walking sideways through various subconscious strata . . . waiting for some café-like conversation . . .” Rob has a new book, (just in time for Christmas), details follow: A Year In Oxford, poems and colour pictures, A4 size, spiral-bound, 36 poems and 73 pages. £6.00. Give Rob a call to order a copy, telephone 01793 725206.

Jackie Habgood read a few poems by poets such as Blake Morrison, including, Against Dieting, “. . . I don’t want less, I want more of you . . .”

All in all a really special evening. I would like to personally thank the following, (unseen), people for going out of their way to make the event a success; Gilli Brookes-Palmer, (North Swindon Library Manager), Lyn Carter, (Swindon Library Services), Shirley Ludford, (a good friend and publicity dynamo), and the Swindon Evening Advertiser. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry (and music) Evening, Monday 16^th August 2004 held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard near Swindon, Wiltshire. I now give the customary up-front apology for name/spelling errors!

David Johnson started the ball rolling with a memorised poem which related to an ‘A’ level year and an infatuation with a girl who could only relate to maths. Verse included, “. . . I looked for a sign from her, she gave me a tangent . . . all she wanted to do was put down square roots . . . I wanted a ratio of 1 to 1; she said the probability was none.” Later David recited a poem which included, “. . . women looked askance at the dandruff in my underpants, until I used Head & Groin, which I purchased for a few coins.” There was another poem about a hoarding seen from a train near Cheltenham which reads, ‘Balls Grinding.’ David posed the question, who would seek this unique and perhaps rather painful service?

Steve Feltham read a poem titled, Two Pens about ever-ready (though disposable), items which are taken for granted. Verse included, “. . . two pens dancing together on A4, never been out of their blister pack, one red, one blue . . . don’t just discard them, pens have feelings too.” Steve also read a poem about the modern innovation/curse of mobile phones; “they walk around like zombies, they walk around like clones . . . and what does happen to all of the radio waves?”

Nic Stevens recited a poem about the Trans Siberian Railway; the St. Petersburg to Moscow stretch; “. . . three towers emerged from the mist . . . St. Petersburg, raised on the bones of its builders . . . in the Stray Dog Café the poets gather . . .” Nic later read a Goddess Poem which had a sci-fi feel to it, “. . . first the void, the unseeing immovable void . . . light, magnetism . . . the serpent, Secha . . . after fire and frost will come the hanging night.”

Heather Brown read a poem about school-yard bullying, (and the power trip that inadequate persons inflict on others); “one little lad alone in the crowd . . . a kick on the leg, a punch on the arm . . . all will show bravery.” The truth is that bullies are cowards.

For the record I read a few poems and played a blues poem, ‘Not Blues,’ and accompanied myself on acoustic guitar. The evening was better attended than, perhaps, the readers of this article might gather. A poetry group from Chiseldon attended to listen, and I guess, to suss out proceedings. There were also other persons who came along to listen, and in the future may read. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry (and music) Evening, Tuesday 20^th April 2004, held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard near Swindon, Wiltshire. The following is a condensed overview of the evening. As usual, I now give the customary up-front apology for name spelling/notation errors!

Dick Llewellyn started the ball rolling with his poem, Free Beer, “I fear no beer, though no beers fears me . . . the one with the name too derogatory to put out before granny for tea.” I guess Dick is referring to the beer that is named after a part of a dog’s anatomy!

John Gartland read a poem called A Startled Muse, (or are you taking your workshop too seriously). Verse included, “. . . try to relive the hush of a library . . . my brow is now strategically furrowed . . . if you don’t shut up soon you insensitive baboon, it could end in fighting . . .”

David Van Cauter aired a poem entitled Lost, which referred to a TV remote control device. Verse included, “control was a word he didn’t use, dobbing with his dobber . . . her wand of relaxation . . . sick of asking he tied it to the sofa . . . she was gone within a week.”

Keith Hilling aired a poem about fitness and self image: The Poet Runs like a Hamster on a Wheel, “I keep running, going nowhere . . . but the LCD says differently.” Keith’s poem, How to Be, was about the initial feeling of alienation experienced after moving to another town; verse included, “how to be accepted . . . how to think for yourself, think for friends . . . alone.”

Mick Leigh started with an Australian story entitled The Animal Trainer, which was about a man who had a knack of training various creatures and who ended-up training blow-flies to sing – the scheme came to grief when the flies collectively lifted off the roof of a church from inside, when they should have been singing as a choir – and blew away their mentor’s bid for fame. The poem Language Please was about Australian slang, verse included, “I like the Australian slangness . . . much better than posh/ take a Captain Cook at my poetry book.”

Tony Hillier had recently run the London Marathon and arrived complete with medal, (I believe certain charities will benefit from Tony’s endeavour – well done). Tony read a number of marathon orientated poems but I found his poem, Tit For Tat, to be of a more haunting nature; “ten bombs on ten trains, if you do this I do that . . . the big hit stick . . .”

Rayman played guitar and sang interesting lyrics. Rayman and his lady friend play in a local band; we’d like to know the name of the band, it would be good to attend a gig or two. Rayman played two original songs, namely The Bucket and later, Jim. The lyrics of both items were clever, the words/guitar of Jim had, (I think), an ethereal feel; “. . . walking the land on a grass green meadow . . . Jim said this could be your last chance . . . sitting on the bank of an English river . . . hell, there’s nothing we can do . . . I talked to Jim, he told me everything . . .”

David Johnson recited a poem about DNA. Verse included, “it took fifteen years and 3 million symbols to sequence DNA . . . they think they’ve found a gene that will give me good luck . . . but not one that will let me come round to you. . .” Later David referred to the time before the wearing of car seat belts in vehicles was mandatory, “the days before seatbelts . . . the hump-back bridge . . . faster, faster Dad . . . today I prefer to be strapped in the back.”

Helen Gregory recited a poem entitled, Little Girl. The little girl in question turned out to be a bit of a nightmare; “Mummy won’t let me play with Barbie anymore, since the incident with the saw, I thought her heart had stopped so I opened her up to explore . . . Mummy said it is not very funny to give helium to a bunny . . . can’t you just sit and watch the fishes, taxidermy is not for little . . .” Priceless.

Ian Sills concluded the evening with a punk poem which focussed on the recent exploits of ex Sex Pistol, (stage name Johnny Rotten), who appeared on the reality TV programme, ‘I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here.’ The question is/was, had this star of previous anti establishment notoriety sold out and become main stream? The answer to this, in my view, is an emphatic, yes. Ian’s poem, (read in Sex Pistols mode), included: “I’m anarchy, don’t get me out of here . . . I wanna be, a celebr—ity . . . I am an aging punk . . . I didn’t expect to get pecked on the bum . . . I wanna be, a celebr—ity . . . I am punk royalty . . .” Right on. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry Evening, Tuesday, 20^th January2004, held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard. The following is a condensed, (you could say compressed), overview of this well attended evening. The usual excuses apply regarding an up-front apology for name spelling/notation errors!

Keith Hilling was on good form and provided a high speed delivery of his poem, ‘Size XXL.’ I know how he feels, it’s the ‘weight/size thing.’ The final verse included, “. . . shrinking the meat . . . I’ve banished the spell, I’m down to XL.”

Neil Brooks made me smile with his poem, ‘Getting Up For Bastard Work.’ I particularly liked the line, “. . . later a blackbird crooned like a saxophone.”

John Gartland (from the Poetry ID group, Hitchin, Herts.), read a humorous poem, (I missed the title), about famous literary figures taking a holiday together, (perhaps club 18 - 30 style?): “. . . Walton has taken his rod to the jetty . . . Lear is paying ping-pong with Shelley . . .Eliot and Wordsworth have gone to the pub . . . Coleridge is having a smoke . . . and Hardy is telling his joke. . . Dante never complains. . .”

Tony Hillier’s poem ‘She’s No Sucker,’ was about his daughter’s excellent musical ability: “. . . a minute ago she had a bottle in her mouth . . now it’s a musical instrument . . . she reads already . . . sight reads clefs and all the mystery marks . . . top marks . . . top girl.”

Rob Stredder read his atmospheric poem, ‘Autumn.’ Verse included, “. . . gold times . . . mist coagulated haze . . . trees say goodbye to use . . . tumbling laminated leaves . . . in this rotting land . . .”

Michael Newman’s poem ‘Bonfire With A Difference,’ referred to our reluctance to dispose of old tat and our guilt, on bonfire night, for taking the easy option; “ an unwieldy non-geometric pile of chairs . . . too large for a car boot sale, too diseased . . . our obvious guilt and our release . . .”

Steve Feltham read a poem which referred to the carnage of the First World War; the poem was titled, ‘The Beauty and the Beast;’ “ . . . a white butterfly on a gun barrel . . . to pacify the beast . . .”

Helen Gregory read ‘The Pimping of Winnie the Pooh,’ - neat title. The tongue-in-cheek verse included, “. . . one hundred years of eating honey (huney) in the shelter of the 100 acre wood . . . they came in the night . . . bundled them into Tinsel Town trucks. . . left with a penny to his name he asks for honey and received scotch . . . owl is off his tree . . . piglet’s off to detox.”

Andie Langford-Woods (correct spelling of Andie), read a poem about a romantic female and dysfunctional male, (I missed the poem title). Verse included, “. . . she was used to beds . . . was svelte, sensuous and smelt of vanilla . . . he was unchallenged by cleaning agents, soap . . . she did not partake of his nocturnal flatulences. . .”

Ian Sills’s poem ‘The Sound of the Under 10s,’ was about the current state of the music industry where stars are created on image alone - without actually having to achieve anything to gain initial adulation. To me, this poem rocked, “. . . who needs substance when you’ve got style . . . button pushing perfect Barbies moving around . . . easy come means even easier go . . . the age of the instant hit.”

Ali Wade recited her poems entirely from memory, (I wish I could do that). Verse included, “I’m trying to create . . . the one thought to speak . . . but I’m ambitious . . . the perfume of the bloom is little more than ambition.”

Dawn Gorman read a poem which I think was titled ‘Under Swami;’ “. . . she smiles with plausible innocence . . . the Swami teaches the fish, cobra, with gentle smiling eyes . . . “relax the feet, relax the limbs,” he chants unfamiliar words . . .”

Touring Australian poet Mick Leigh read poems about the ancient civilisation of his homeland. The poem, ‘My Dreamtime,’ created a vision of simpler, perhaps more innocent times; “I once walked on a beach . . . I’m sure I saw children in the creek. . . I thought I saw women talking about the things they had made" Mick said that Uluru, (Aires Rock), has now rightfully been given back to the Aborigines - but said that tourists still insist on climbing to the top of the rock, to the dismay of its guardians. Mick said imagine if tourists were allowed to climb, unchallenged, ‘say,’ up the outside of Salisbury Cathedral, there would rightfully be an outcry; a salvo of ‘stiff letters’ would be sent to the powers that be. Why should Uluru be any different? Check out Mick’s web site: www.mickleigh.com

Raymond, (only name supplied), played an acoustic guitar to accompany two songs/poems. Both songs were amusing and had a rock n’ roll feel to them. The first poem/song featured an urban sewer rat that kept popping up at unexpected places to offer sage advice - all very tongue-in-cheek, (and hilarious). Good stuff. DP

Pulsar ‘Live-microphone’ Poetry Evening, Wednesday, 12^th November 2003, held at The Goddard Arms, Clyffe Pypard near Swindon, Wiltshire. The following is a condensed overview of the evening. As usual, I now give the customary up-front apology for name spelling/notation errors!

Susie White started the ball rolling and explained that she had recently moved to the Swindon area from Huddersfield. Susie’s poem, ‘The Settee,’