So, it’s been a while since I posted anything vaguely creative. But now summer is here and the sun is out and poetry has sunk her teeth into me again!

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be invited to Nottingham Playhouse to experience a day of poetic, creative and artistic imagination with an amazing collecting called Mouthy Poets. There was a daytime event, which was, in fact, a lot of smaller events ranging from open mic poetry with an improve band to creative business seminars, to book binding. The evening event was a showcase of incredible poets and some really inspirational work from Mouthy Poets themselves, with guest John Agard performing a brilliant set.

It never ceases to amaze me how the crushing immediacy of every day life (full time job, having to eat, having to sleep, having to get dressed, having to get the bus to places) seems to squeeze your creativity until her poor little eyes pop. It is also astounding how just being around other creatives, and being in a creative environment, is enough to rekindle my poor, broken little imagination and turn her into some insomniac monster that refuses to let me rest until I have written at least a novel.

After Mouthy’s event, I wrote four poems, one after the other. They were not finished, not even close, but it was a start. Mouthy were lively, challenging, unconventional, dangerously opinionated (I say this with awe and admiration) and mouthy. I found the range of voices and expertise inspiring, and it was a day spent reawakening my ragged, torn and starving poetry brain, sticking it on a drip, patting it on the head and saying “sort yourself out, Kiddo, and get back on the horse!”

It worked.

I’ve been writing every day since. And one thing I would like to share with you, and Mouthy Poets, is a little Haiku of appreciation from one drowning creative to the Steamliner collective that rescued her:

Cupped hands catch ink drops
dribbled from mother bird’s mouth.
We won’t fly south yet.

Thanks Mouthy! You’re something else.