Tag Archives: Poetry

Mouthy Poets is coming to an end.

2 Dec

Sometimes love and passion is not enough.

 

Last week we announced in our weekly session, that Mouthy Poets is wrapping up. November 25th was our final session.

 

After 6 years of growth; 11 Say Sum Thin shows, a national tour, an international exchange, a sister collective in Germany, the region’s biggest inter-school poetry slam, two albums, scholarships, commissions, publications and more, Mouthy has achieved above and beyond what a 20-year-old Deborah could have anticipated 6 years ago.

 

During the past year we have trialed various ways of progressing Mouthy Poets and making it a sustainable model that doesn’t rely on any one individual. However, just as many serendipitous things needed to align for Mouthy to grow, these things have not come together to enable Mouthy to continue. A combination of a small team with limited capacity, a change in needs of participants/the area and unexpected funding restrains left the whole team in agreement that bringing Mouthy to a peaceful and celebratory end was the only way forward. New crops need to be planted for soil to remain fertile, and we are excited to see what will come out of all the Mouthy Legacy (once a Mouthy, always a Mouthy).

 

Our funding will come to an end in January 2017 and we will be focusing in the next two months on evaluating the past 2 years of activity and wrapping up the office and administrative systems.

 

We hope to end with a day of evaluation/ round table discussions with partners, participants and Alumni in Nottingham on the 11th of Jan 2017 with a little party after. If you are available to come, please let us know and pop it in your diary!

 

Please spread the word and if there are any evaluation/ legacy or archiving support you can give us, or if you just want to let us know what impact we had on you/ someone you know/ your organisation – please let us know on Debris@mouthypoets.com

 

Warmest Regards,

Mouthy Poets CIC

 

Debris Stevenson Auditorium Draft 3 – SST11

5 Jun

Tech: 2 x cordless mics, haze machine, nighttime carport lighting, possible gobo of carpark style windows (narrow and high maybe with that grading you get to stop people jumping out), yellow lighting, powerful square touch that looks a bit like a phone, monitors.

I will be working with a backing track which I have a first draft of and hopefully an MC (yet to confirm who this is).

 

 Jezebel

[Verse 1]

 

Oi, oi, wait

at first…

Oi, hide, hide, hide…

 

At first…oi, wait…At first (yeah)

At school they called me ugly,

 

wait – did they call me anything?

I never had real friends, library ting.

Long tie, coasting, runnin’ from da beef,

Year nines jackin’ my sleep.

 

Dumb one in da fam,

I didn’t know what to say,

my school was on the brink,

bullies knew what to say.

I bunked mathematics,

brothers better – try dramatics.

But how could I pass

in a world of shanks n bars?

 

And they called gyal Jezebel,

 

Chatting bout line ups in the loos

and I’d never even kissed, hadn’t been asked to.

I’d watch gal get churpes, when boys acted nice.

Hands fast, den her names shanked in a night.

 

Fat and brash,

man didn’t clock me as a gash

so I’d heard dem chat

bout “Jezebel’s” slap.

Virgin means your wifey,

head means your dead,

more time man ain’t kissed

before he’s had sex.

 

[Hook]

What he do? You didn’t let him…

—                                sket ting,

(Mans already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

all she wants to be. She clings.

(Man already said she’s nothing,

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

been spread about, sket ting,

(Man already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

man in line, same bars, she pings,

(Man already said she’s nothing.)

Touched once – then Jezebel –

 

[Verse 2]

– was locking the cubicle door,

boys thought I was new through form-room door.

I lost puppy fat, learned to paint my face,

boys went from my mates to my predators (chase?).

 

Gyal pick links over GCSE’s

me too suddenly but I was not easy.

-Some pregnant, some bled, all poor.

-Sex their reward, only love they could afford.

 

16 bar MC – The lines guys spin to chat up gyal.

Noticing a friend becoming peng

 

[Hook]

What he do? You didn’t let him…

—                                sket ting,

(Mans already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

all she wants to be. She clings.

(Man already said she’s nothing,

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

been spread about, sket ting,

(Man already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

man in line, same bars, she pings,

(Man already said she’s nothing.)

Touched once – then Jezebel –

 

[Verse 3]

-never had it like me.

I’d never been twanged –

drawn respectfully

so slags – made me nuff angry

I’d lye on their bench till they felt to leave.

 

16 bar MC –

man approaching me and talking me into coming with him into a car park.

His man take the girl off in another direction.  

 

Wish I’d take words back to my fat days,

before man got me up in a car park bay,

when pillar stabbed back, hands festered, prick,

mouth panicked shut like a … Jezebel’s – click.

 

Beccy SST11 draft 2

29 May

Bit nervous about posting this. I rewrote the poem after Ioney’s  workshop on Friday and I’ve added a kind’ve weird script/monologue thing at the top because it’s just this idea I had to kind of make the poem part of that. Anyway, part of me thinks it’s massively pretentious and silly and I should just stick to doing a poem. If you agree please can you break it to me gently 😉 Other feedback I want is; does the poem work alone as well? Which do you prefer poem alone/poem as part of thing.

Approx running time 2-3 mins

To the frightened (What I know about outer space)

Two siblings in the back of a car.
Sibling 1 Makes rocket launching noises
Sibling 1: And we have lift off! And the Galaxy Voyager 95 sets its course for Mars —
Sib2: Saturn
Sib1: — sets its course for Mars…
Current me: I mean, now I know that even if you could be bothered to send a rocket that far, you couldn’t actually land it on Saturn – it’s all gas. But it looked kind of pink in the pictures and it had rings, so it was my favourite.
Sib1: And the voyager is getting higher and higher, due to reach Mars in two hours. But what’s this? The rocket passes through a meteor shower and has to make a series of sudden turns –
Sib2: Look! I can get us through them –

Sib1:  – disaster! An enourmous meteor hits the Voyager! It’s on fire! It’s plummeting!

Sib2: But we can save it!

Sib1: No, we can’t. You should have left the controls alone.

 

(Me on my own)  Space travel is scary. The idea of crashing all that way terrified me, but then, so did crashing in a train or a car… not a bike, though. I hurtled myself down all the biggest hills like I wasn’t afraid of falling off, which is good, because I frequently did. But, somewhere between the ages of five and twenty-five, the idea of falling has become unbearable.

 

 

You will graze your knees. The stinging is worth

the moment of flight, though. Seeing your earth

from space, while your brother grabs the controls

weaves through sharp meteors and black holes –

which you totally could have handled – you

realise you’re small. That you could plunge into

the dark matter soup and not be counted

or missed. Knowing your meteor showers are

your parents traffic jams and just-caught swear

words when someone cuts them up, could make you

give up, step away from the console. Don’t.

Graze your knees for the moment of flight. It

doesn’t have to get a hundred likes, or

win a nobel prize – these wings are yours.

 

Nafeesa Draft 1 SST11

15 May

Idea: Eve (from Adam n Eve) and Lilith (Adam’s 1st wifey) meet in a bar. Eve is pregnant, Adam has left her after the whole forbidden fruit drama. Lilith is working as an escort.

11:20pm on a Tuesday. The hags and the whores trickle out of side alleys and posh bars. Drunk, bright eyed, born from the devil, these women ooze sex, thick thighs and framed eyes, their strut digs out sighs from the open mouths of married men who stare at girls in school skirts during the day. Boiling blood, sharp tongues, crimson lips lick and spit. Even their spit say sex. They are goddesses of the night, tongues burn from all their woman.

Eve is sat on a bench, clutching on to her bag, head held down as though she is drowning. Perhaps she is crying. Limp hair, swollen eyes, a woman’s belly – she is fresh, raw, only just been born, spat out from the heavens. She holds her woman tongue in a fist, afraid, she is as visible as a five year old giving you the finger. Not bold, but brand new.

Debris Stevenson – SST11 Draft 1

15 May

Jezebel

 

[Verse 1]

 

Oi, hide, hide, hide…

They called me ugly,

 

Wait – did they call me anything?

Never had real friends, library ting.

Long tie, coasting, runnin’ from da beef,

Year nines jackin’ my sleep.

 

Dumb one in da fam, didn’t know what to say,

School was on the brink, bullies knew what to say.

Bunked mathematics, brothers better – try dramatics.

How could I pass in a world of shanks n bars?

 

And they called gyal Jezebel,

 

Chatting bout line ups in the loos

I’d never even kissed, hadn’t been asked to.

Watch gal get churpes, when boys act nice.

Hands fast, den her names shanked in a night.

 

Fat and brash, man didn’t clock me as a gash

So I heard dem chat bout Jezebel’s slap.

Virgin means your wifey, head means your dead,

More time man ain’t kissed before he’s had sex.

 

[Hook]

What he do? You didn’t let him…

don’t say a thing, sket ting,

(Mans already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

all she wants to be. She clings.

(Man already said she’s nothing,

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

been spread about, don’t say a thing, sket ting,

(Man already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

name’s catching, man in line, same bars, she pings,

(Man already said she’s nothing.)

But her loves now been named Jezebel.

 

[Verse 2]

You’ll find everyone at a shoobs,

But I ain’t right; face too wide, strong mind.

Man-dem are my boys, cause I make their laughs grow,

But when they think gyal-dem – my name don’t even show.

Watch dem to bashy, think bashy’s my thing.

Clock grime MC’s and I can’t stop listening.

So I hit the gym – – stop eatin’.

Bedroom train whine slow and mimic lyrics flow.

 

So whilst the Jezebel’s locking the cubicle door,

Think I’m new through form-room door.

Man-dem weren’t expecting this big change.

Abs pull in my waist, but thick thighs stayed same.

Gyal pick links over GCSE’s

Lipsing zoots, not man, no – booky,

Left pregnant, left bleeding, left tarred,

Sex their cash or card ao they walk to the next yard.

 

[Hook]

What he do? You didn’t let him…

don’t say a thing, sket ting,

(Mans already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

all she wants to be. She clings.

(Man already said she’s nothing,

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

been spread about, don’t say a thing, sket ting,

(Man already said she’s nothing.

Seen her crying in the ladies. Lady’s

name’s catching, man in line, same bars, she pings,

(Man already said she’s nothing.)

But her loves now been named Jezebel.

 

[Verse 3]

Surprise, now I can be seen,

But I’ve gleaned what’s wifey cuisine.

Went from fat virgin, to virgin wifey queen,

Parent invites, morning kisses – caffine.

Raised Mormon then questioned everything.

Befriended boys then couldn’t trust anything.

 

Aged fifteen, I was running alone,

Top of hierarchy, but no real love of my own.

Nuff slags, chucked bags, nuff cusses thrown,

Nuff baby scares, Jezzy’s nuff lie prone.

Nuff easy for me, one wifey’s fame,

Jezzy said sorry, didn’t know her name.

 

Oi, wish I could take my words back to my fat days,

Not let a gyalis in a car park stray.

Pillar stabbed my back, his hands festered, prick

Mouth panicked shut like a Jezebel’s – click.

 

****Artwork photographed by Saira Awan, Post-Production by Ryan Hawkins

Beccy SST11 first draft

13 May

Apologies I haven’t actually had a chance to do anything to this since the last time I posted.

My hands are gardens,

are the first place I learned to kill, weed, prune, neglect

until sterile. I was afraid

of life. Afraid of cracks

where things germinate unseen.

 

My heart grew mould. It was an apple

too long not picked. My hands are raw

from scrubbing. I dream of

rockets and space, somewhere germless

but my body betrays dreams,

can’t help growing things, hiding others.

 

Her first love was flowers. Her sisters

was dancing? Mine was books.

What was my mother’s first love?

The smell of cut grass? Twinkling stars?

We’ll go there maybe, one day

when the gardens on my hands are beautiful

and I’m no longer trying to kill or ignore.

SST11 1DEA – Debris Stevenson

26 Apr

As a lot of you know I am working on #poetindacorner at the moment, an EP then ALBUM using he poetic techniques of Dizzee Rascal’s first album Boy in da Corner. I have 4 tracks under my belt so far, for SST11 I really want to work on I Luv U or Jezebel as a platform of exploring the narrative archs/ dynamics we are used to between the courting of men and women.