The mix of San Miguel, a largesse of fresh air and the glamour of streetlights on a walk home from my local (the Welly) often leads me (both, home and) to conjure some poetry (lines of) as I go. It’s akin to drunken singing, I guess. The music of the lines an aid to memorizing them, so I can scribble them down before thumping the mattress. The following poem started off as I staggered home one night.
News. I’m involved in a Arts project in Pompey that’ll occur on a couple of allotment sites in the city. It’s primarily a visual arts event, but I’ve gatecrashed. I intend to write a piece to be split between the host sites. I might also produce a slim pamphlet of ‘allotment’ poems I’ve got in my back catalogue. I’ll keep you informed.
