Go fly your kites
go fly your kites
and stay the fuck out of my way
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
and exhale the morning dew
Go fly your kites
go fly your kites
your mouth is a mass of wisdom teeth and kind words
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
kiss with courage ‘neath pier lights
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
great heavens above open and all
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
let girth not sorrow govern your day
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
this lame wind bent back grasses
tall about our waists
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
open up this grand white eloquent house
trim away the bed sheets
make linen silhouettes
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
rapturous the cries of the boys in blue
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
in the cathedral grounds a twilight
becomes ghost
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
so that one time we settled for supper right?
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
get breath caught in the zipper of your coat
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
let the announcement of the trumpet be your first port of call
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
rapturous calls from the boys in blue
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
dazed cant speak so left it at that my love
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
you in the moses basket should be out flying your kite
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
see serenity and peace well that’s for suckers
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
holy are you. holy are you. there is no god but you.
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
spiralled thread round babel and card prayers stuck on each one
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
thankyou for the wishes I kept each one safe
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
having enough you sat on the steps and wept
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
ach my hips aching I say so long
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
g’bye Kate the first time I saw your handprint was on Hannah’s wall
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
cut cute swathes from your notes im bored with it
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
plastered cracks and foundation humming with a newer song for you
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
contrite we living through fragments
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
breath will keep them afloat
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
it’s the mainsail of a Mozambique airship
go fly your kites
go fly your kites
for once the radios off and you are a t home
Monday, 2 March 2009
Museum- 2nd Draft
The museum is open from 9 till 5
the museum is five stories high
the museum is set across ten greedy acres of land
the museum is warm in the summer yet cool in the winter
the museum is awash with school parties and elderly couples
the museum is praised and denounced as an example of form over content
the museum is occasionally shut for public holidays
the museum is arguably the only of it’s kind
the museum is dusty
the museum is the place where visitors are encouraged to leave items of personal importance behind
the museum is the place where you are encouraged not only to touch but to openly molest as well
the museum is the place where my tooth fell into a porcelain sink and you applauded
the museum is insisting that it is not a museum but a Waitrose in Aldershot
Despite protests we still take photos
the museum is burnt hair and copper wire in a wax casing
the museum is where padding softly you my love are left feeling ashen and fatigued
the museum is where I argued and not having heard any better answers burst into tears
the museum is a rung bell and half-hour tours
the museum is the place where we can confine our ambition and enthusasim
the museum is available for all your needs be they spiritual or physical
and please do not forget to visit the gift shop on the way out
the museum is tormenting the old and omitting the young
the museum is not the problem you are
the museum is not knowing about art its knowing what you like
the museum is trying to do its best please be patient
the museum is the open flat palm of a stranger struck across your cheek
the museum is the open flat palm of a lover struck across your behind
the museum is recording itself for posterity
the museum is making no excuses you are old enough to think for yourselves
the museum is the crowning achievement of curators worldwide
the museum is the first thing to be forgotten in a fire
the museum is where my sister frowning faces a blank canvas
the museum is gutteral shoving and angry feet
the museum is covering your tounge with ash
the museum is a bloodied jaw and a black eye
the museum is being burnt down by angry spectators
the museum is five stories high
the museum is set across ten greedy acres of land
the museum is warm in the summer yet cool in the winter
the museum is awash with school parties and elderly couples
the museum is praised and denounced as an example of form over content
the museum is occasionally shut for public holidays
the museum is arguably the only of it’s kind
the museum is dusty
the museum is the place where visitors are encouraged to leave items of personal importance behind
the museum is the place where you are encouraged not only to touch but to openly molest as well
the museum is the place where my tooth fell into a porcelain sink and you applauded
the museum is insisting that it is not a museum but a Waitrose in Aldershot
Despite protests we still take photos
the museum is burnt hair and copper wire in a wax casing
the museum is where padding softly you my love are left feeling ashen and fatigued
the museum is where I argued and not having heard any better answers burst into tears
the museum is a rung bell and half-hour tours
the museum is the place where we can confine our ambition and enthusasim
the museum is available for all your needs be they spiritual or physical
and please do not forget to visit the gift shop on the way out
the museum is tormenting the old and omitting the young
the museum is not the problem you are
the museum is not knowing about art its knowing what you like
the museum is trying to do its best please be patient
the museum is the open flat palm of a stranger struck across your cheek
the museum is the open flat palm of a lover struck across your behind
the museum is recording itself for posterity
the museum is making no excuses you are old enough to think for yourselves
the museum is the crowning achievement of curators worldwide
the museum is the first thing to be forgotten in a fire
the museum is where my sister frowning faces a blank canvas
the museum is gutteral shoving and angry feet
the museum is covering your tounge with ash
the museum is a bloodied jaw and a black eye
the museum is being burnt down by angry spectators
Attributed to John Cage
"In Zen, it is said, if something is boring after two minutes, try it for four. If still boring, then eight. Then sixteen. Then thirty-two. Eventually one discovers that it is not boring at all."
John Cage
John Cage
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
Poetry Choir- Early Draft Q&A
Why are you making us do this?
The idea is to create a choir of voices, to escape the notion of a singular and given reading of a poem. Too often performance poetry is delivered by the writer of said poem, and too often it offers no room for interpretation, no encouragement of the audience’s imagination. The poetry choir would function as an opportunity to work as a collaborative group, to prepare pieces for communal reading. Within that there is the space for individual to interact, and, if they feel it is appropriate, to offer their own interpretation of the writing. There is nothing wrong with wanting to direct the performance. Fundamentally it is trying to get writers and performers to consider how they perform, and what relationship they hold with the audience.
How big is the choir?
The choir can be anything from two voices to a million, whatever the piece demands.
I don’t know you or live near you, can I make my own choir?
Of course. Feel free to perform any of the pieces available, or write your own. If you do write your own then please feel free to post them on this facebook group so that we can discuss, and hopefully perform some of them. Hopefully in the future we can have poetry choir clashes…
Isn’t this just a way of gaining publicity or propping up a single writer’s ego?
Not at all. Entirely
I’m a musician or vocalist. Can I sing or play my pieces?
Yes.
I’m not a confident speaker. Can I just write a piece?
Yes.
If I have any more questions what should I do?
Ask them. If they are important for the whole group I’ll post them up here.
No, really why are you making us do this?
Because I want you to suffer like I do.
The idea is to create a choir of voices, to escape the notion of a singular and given reading of a poem. Too often performance poetry is delivered by the writer of said poem, and too often it offers no room for interpretation, no encouragement of the audience’s imagination. The poetry choir would function as an opportunity to work as a collaborative group, to prepare pieces for communal reading. Within that there is the space for individual to interact, and, if they feel it is appropriate, to offer their own interpretation of the writing. There is nothing wrong with wanting to direct the performance. Fundamentally it is trying to get writers and performers to consider how they perform, and what relationship they hold with the audience.
How big is the choir?
The choir can be anything from two voices to a million, whatever the piece demands.
I don’t know you or live near you, can I make my own choir?
Of course. Feel free to perform any of the pieces available, or write your own. If you do write your own then please feel free to post them on this facebook group so that we can discuss, and hopefully perform some of them. Hopefully in the future we can have poetry choir clashes…
Isn’t this just a way of gaining publicity or propping up a single writer’s ego?
Not at all. Entirely
I’m a musician or vocalist. Can I sing or play my pieces?
Yes.
I’m not a confident speaker. Can I just write a piece?
Yes.
If I have any more questions what should I do?
Ask them. If they are important for the whole group I’ll post them up here.
No, really why are you making us do this?
Because I want you to suffer like I do.
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