Tag Archives: spoken word

#GloPoWriMo 2018 25 – Radical chic


A noi non servono mura o coperte
ma il vento che avanza
da un punto cardinale qualunque
e che avvolge, se ti sporgi lo senti
che porta il nome del torto fatto
del torto subito, di quello
che hai causato col tuo –
quindi stai dentro, che fa riscontro.
Il tuo ce l’hai, chiudi la porta no?

Gira e rigira, come cambia il vento
cambi verso e direzione
e te ne freghi che ogni azione conta.
Basta non freghino, amici o non,
quel mezzo rivoluzionario di locomozione
o peggio, la carrozzeria
che la proprietà non é mia
peró un minimo di rispetto
per quella privata dai
per diana per giove per bacco
anche se piove – governo ladro –
l’avevi appena lavata, di sicuro.
Levatevi di strada, pedoni e ciclisti,
che oggi girano male e hai fretta.

Ormai il tempo manca e fa fatica
hai solo due settimane e col vento
a questo modo che spesso soffia contro
noi che tentiamo di portare cambiamento
però anche il rispetto e la domenica è sacra
al mare ci devo andare che servono
le sabbiature a far passare lo stress,
che saranno anche ricchi ma rimangono
poveri, rimangono fuori, rimandiamoli a casa
e li aiutiamo là che qua c’è la roba mia.

se il vento poi si alza
basta a svelare quello che abbiam sepolto
nella sabbia, tra teste e piedi,
struzzi e stronzi di cane
lasciati da quei cani dei padroni
noncuranti né ambulanti
ma basta cambi il vento
e lo senti dove sono
il fuoco è quasi spento ma le braci
son pronte a bruciarti i piedi
– basta soffiare


Fossil Fool


In the age of the son of Dick
dinosaurs roamed the earth again
funneled and shovelled into rooms of steel and of brick,
grooming in new taxes, fees and contributions
looming over tracks of grey grey grey…

In the age of the son of Dick
Shellfishness was on the rise
oil say – yeah, back to back
to the sound of beating drums
a black hum rising from
your interests – only green concern
is what you make when you burn.

In the age of the son of Dick
we fly our flags with pride
wear our badges, sound our voices
we have nothing to hide, Dave
and it’s not just ‘save the planet’:
We cry divest, divest, divest!
Do not feign interest, Dave
you’ve turned to fossil,
you look like a fool.
The solution? Divest.
Because we won’t rest tonight
we won’t rest tomorrow
we will burrow into your grey
with our orange – and we have no rhyme
but plenty of reasons.
We’re here to stay as long as we have to
as long as it takes, Dave,
until you say – we do different.

Partially improvised piece in occasion of the UEA Fossil Free 26-hour occupation. Read more about it here.



The end

is the best place to start
when you’re lost for words
because, apart from the troubles
you’ve saved yourself from
having to think of a beginning,
all you need to work out
is how to retrace your steps
walk backwards, in heels if needs must
in lines in the sand and the dust
and trust me, it gets easier.
Because maybe it’s just a phrase
you’re going through.
And you’ll figure out
that in your end may very well be your beginning,
but – and this is just a feeling, Toto –
we are not in Little Gidding any more
so carry on. Walk.

Run if you must, run from the living
run through the dead, empty words
that brought you here in the first place.
Run until the air burns in your lungs
sounds stick to your tongue
piercing your throat
with peaks of voice.

Pick apart the rain now rushing
on your skin, washing the world
clean of the steps you
took on your way to the end
of your life-long sentence
the full stop with no real cause
attempting to order the clauses
clawing at each other
scratching each other
into your mind and fingers
wanting to spill onto the page.

And when, not if, you lose your thread
make sure to tread carefully
on your own or someone else’s dreams.
Apologies can only do so much
and minds are fragile things,
thumb prints can burn and stay
on blood and ink and skin
so think before you speak
but always, always speak your thoughts.

And run, or walk if you must
carry the weight, count the prints
you left on your route here
close the circle and return
back to the place where you started
all the way back to

Plastic addiction


It first started when you were a kid
but you didn’t notice it seeping in.
It’s a phase, they say, he’ll get over it
and they turn their gaze onto their own little things.
You remember the first time you held one
the car, the truck, the wheels turning
and something stirring inside of you
gears and cogs, clicking and whirring
something shifting, ever so slightly.
But still, you didn’t notice it seeping in.
How could you, after all?
All it was, all they were, just toys.
Yet something more,
beneath the surface, always
more than meets the eye.
And for a while they became
your fantastic friends, guardians
of plastic memories, unscrewed pains
and loosened joys of coloured limbs.
All that time, it was seeping in.
That was then. Now, at twenty-two,
you dive your hand into
a sea of phases, fading into
an ocean of childhood obsessions
of a kid’s achievement and parents’ despair
in the shapeshifting forms
of cars, trucks and planes.
With care, you choose a fraction
from his collection, it becomes
a subtraction from your brother’s
affection as it joins your faction,
an addition to your own collection.
Although there are millions
in hiding through the world
this one is yours, and yours alone.

But all in all, as in any addiction,
one shall rise and one shall fall.
It’s either you or your plastic creatures.
You notice a change in their plastic features,
they’re begging for more, more comrades,
more plastic, my god it’s fantastic!
Is this what the matrix of leadership feels like?
Do I have the touch? I feel just.. prime!
I want more I need more they need to be mine!
As the frenzy builds up, you scour the net
you bet you can find one to complete the set.
A final addition, you promise yourself,
but in fact, as you look at the shelf
it’s just another token
of your plastic addiction.
Since it started, since the beginning
it’s always been either you
or your plastic creatures.
So far, they’re winning.



So you say you want a revolution?

Prove it.
Prove what you are..

..are you a man or a mouse?
A student, or rodent?

We have been revolting
for too long, by our own intoxication.
Puking, rebuking, flunking
We fall.
We are revolting,

It’s time.

Re-claim the night,
re-claim the day
re-claim what is ours.
You want a revolution? Then start the re-evolution.
Show them it’s not just Education
they are cutting down.
They are putting us down..
Stop going to the pub. Stop eating out.
Stop going to the cinema. Stop going to the club.
Bowling, Pool, Gym, Shop.
Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP.

Step-up, onto the podium
speak from the mess
to the mass

Cerebrate creatures
will understand
as you up-stand.

Stand-up, sit-in, sleep in.
Discuss over a pint, let’s go for drinks.
We’ll create slogans over sloe gins.
Our banter will produce banners.

But where is the education?

Open the doors! A Really Open University.
Drafting essays and papers
Lectures in the cold, seminars on the steps,
the draught does not enter through the door.
For the door is ajar.

Open the roofs!
And shout our civilised YAWP
(barbaric no longer)
over the noise of the traffic.
Let the knowledge flow
Let it seep in
Let it fly free
Let it be increased
A cry forgotten, by University itself.
We have a tower now.
A new order, a new time.

A new white tower, to replace the ivory.
A new clock, tock-tock-tock
ticking boxes off.
In the multiple choice quiz
that is the new degree.

‘Please lean forward
at ninety degrees.
It won’t hurt
I promise,
we’re good at this by now’

It’s time.
Crack the clock to pieces.
Blow the roofs off.
Tear the tower down

We will make it shudder
Through the words we’ll stutter, for
Eloquence is lost, with rhetoric and form
Inform everyone, open the shutter
the venetian blind.