A blog post to a sequence of events, of interest here are poetry open mics in Oxford, Birmingham, Bristol, London, Southampton, Chipping Norton, and coming up, Coventry soon. Elsewhere further afield, I aspire to Leeds, Southport, Newcastle, somewhere in Scotland (Dundee?), Barrow?
But why? I love hearing people speak verse. A heartless (often) artwork setting impossible heights for infinitesimally small rewards. Do you really expect the bardic key to Pandora’s box? I do. Silly me.
Every book of poems is a seething cauldron of incantations fuming to get out. Open mics are pulsars of dark matter congealing as words on tongues. That and about £3.50 might get you a cup of coffee. But the liminal world beckons at the edge of every poet’s piece. Hold me in your limen until I can speak no more.
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