The Poetry Bar


I need to find that chatty little thing –

the chatty little grinning thing
that sits at the edge of the table
and curls like a puppy
on firm,
gentle thighs –
telling her how she’ll be treasured tonight.

Much like those cracks in her smile
and her wings,
those thighs are
far less brave than they might seem,
for all the symbolism on that belt buckle.

She’s more like that fray on the edge of her shorts…
an end of something,
hoping not to tumble out and disappear
before he says something funny again

and laces the fear between giggles with something like kindness…

and she puts all manner of cosmic wheels on hold
by daring to believe it.

I’m John in some circles… Woodsy in others. Actually, Woodsy was a stage name from when I did performance gigs, which I’m looking to start doing again.
Basically, like a lot of people, I’ve been through a bunch of different things, and I’ve tended to write about them as I go.
Someone told me today that my particular thing is not being scared to say some unsayable stuff about how scary and traumatic things are…
which kinda sounds cool –
and kinda fits with those moments when someone comes up and says: “I’m glad you said that.”
(and then stands there in that eerie moment between sensibly social distancing and recklessly going for the hug)
I guess that’s why I would like to start going on the road… gigging. I want to go places and say stuff that feels scary to say…
because often it’s also the most precious, beautiful stuff we have to say, and I  reckon it’s about time we stopped feeling scared to say it.


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