Christmas Present

Social Slutaby

I’ve done it, I’ve even posted it!  I’ve finally managed to write a poem for the members section of Poetry News.  This is a quarterly news paper which is produced by the The Poetry Society and is sent out with ‘Poetry Review’.  I have always meant to try and either not been inspired by their theme or not had the time.  What a great start to the New Year.  This time the theme is ‘Dangerous Sports’

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Social Slutaby

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Vamptastic eyelids flutter,

Lead them on without a thought.

They’re all the same, it’s just a game

Not doing what you ought.

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Let them massage your ego,

You’re not here to have and hold.

Work the room with your va va voom

Despite the band of gold.

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They swarm like bees ‘round honey.

Shackles rise, sharp eyes of green.

A quick retreat, elude the heat,

Move on, avoid a scene.

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I’m back…

Hello poetry lovers.  After a hugely barren poetical period I’m back.  I felt a little fed up with it all and I allowed life and Christmas to take over, but hey, it’s a New Year full of possibilities! (Sunday Scribblings think so too!)  The following is a poem I read for the first time back in November in ‘The Arty Types Show’ in Wigan.  I am also working on another poem that I want to finish in time for Write Out Loud in Bolton on Jan 17th.  Nothing like a deadline to get the creative juices flowing.  Ages ago I sent some poems into ‘Ambit’ for consideration and I’m still waiting to hear.  I wonder if they realise what hope people pin on their reply.  Perhaps no news is good news?

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This was written to be performed.  How well do you  think it reads on the page?

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I’m Death

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I’m death and I’m knock knock knocking at your door

Feel my touch

When you last said goodbye

Who’d think it would mean so much, so much.

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Are you enjoying that drink in your hand?

Could it be your last?

Let me see you to your car

I’ll get your home real fast.

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I’m the ice on the road

I’m the clot in your blood

I’m the train off the tracks

I’m the cause of the flood.

I’m the proud pavement slab

I’m the gasping for breath

I’m not learning to swim

Yeah baby I’m death.

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I’m famine, tsunami, I’m earthquake, I’m fire

I’m the ember that lights the destructive bushfire.

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I’m death and I’m knock knock knocking at your door

You’re on my list

When you kissed your loved one

It was the last kiss, the last kiss.

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Trot along now for your fag outside

Honest I’ll leave you be

But feel that craving deep inside…

Yes, that’s me.

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I’m the pain in your chest

I’m the rabid dog bite

I’m the poorly wired house

I’m the bump in the night.

I’m the disease in your liver

I’m the lump in your breast,

I’m the rot in your lung

Yeah baby, I’m death.

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I’m the dead battery in your smoke detector

Sweet dreams my lovelies, I’m out to getchya.

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I’m the voice in your head that says jump, jump jump…

I’m your last rasping breath

It’s been very nice to meet you

Love and kisses, Death.

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Please comment!

I will be performing at ‘The Saturday Arty Types Show’ in Wigan

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I have been asked to perform at ‘The Saturday Arty Types Show‘ on Saturday 21st November.  I’m really looking forward to this event and am described in their listing as:

“Great poet, playful, sexual, yet serious and touching.”

You’re A Bad Man

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You’re a bad man

A great big bear of a bad man

My number one fan

But still a bad man

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You’re a quiet thinker

A brooding, sultry, quiet thinker

A bit of a drinker

But I like a thinker.

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Stop doing that.

You know what I mean

I can see your thoughts

And they’re none too clean

Because you’re a bad man

A great big bear of a bad man

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You’re broken goods

Self inflicted broken goods

You’re not out of the woods

My broken goods.

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You’re crushed inside

Bruised and hurt and crushed inside

There’s no where to hide

That you’re crushed inside

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I’ve told you once

I won’t say it again

I can see your thoughts

So weak are men

Especially when… you’re a bad man

A great big bear of a bad man.

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Still, I like having a fan.

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(I performed this poem at Write Out Loud in Wigan this November 2009)

New Poems on my ‘My Poetry’ page.

Click on my ‘My Poetry’ page to see my latest poems.

Look at this myth/poem:

This is certainly adventurous!

‘The Goblins Market’ is a long poem and definitely worth reading.  The author is unknown.  It’s about resisting temptation and sisterly love.  The longing for the fruit and pining away can only be compared with drug addiction.  The imagery at the end where the good sister tries to get some fruit for her sister who is wasting away is very brutal, even sexual!

Click here for ‘The Goblins Market’

 

What do you think?

My Poetry Performance Has Been Reviewed!

This is what was said about the poem in the post below, which I read at Write Out Loud (WOL) at The Tudor in Wigan.  For those of you who don’t know WOL is a performance poetry night.  If I’d known all I had to do was right something sexy to get a great review I would have done it ages ago!

“Sarah Crowther made her debut performance at the Tudor. I’ve seen Sarah at The Whycroft in Bolton. She’s a wolf wrapped in a Vixen’s coat. Precise diction. Sultry, super vocal delivery. A little Minx from Minxville. Men pay good money to listen to the sort of stuff that Sarah read last night – in the way that she read it. For those who missed out – and purely from memory, the premium telephone number begins 0-8-9-8… Or, save yourself a fortune and catch her performance next time. The red-blooded men in the audience were very nearly exploding.”

To see the rest of this review click here.

Sexy Poem (untitled at the moment)

I want you for my pet

I’ll keep you on a leash

I’ll wear devastatingly high heels

All because I want you for my pet.

I’ll take you to parties.

There’ll be champagne and cocaine.

I’ll let you have some if you promise to be really really bad.

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Your lips on my lips on your lips on mine

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I want you for my toy

I’ll bring you to your knees

I’ll wear all the things you like

All because I want you for my toy.

I’ll take you to hotels

There’ll be champagne and cocaine.

I’ll let you have some if you promise to be really really bad.

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Your skin on my skin on your skin on mine

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I want you for my slave

I’ll make you do my will

I’ll wear anything I want

All because I want you for my slave

I’ll take you, yes I’ll take you

There’ll be champagne and cocaine.

I’ll let you have some if you promise to be really really bad.

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Your flesh on my flesh on your flesh on mine

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Latest Poem

I read this last night at ‘Wright Out Loud’ in Bolton.  I have only just finished this, so it may be edited/refined some time in the future, but here it is, work in progress:

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Happy Christmas Mother

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‘Would you like a cup of tea? I asked Mother

As she slouched in her easy chair.

She stared into space with the telly on

Did she even know I was there?

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The Christmas adverts sang out in the darkness

(A lump in my throat I confess)

The shadows flickered the fairy lights flashed

The monochrome light hid the mess

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Well I’ve tried; I’ve extended the olive branch

I thought as I stirred her sweet tea

It’s always like this, it’s always my fault

The blame is left bluntly with me.

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Now’s not the time to reflect on my childhood

No success was ever enough

Always compared with some strangers off spring

No wonder I grew up so tough

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Christmas carollers sing loud on our door step

We hold hands, sitting silent and calm

‘They know we are here’ I whisper

As I quietly stroke her arm

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Raised and ruled with a rod of cold iron

Not an inch did she give it’s true

And even now you have to needle me

No love just hurt gets through.

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‘They’re gone’ I say as I peek through the curtain

The yellow lamplight fills the room

I move on through to the strip lit kitchen

So harsh compared to the gloom

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But there’ll be no more nagging from my mother

I look at the back of her head

The last tea you enjoyed was last Christmas

Two sugars and poison, you’re Dead.

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Somehow I know that you have forgiven me

The stench and flies have been a test

You would say we can get through it

Your sunken eyes in Sunday Best

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‘Would you like a cup of tea? I asked Mother

As she slouched in her easy chair.

She stared into space with the telly on

Did she even know I was there?

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(I wasn’t sure about the penultimate verse, is it necessary? What do you think?  Please comment.)