I iron a shirt
And think of a dance floor
Will I ever be alone
You sing of telepathic messages
I think of youth
And a different kind of perspiration
Weeps into my eyes
What is poetry for
What is its raison d'être
A good question don’t you think
And one that I could only answer
With the words above
Of course everyone wants to be someone else. The poet he craves to be a musician, the blacksmith to become a cabinet maker and the photographer to turn as if by magic into a Rembrandt or a Claude Monet
So we introduce you to our town
Through the lens of a photographer
Through the words of a poet
A group of artists
Journeymen and artisans
With a welcome to offer
A chance for you to be that someone other, through a process of enrichment and nourishment of those parts of our selves which we seldom touch, join in with our celebration, bring your own good fortune to the fore
The poet of course is always looking behind the picture, seeking out a story or an inspiration; a diving board or a precipice from which to launch him or herself.
Walking through the old cemetery park I meet a fellow photographer, he, I, and many others are brought out by the early autumn's morning sunlight.
"Some people take moody pictures here, but I like to use the warmth of the sun; to give the gravestones a charm, a richness, to create a story"
I agree and say that I am filming for celebration; we exchange emails, he has a Nikon, large format, camera.
The best thing about being a poet
Is meeting you
Whosoever would have imagined
Such an occasion
Ships in the night, colliding
With all of
The coincidence
Of the chancellor balancing the books
You in your armchair, listening to the radio
Reading that collection of poems
That your best friend gave you
Last Christmas
And here I am staring out at you
From the page, who would have thought
All those years ago
That we would meet again tonight
Strength is having something in reserve
Love is giving it all away
Strength is to know that your mentor
Or combatant is incorrect
Love is easily to keep your powder dry
The barman practices his cricket stroke
Forward defensive with a straight eye
The caricature sits beneath his caricature
A regular’s night on a regular night
The strangers silver hair shines
His rosy cheeks shine, he has an engaging
Smile, and an easy happy laugh
