Words From The Archives: #2 The Boy

Continuing on from last week, here's another old one I have drawn for.
Again, I wrote this during the 1st term I did back in 2009 with The Roundhouse Poetry Collective guided by Polabear. We were specially asked to write a piece, from the 3rd person, purely descriptive and without giving a voice to the characters thoughts.The Leisure centre and snooker room I was trying to describe was based on the old Crawley Leisure Centre, which is now long since gone and made way for a new build development.  
This was still around the time when I used to write entirely in capitals. 



3RD PERSON (THE BOY)


THE BOY WALKS THROUGH THE AUTOMATIC DOORS
TAKING NOTE OF THE WHITE STICKER'S ON BOTH DOORS,
THEY SAY "AUTOMATIC DOORS"
AS BOTH DOORS GO TO THE LEFT AND RIGHT RESPECTIVLY 
THE PARTING OF THE DOORS LIKE THE PARTING OF THE SEAS


THE SMELL OF CHORLINE HITS HIS NOSE,
AND THE DISTANT NOISE OF ADOLESCANT SCREAMS
TICKLES HIS EARS DRUMS


DRESSED IN JEANS AND A JUMPER
THE JUMPER FAILING TO DISGUISE THE EXCESS WEIGHT ROUND HIS WAISTE
HARDLY THE ATTIRE OF A LESIURE CENTRE GOER
HE HEADS FOR THE YOUNG LADY AT THE RECEPTION DESK


THE LADY BEHIND THE DESK,
DRESSED,
IN A SPORTS POLO AND TRACKSUIT BOTTOMS
ANSERWS THE BOYS REQUEST,
TO COMMANDEER THE SNOOKER TABLE FOR THE NEXT 2 HOURS


THE BOY COLLECTS,
THEN INSPECTS
THE BLACK TRAY OF SPINNING BALLS,
2 QUES AND A BLOCK OF CHALK
AS HIS PODGY FINGERS PART WITH HIS CASH


THE BOYS TAKES A GLANCE BACK,
 TOWARDS THE ENTRENCE THEN HE DRAWS A DEEP BREATH


THE YOUNG LADY BEHIND RECEPTION,
THEN BEGINS TO ISSUE THE INSTRUCTIONS,
DIRECTING THE BOY TO THE SNOOKER ROOM
BEFORE SHE HAS EVEN FINISHED,
THE BOY IS A QUATER OF THE WAY UP THE STAIRS


FACE CONCENTRATED LIKE A MAN ON A MISSION
HOLDING THE TRAY FULL OF SPINNING BALLS
LIKE A WAITER BALANCING A DELICATE PLATE
THE BOY MAKES HIS WAY


HE WALKS DOWN A CORRIDOR
THROUGH THE BROWN FIRE DOOR  DOUBLE DOORS
AND OUT ONTO THE NEXT CORRIDOOR
WHICH SERVS AS A PROMENADE
OVER LOOKING THE SWIMMING POOL


THE BOY LOOKS OVER THE EDGE,
4 VERICAL LINES OF SEGREGATION SLICE THROUGH THE POOL
PARTITNIONED ACCORDING TO LEVEL OF PRACTICE
THE LANE AT THE FAR END SEEMS TO CATCH HIS EYE,
BEGINNERS,
SMALL GROUPS OF MOTHERS AND FATHERS, 
SPLASHING ROUND WITH RELUCTANT  INFLATABLE ARM BAND CLAD KIDS
WHILST THE REST OF THE PEOPLE JUST GO UP AND DOWN, 
BACK AND FORTH


THE BOY JUST TUTS AND TWISTS
THE TWO SNOOKER QUES GRIPPED IN HIS RIGHT HAND,
AS THE PROMENADE ENDS,
AND JUST BECOMES ANOTHER STERILE CORRIDOR
3 WALLS TURNED BACK TO 4
ORDER RESTORED


THE BOY WALKS FORWARDS,
AND SEEMS TO IGNOIRE
THE POSTER CLAD WALLS OF KICKBOXAISE, KEEP FIT AND PILATES
UNTIL HE STOPES AT THE DOOR THAT INDICATES "ROOM 19, SNOOKER"


HE WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR AND ENTERS THE ROOM,
HE CASTS A GLANCE LEFT AND RIGHT
ALL HE SEES IS TWO FULL SISE SNOOKER TABLES,
DOMINATING THE SPACE


HE HEADS TO THE TABLE ON HIS LEFT
AND RESTING THE QUE'S UP AGAINST THE EDGE
HE PLACES THE BALLS AND CHALK ONTO THE GREEN FELT
THE BOY THEN HEADS TOWADRS THE SCOREBORAD,
AND THEN SLIDES ALL THE GOLD SQUARES BACK TO 0


HE WAITS
THEN HESITATES
HIS EYES MOVE BACK AND FORTH TOWARDS THE DOOR
THE BOY TUTS AND THEN MUMBLES AN EXPLITIVE
AND TAKES A RED BALL FROM THE TRAY,
AND LINES IT UP ON THE D


HE PLACES THE WHITE BALL,
AT THE OPPOSIYE END OF THE TABLE
AND ASSUMES HIS QUEING POSITION
THE BOY SMAHES THE WHITE TOWARDS THE RED
THE RED AND WHITE COLLIDE WITH FORCE
AND RIQUOET OFF INTO DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS


THE BOY THEN REPEATS THIS SEVERAL TIMES
WITH EACH STRIKE MORE AGGRESIVE THAN THE LAST
UNTIL FINALLY
HE MIS-QUES HIS LAST HIT
ONLY SKIMMING THE TOP OF THE WHITE BALL
THE WHITE THEN FEEBLY ROLLS TOWARDS THE RED
POSITIONED NEAR TO A CORNER AT THE FAR END
THE WHITE MISSES THE RED
AND ROLLS INTO THE EMPTY POCKET,
SUNK

Words From The Archives: #1 Dial SOS For Mum

Today I was looking though my files trying to find an old piece I used to perform and came across a lot of old stuff I'd written that I thought would be nice to post up. Reading through this one, I can't help thinking how much has changed, my circumstances, the way I write etc.


This peice was written in the first term I did under Polabear at The Roundhouse, somewhere between September and December 2009. I've mentioned before when posting old stuff, that I used to always write in capitols back then. I think it was just a habit I somehow got into and was scared to break, for that reason though, I've left it as it is. 

DIAL SOS FOR MUM

SAT ON THE KITCHEN TABLE

PHONE IN MY HAND READY TO DIAL

EAGER TO TELL ANOTHER TALE

A SIMILAR STORY DIFFERENT PREDICAMENT

SAME THEME OF STRUGGLE AND STRESS

KEEPING UP WITH THE REST AND STAYING AFLOAT

I'D LOVE TO PHONE MUM MORE OFTEN

AND TELL OF HER SUCCESS

THAT I'M NOT SKINT, I'M HAPPY IN MY JOB

 AND I'M ABOUT TO SETTLE WITH A LOVLEY GIRL

BUT AT PRESENT

I DON'T

SO I DIAL AND MUM ANSWERS

CARM AND REASSURING AS EVER

HER WORDS GENTLY ENTER MY HEAD,

THOUGH MY EARS AND INTO MY OVERACTIE MIND

SHE'S LIKE A VERBEL RADOX, 

WARM 

AND NICE

I TELL HER WHAT I'M UP TOO AND WHAT I'BE BEEN DOING

I'M FINDING IT HARD AND THAT I'M PRETTY FED UP

MUM SAYS "YOUR DOING REALLY WELL, IT'S LOVLEY TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN,

PLEASE PHONE MORE OFTEN"

26 GOING ON 6

LIKE I'VE DROPPED MY LOLLY STICK SO I GO SCREMING TO MY MUM

MY HOLYWOOD TEARS POSE THE QUESTION

OF BEGGING MY MUM TO PRODUCE ANOTHER ONE

SO I'M TELLING MUM OF ANOTHER PENING ADDRESS CHANGE

BOTH ELBOWS ON THE TABLE TORSO BENT FOREWARD

I THINK OF THE ADDRESS BOOK MUM KEEPS BY THE PHONE

AND ALL THOESE ADDRESSESS UNDER MY NAME

EACH ONE WITH AN ARROW STRIKING THOUGH THEM

LIKE THE GRIM REAPER CAME TO VISIT EACH TIME

JUST AFTER I LEFT TOO MOVE TO YET ANOTHER ADDRESS

I WONDER IF MUM EVER THINKS WITH EACH NEW ADDRESS

"WILL HE EVER GET SETTLED"

GOD KNOWS I'M TRYING

MUM KNOWS I'M TRYING

BUT MUM ALSO KNOWS THAT THE ADDRESS BOOK,

IS RAPIDLY RUNNING OUT OF SPACE

AND I'M RAPIDLY RUNNING OUT OF FAITH

AND I'M RAPIDLY RUNNING OUT OF PATEIENCE

AND I'M RAPIDLY RUNNING OUT OF TIME

THE GRIM REPERS WAITING

26 GOING ON 6

LIKE I'VE DROPPED MY LOLLY STICK SO I GO SCREMING TO MY MUM

MY HOLYWOOD TEARS POSE THE QUESTION

OF BEGGING MY MUM TO PRODUCE ANOTHER ONE

I HAVE TO QUESTION MYSELF AS TO WHY I'M EVEN PHONING MUM

'COS I KNOW MUM AND DAD CAN'T PRODUCE ANOTHER LOLLYSTICK

IN THE FORM OF THOUSANDS OF QUIDS

AS MUM TELLS ME WHAT SHE'S UP

ENJOYING HER WELL EARHNED RETIREMENT

I CAN'T HELP THINKING THE REASON I'M PHONING

IS JUST A DEALY TACTIC TO SUPRESS THE REALITY

THE REASURANCE, WISDOM AND COMFORT THAT MY MUMS VOICE BRINGS

SHOULD BE MORE THAN ENOUGH

BUT IT'S LIKE I'M EXPECTING MY MUM'S VOICE,

TO HAVE SOME SORT OF POWER LIKE A SONIC MAJIC WAND

AND MAKE EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE ALLRIGHT

LIKE A NEVER ENDING LOLLYSTICK THAT EACH TIME I LICK

IT DOESNT REDUCE IN SISE IT JUST GETS MORE SWEET

SO I FINISH THE CALL

TELL MUM I'LL PHONE HER MORE OFTEN

AND THEN WONDER HOW MANY MORE KITCHENS I'VE GOTTA SIT IN

BEFORE I CAN PHONE HOME WITHOUT AN AGENDA AND JUST SAY

"HELLO ARE YOU"?

PAGE MATCH 2: BIGGER AND BOLDER!!!

Ah yes, the Pagematch 2!!

The wonderful people over at BANG SAID THE GUN, who run, what is in my opinion, one of the best spoken word nights in London (and there are a lot these days!) have put together, in a way that only they can, the second instalment of the almighty battle that is  PAGE MATCH.

Essentially, this is about fun (The idea was conceived at a very late and drunken hour at a field, in a tent, at the Meadowlands festival last summer) . It's the coming together of some of London's best  spoken word collectives in one event, with all the exaggeration of a classic WWF Royal Rumble. 

The line up speaks for itself. Make no mistake, these are heavyweights! Last year's (suspicious) winners Bang Said The Gun, will be competing alongside my camp, The Rubix, as well as solid contenders Ditry Hands, The Roundhouse Poetry Collective and new but by no means unknown teams Chil Pill, Wordamouth and Apples and Snakes. The judges are as they were, Salena Godden, Charlie Dark and Nial O' Sullivan. It's going to be epic! Only problem is, a renegade collective has sprung up and stolen the Page Match Belt, calling themselvs the PAP see below! ... (for the record this has nothing, nothing, nothing whatsever to do with me, or Sean Mahoney or Peter Hayhoe....nothing at all)