Last Man Out of Eden - CD & pamphlet

So I've finally got some new work to show for myself. Last Man Out of Eden is a CD and pamphlet of performance pieces out on June 12th (which, coincidentally, is the date of the Hammer and Tongue final). It's a  collection of poems about hope in the face of disappointment, with a lyrical confessional style that takes in equal amounts from Ferlinghetti, Tracey Emin, and Patti Smith’s Just Kids. These poems celebrate the healing powers of time, non-violence, and remembrance but above all carry a simple message:
Celebrate the lives of those you love because one day they won’t be with you any longer and you’ll be left writing poetry about how you wish you’d loved them more.

 And here's the bit where I really need your help. I'll be recording the poems for the CD live and I need an audience. It will be at 7.30 on Friday June 8th at (of course) The Albion Beatnik Bookstore. If you think you can sit and whoop up some raucous applause through a set of 9 poems (it'll take 30-35 minutes) whilst being plied with wine, please come along!

Coming to Manchester

This Monday I'll be hosting an evening with some of the most sensational writers and spoken word artists around at Three Minute Theatre in Manchester's legendary Afflecks. And it's free. If you're anywhere near, don't miss out! full details here

Poetry Video - Her Body

When somoene with a public profile dies, the person often gets lost in the discussion of what their death means.

Her body
Was the canvas where you painted your myths
In come and similes and piss
The focal point of all your bliss
The only part of her you’ll ever miss

Her body
Will be a vanishing point in the desert
A line in the sands of time
Running through your hands
The silken strand
That drags your eyes
To the horizon
Where your future stands
The wandering caravan
That spans
The skeleton road to Samarkand

Her body
Will be a theme park for ideologues
Self-righteous pedagogues
Gender-political demagogues
Who hog the scene
Flogging anarchist zines
Filled with revolutionary schemes
And Utopian memes
While under the clogs of your flag burning screams
Her body slips into the soil unseen

Her body
Will be a garden planted with your fears
A bowl to catch your tears
A reminder of the years you spent
And those that went astray
The hours, minutes, days
You couldn’t bring yourself to say
Because you knew her body stayed
But not that she had slipped away

She is not the sum of all who went before
Her body’s not a metaphor
Her unkissed lips are not a funeral pyre
Her gaping wrists are not the mouths of liars
Her clitoris is not the primal fire
(the truth of it is infinitely higher)

Her body
Was woven from pieces of pain that no longer hurt
Has wounds that will not heal
Indignities she will not feel
Skin peels
Winds wheel
Limbs kneel
To hymns bashed out with soulless zeal
And dust steals back
The only proof that she was ever real