This Friday is National Poetry Day

Wednesday is about books, and writing. Today I'm shining a light on Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day (Friday, Aug 26). Specifically an event where I'll be reading. That, and some new poems...

This Friday is Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day. There will be readings and events going on around the country and you can check in on the Phantom Billstickers social media pages to know some of the details and events.

But my recommendation for you is to – at the very least – visit a bookstore, go to your local and have a look around. Ask for a recommendation from the poetry section if you’re game. You’ll probably stumble onto an event just by turning up.

I’ve loved Poetry Day for years. I can’t remember my first involvement but I think it was 2001. I used to go out to Upper Hutt and read as part of wonderful line-ups. A couple of times I was the direct opening act for Sam Hunt – one time he invited me back to his room for a chat, to escape the crowd that swarms to ask him about anything and everything. We shared a bottle of wine and some poems. He wanted a copy of something I’d written. In return he reached into a folder and tore out a page of Wordsworth and handed it to me. (Sam keeps all his own poems in his head).

I haven’t read at a Poetry Day event for a few years – and obviously Covid hasn’t been our friend for the last couple. In 2020 I was organising an event for Book Haven – but it was cancelled. Last year the good folk at Schrödinger’s Books in Petone had invited me to be part of their bill, but once again the Covid got in the way.

This year, fingers crossed, I’ll be reading in public on Friday night at 6pm. My first time reading as part of Poetry Day in a decade I reckon. Maybe longer…

My first time reading poems in public this year I think. Certainly, in many months. Across the last half decade, I returned to the open-mic scene a little bit,  and then over the last few years I was a regular at two monthly open-mic events in Wellington. But this year I’ve been going to music open-mics instead – playing songs with my new band, Dirty Spoons. You can’t do everything. So the poetry has taken a backseat. And, gosh, it’s nearly two years since I released my book, The Death of Music Journalism.

(Incidentally, click that link if you want to buy a copy, leave a note saying you’d like it signed and that can easily be arranged).

Oh, and on that, I have just submitted a first draft of a new book. Basically it’s just a briefcase full of poems right now. But the publisher was curious to see more and give feedback. So who knows, maybe a new volume of poems in 2023? I’m keen…

Anyway, this Friday I’ll be part of a great line-up at Schrödinger’s Books in Petone. The event kicks off at 6pm and features  poets Khadro Mohamed, Michael Could, Joanna Cho, Erin Donohue and me. We’ll be reading from our books, we’ll be reading new, unpublished poems. We’ll have about 10 minutes each for a wee set – then mingling and Q&A afters. It’ll be a lot of fun. See the link or poster below for more details.

It’s FREE to come along.

I’ve no idea what I’ll read, but certainly a couple from my book – though for the most part I’m keen to read new poems. Only one problem there, the new poems are rather grim! I’m stuck, right now, on a rather anti-social media, planet is doomed kick. But I like to think there’s hope of some kind, if not rays of optimism in such themes. I’m just asking questions (of myself) and looking for answers too I suppose.

Anyway, below, a small handful of the latest poems. I won’t read all of these on the night because it’ll be a grim-overload and the similarity of them doesn’t make for an exciting time. It’s not quite a poetry cycle, just me stuck in a groove.

Let me know what you think though.

And let me know in the comments below if you have other exciting Poetry Day plans. Share any links to anything you know going on.

Digital Loneliness

I visited a friend who told me
about the anti-vax crowd, how
wrong they were, how sad he
was; how strong the connection
to doom-scrolling is –

I have my own loops I roller-coast
through, stuck and then unstick
and then stuck again too.

We weren’t meant to even try
to process this much visual information;
such stimulus piled to make
various breaking points – and then
the men that thought to
monetise this, to capitalise, to make
the symptom present as the cure.

That’s some cold heart shit right there.

There, in real life, talking about
social media and online behaviours –
the addiction knows how to
hide itself deep. None of this
is a good news story. None of this
has warmth, its own only value
is to the shareholders.

Their only interest: The bottom line.
We’re reaching for them.

Too Much Tumult

We crawled out of the sea,
learned to walk upright,
light fires, fight fires,

made wheels and turned tricks
into tracks, and built roads,
followed pathways and it

was all so that we would be
able to say, “I should have
capacity sometime near

the end of this week”.
When we crawl back to the
sea, rising levels and higher

temperatures, we won’t deserve
any acceptance. It has always
had the capacity to drown us,

we deserve that for clowning about
in man-made problems, making
misery from eternal sunshine.

Like A Prayer

as the day takes a seat,
and you are able to rest
your feet, remember

it’s your head that needs
to rest. So in that dream
where you are leading

the church, lost without
hymn book or acumen –
let it be. All is forgiven.

Amen.

Targeted Ads on Instagram

The wind blows cold and deep
and bones rattle and clang.

The death of choice was
signalled by capitalism’s birth,
swaddled as it was in the
illusion of options.

Brittle marrow moves toward
its own breaking point.

The mildew of human grinding
is all we’ll soon be left with; taint
of dreams, hallmark etched
onto screams. Bury us all.

All Day Hustle, Dawg!

The big boss came over to meet me, and I was
hard at work…Googling Pam Dawber. What had she
been up to since Mork & Mindy? I remembered
My Sister Sam and some TV movies. But where
was she now? Never mind, the big boss wanted
to know how I fitted in. I told him I wasn’t sure
that I did. He laughed  loudly as if I’d made
a clever joke. I cosplay ADHD, which is not to say
the shoe doesn’t fit, it’s more to announce how
afraid I am of hard work. The irony there is how
difficult this makes everything. Still, it was
a good day all up. Got lots of work done.

Found out about Mindy. And met the new boss. (Same
as the old boss). Then remembered My Sister Sam was
cancelled because some nutter killed the other lead actor
after listening to too much U2. (Jokes about listening to
too much U2 making you want to kill are still not welcome).
But yeah, the stalker listened to Exit, a lesser track from
The Joshua Tree. Bono had written it about Norman Mailer’s
big book, The Executioner’s Song – one of the best things
I’ve ever read. I would have told the big boss that’s how
I fit things in. But that’s not what he was asking. And
anyway, he had anyone else to meet. And I had to
line up the next John Carpenter soundtrack.

All The Overdues

I can still remember everything about the time I first
saw the movie Bloodsport. It was at a 13th birthday party
for my really good mate. There was a bunch of us, we went
to the arcade and played the wrestling game, we went ten-pin
bowling after, then back to the orchard to throw rotten fruit at
each other, ripping down the aisles of trees on quad bikes as rival gangs.

When it got cold, we were forced inside but there were
a few breakaways to the trampoline while we waited for the
computer games to load. And then after the cake, and the big bottles
of coke, we lined up the videotapes to watch. It was Bloodsport that was
the highlight. But also, Hellraiser. To get to them we had to first watch the
Teenage Vampire movie, which was pretty cool too. There were tired eyes and

some of the soldiers dropped pretty quickly, even though
there was still a huge bag of Burger Rings and we had one whole
room in that big farmhouse to ourselves. Sleeping bags everywhere.
The next morning, I woke early – I had never felt so tired – but I did it
because I had to get the jump: wanted to watch Bloodsport again, or at least
as much as I could before getting picked up. I was the only one up to begin with,

but the friends started joining in as the action was building.
We were cheering by midway, and when the bone in the leg snaps
we all winced. The Karate Kid was just Play-Doh, this was a monument,
tall building; a work of art. I’d missed my father’s 40th birthday to attend this
13th. It made more sense to me, then and now. And Bloodsport still fills me with a visceral thrill I could never be capable of acting on, have never felt I need to justify nor

compartmentalise – it’s just simply one of the greatest films I know.
But there’s a sadness that lingers when thinking about it also.
Some of the friends you have and just fall out of touch with.
Where do they go? Why does it happen? So you hold onto
the memory of their 13th birthday, like a film you
keep renting, and  pay all the overdues.

Be A Good Cunt At The BBQ Eh

Make sure you’re a good cunt for the BBQ, alright?
It’s the number one thing in life. You need to
put on enough of a show so they know you’re okay.
You talk about the weather, the rugby, the greatest hits
of Coldplay and U2. These are things lots of people
know about, many people are passionate about
these things. You make sure not to stray too far
from those lines. None of that jazz talk – unless it’s
middle of the road and the conversation is specifically
about background music.  None of that stuff about
poetry and prose-poems, you want crime novels,
or preferably podcasts. Sometimes now you can piggy-back
from a good podcast-chat into what’s in your Netflix queue.

Sometimes the titles are identical now – they used to make
TV shows about books, and podcasts too. Now they make
podcasts about the TV shows, or the TV shows are even
made after the podcast.  Anyway, all of this is good BBQ chat.
Along with prices. Prices of houses. Prices of meat. Groceries
in general. And sometimes it’s good to talk about kids
in school. You can marvel about the way they learn now,
and how it’s different to how you ever did it – you can
make a joke or two about being an absentee parent and
letting your kid have too much screen-time, because,
chances are, your kid will not be there in that same spot
as you; will in fact be on a screen somewhere near
or near enough eh…

Have a drink in your hand and a smile on speed-dial, have
the heart to ask about anyone else but don’t get too caught up
in anything much. Leave plenty of room and time and space
for waving and smiling. Big grins are good. They’re good
as gold mate. They’re your actual friend in this situation.
A genuine mate. Be a good cunt at the BBQ, eh.
Don’t be an actual cunt. Don’t be a dick.

https://0800phantom.co.nz/national-poetry-day/