Poets Eat Peanuts! #napowrimo2

Day 2 – Napowrimo – Prompt at the end.

Poets Eat Peanuts!

Now look, it all makes perfect sense
first we forget the famous poets,
cut out all the pontificating self important poets
and scrap the big names who read for radio.
Then we take all the aspiring wordsmiths
and spoken word artists,
who would die without exposure,
But what are they going to eat boss?
They’ll think of something,
I mean, when we cut that performance budget
we can build a bigger stage
and double the size of our audience.
But they can’t just live off peanuts.
Of course they can, back in the day
the old poets thrived on them.
All they really need is a circle of eyes
and a few peanuts to survive.
But boss, they are poets, not performing monkeys.
Look, see it as an investment.
A cash crop if you will,
you grow the monkeys … I mean poets,
we put them on the stage,
and when the audience comes
up with the hard cash,
we give you some bread on the deal.
But poets are starving to death out there.
Between you and me son, there’s too many of them anyway.

Lisa Goodwin April2018

Big bag of peanuts to Dambut who inspired the style of this poem with his own poem called Sugar Daddy from The Unfairy Tale.

Napowrimo Prompt – a poem that plays with voice. For example, you might try writing a stanza that recounts something in the first-person, followed by a stanza recounting the same incident in the second-person, followed by a stanza that treats the incident from a third-person point of view. Or you might try a poem in the form of a dialogue, which necessarily has two “I” speakers, addressing two “you”s. Another way to go is to take an existing poem of yours or someone else’s, and try rewriting it in a different voice. The point is just to play with who is speaking to who and how. Happy writing!



Overheard at the White Spring – #Napowrimo 21

“Gerroff my leyline,”
he shouted
in a spectacular display
of anger.
He scared the tourists,
of sacred space crumbled,
as chalk in water.
as a hedge monkey,
to chase off the war drums,
he hummed a sweet tune,
through cider rouged smiles,
as a boar in springtime.
he is protector of dragon lines,
he hates
the sacred space full
of ceremony and nakedness,
he is blessed, magnificent,
“Gerrof my leyline!”

Night, Fear and Fire – #NaPoWriMo 19

A man holds a bucket as he tries to extinguish a late night fire

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Night, fear, and fire
in everyone’s mythology,
while we listen to the story,
do we see the symbology?

Suffering and sin
creates more of the same,
and we are bound to do it
in some god or other’s name.

Creation myths,
could push a sweeter story,
something more useful,
like finding grace and glory.

To keep us penned in,
words have been rewritten,
to shroud us in the bloodshed,
til we are totally sin-smitten.

Night, fear, and fire,
suffering and sin.
Creation myths
to keep us penned in.

Lisa Goodwin – April 19th 2017

People are Not a Commodity – #Napowrimo 18

Hello folks,


Last year, all the banks left Glastonbury High Street. Lloyds Bank, HSBC, Barclays, all abandoned the town. (‘Boo … or hooray!’ depending on your perspective.) A campaign by local residents and the Town Council, ‘The Last Bank Standing,’ did not convince the banks to stay, but it did attract the attention of Nationwide Building Society.

Personally, I think the local Credit Union is the best way to make money work for a community. However, Nationwide building society does not invest in war, nuclear, oil or gas, which is a bonus, and it makes them more ethical than the bag 6 Banks, and rather than investing in corporations, they invest in the community.

Divest from the big six and switch! That is something I can get behind.

Even better, Nationwide are supporting poetry with a ‘National Voices’ Campaign.  Hopefully, I will perform today’s poem – ‘People are not a Commodity’ in the Market Square on 27th April. Come down if you can, between midday and 4pm, some of the poets from the advert campaign will be there too. After the poetry takeaway event in Glastonbury, I will post the poem here.

Here it is …

People are Not a Commodity

Altogether, we are building society,
finding new ways to strengthen our community.
Common unity, with no rank or authority;
and while it seems like everybody
is competing in a competitive economy,
people are not a commodity.

Here, we are building bridges,
embracing so many faiths and religions.
and with all these different traditions,
we can’t afford to invest in divisions.
So it’s time to think about divesting,
and switching to something real,
something that we can believe in.

We are advocating unity in diversity,
but while we are celebrating this,
who is caring for the family,
who’s there for the young and the elderly?
Community despises isolation,
it comes alive with our participation.

Like birds of a feather,
it works when we all work together.
So let’s take part, let’s take the time
to meet one another, eye to eye
take a moment to share a smile,
and call on your mates once in a while.

We all need a place to belong,
a place where we don’t feel alone,
everyone wants a welcome home,
so let’s cheer one another on.
That’s how a community remains strong.

Nocturnal Nostalgia – #Napowrimo 17

This is really rough and will be reworked – The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a nocturne.

I can’t sleep
at mother’s house
light fades,
gives way to night.
Curtains cotton thin,
let the light in,
clock ticks too loud.
Time passes.

I come to visit,
shaded memories,
like a Pixar movie,
they come to life
when you go to bed.
There in the corner,
a wall of VHS,
dusted and grainy
a monumental waste,
a taste of remembrance
of shared time,
how fast
Time passes.

There in the shadow,
a dictionary
old words,
I used to search for
lost to us by now,
replaced with cyber references
you don’t understand.
Heavy gardening manuals,
decoupage and macrame books,
used before your fingers
were too artheritic
to tie knots.
Time passes.

That candlestick,
a Christmas gift,
the one I made
for you in 1986.
Azure glass glaze,
my fingerprints remain
forever in the clay
traces of a teenager,
in remembrance.
Time passes.

Remember when
I had that party
and the neighbor
grassed on me
You didn’t like her,
you miss her
now she’s gone.
Time passes.

Vinyl, you kept
only the best ones,
when grandma’s
sideboard got sold,
the best of Elvis,
Julio Iglesias and Demis Roussos,
A box of shot glasses,
wrapped in newspaper in 2001.
Time passes.

Souvenirs on souvenirs
surround you,
trinkets of a time
before old age
slowed you down.
Reminders of a time
when you
were strong
and had a sense
of belonging.
Time passes.

Letter to Leary – #Napowrimo 16


Now you are long gone,
20 years dead,
what have you got to say
about consciousness?
Do you still believe
every citizen is a scientist?
Did you lose respect,
when you switched from psychologist,
to unregulated mind space cosmologist?

What would you say if you were here today?
After the rise and fall
of that clever marketing spin –
turn on – tune in – drop out –
a catchy slogan for a generation
to make their future about.
A philosophy swallowed by everyone
needing a way out.
It hit them like a meme on a long run,
you could have sold anything to anyone.

Would you consider this success?
After all these years, of misunderstood
and mistook consciousness experiments,
I am sure you never meant
for a population to tune out so far
that they couldn’t care less?
Children seeking a way to be numb,
far from turning on, now they want to
turn out, tune out, drop out.
I hope they turn out fine.

I often wonder – Did you ever answer Ginsburg?
What did you tell him when he asked you,
“What is everyone supposed to do after
dropping out?
How does that help you deal
with human issues
like facing old age,
sickness, suffering,
and death?”

Somewhere – #Napowrimo 15

refugee sillouette

In the terror of a war zone,
in the middle of no-where,
a long way from home

there’s a place for us

Life is bought and sold,
in the middle of no-where,
fear lies down with hope

there’s a place for us

A place we can thrive in,
in the middle of no-where,
there on the horizon

there’s a place for us

People floating in the ocean,
in the middle of no-where,
don’t forget to pay the boatman.

There’s a place for us.