Selected poems from Write Out Loud

On Monday 8th June, Sarah Butler worked with Stockport’s Write Out Loud poetry group. Here’s just a selection of the great poems produced that evening:

Dismantling the Viaduct

Hold all trains at red signals,
delay all aeroplanes on runways,
remove bird’s-nests and spider’s webs
pack them into cotton wool cartons,
crumble each brick into sand,
turn rails into climbing frames,
douse Venus with rain water
transform Saturn into platinum,
liquefy sunset into rosé wine,
untangle lost connections into telegraph wires.

David Keyworth

Heartland

Water slips down pectinate fall
Roils foaming around auricle curves

Through cardiac channel
At pulmonary pace

Two veins, one branch,
One Mersey.

John Keane

get active and explore
what lays beyond looking
at the bright lights in the distance
ingesting the nutrients of
unfamiliar territory prevents the drought
of not anticipating change
and different people not
discovering you
take a walk in the urban life
experience the domestic goings on
everyday people looking for a story
to share
a family affair
a romantic date
a trip to the pub with a boisterous lot
after reading the supplements on the back
of dirty football shirts
and stud marks from boots
on the pitch carving out a catalyst of
fierce rivals emulating the fierceness of
native American tribes settling a score
in a game of lacrosse
an adventurous quest to conquer
the labyrinth of roads not cross before
but concealed between and beneath
the roman and saxton artefacts
that hold the sentiment
of this town’s foundation

Mesach Brencher

 

Cut me

Cut me if you must
Cut me true and deep
Make the incision
With utmost and unconcealed precision

Cut me beyond the quick
Deep carefully and slow
With confirmed and definite
Division
Don’t deviate, hesitate
Sit back and ponder
Don’t commiserate with me
Try and empathise
With what must be done

Peel back the layers
In strips if you dare
Piece by piece until
That has never been
Seen before is revealed
To open air for all to see
View the living breathing tissue
The red raw flesh
The pulsating, postulant sore
Secreting the throbbing muscle
Mixed with white celled gristle

The veins here are those
That free from natural fat
Filled instead
With years of serial abuse
Clogged and choked
Drowned and soaked
In this place
This heart
You call the city

Martin Elder

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