Tag Archives: spoken word

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.

 

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

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.

It happens on a balcony — Beccy Shore SST10 performance draft

28 Jan

Hey. No idea what will happen to the formatting when I press publish, but I didn’t want to attach it as a file cause then you all have to go to the effort of downloading it 😛

 

It happens on a balcony

 

Like this isn’t extraordinary – being alive

without walls or ceilings, when we’re humming like fairy lights.

 

The generator, for a few beats

stops

 

breathing. We look up, like the eyes

of someone who loves you, as you walk in.

 

Constellations I don’t

recognise

flicker on. Clouds steal our breath

the moon shows scars

 

and all the stars point

to you

 

and to everyone else. To you –

all the stars point. The moon shows

scars.

 

Flicker on, clouds, steal our breath. Constellations

I don’t recognise, the eyes of someone

who loves you

as you walk in. We look          up,

the generator, for a few beats,

stops breathing.

 

We’re humming like fairy lights,

without walls or ceilings, being alive

 

like this isn’t extraordinary.

 

 

BeaBop: Tribute (SST10 Final Draft)

28 Jan

 

She lived for that green
the shade that bled the sun through
tall stems full
of the stuff of life
laying foundations in the moss
cultivating a kind of eco-festival
full of cool, hip-for-you stuff
-BEAT-
She hailed from Masaka in royal Uganda
she whispered evergreen national parks
wore celebrations piled atop afro coils
a silent disco danced behind cocoa eyes
and like a sister
yet more a daughter, she wrapped me in tribute
Pursing lips to my dimples

Once, I thought I had jailed my chance
to mother after severing myself from a house
full of too many women
growing big for their boobs
I kicked the dirt and left my idea of family
to flap in the cross-winds
in a pea-green boat
-BEAT-
She was the road sign green
that directed me back to motherhood
back when truth was wedged
between puberty and middle classdom
a detour made through males too old to be boys
I would hide my dreams behind
a padlocked Brady Bunch

Her face was the key
opening the old fashioned golden door
a beacon for folk to stay awhile
empty their souls
rest up and ease lines
carved across play dough
whilst sharing a little philosophy
-BEAT-
Her voice was the architect
plucking my dimples
to loosen my shadows
The chef: pressing jerk, pimento
scotch bonnet, garlic cloves
into my middle
seasoning me for motherhood
-BEAT-
She loved the little bit of apple mixed with olive
the kind that took the edge off a hard day
of walking wards
in worn-in clogs
her uniform a starched green
the type that made you stand to attention

Or hide your boyfriends attitude
until he wanted to do the right thing
all by himself

And she would call me

-BEAT-

Now she whispers to me

-BEAT-
And I mother a handful now
using those tints
of her cool, hip-for-you, stuff of life

BeaBop SST10 (3rd Draft)

8 Jan

She lived for that green
the shade that bled the sun through
tall stems full
of the stuff of life
laying foundations in the moss
cultivating a kind of eco-festival
full of cool, hip-for-you stuff

– Beat –

She hailed from Masaka in royal Uganda
she whispered evergreen national parks
wore celebrations piled atop afro coils
a silent disco danced behind cocoa eyes
And like a sister, scrap that –
a daughter, she wrapped me in tribute
Pursing lips to my dimples

Once, I thought I had jailed my chance
to mother after severing myself from a house
full of too many women
growing big for their boobs
I kicked the dirt and left my idea of family
to flap in the cross-wind
in a pea-green boat

– Beat –

She was the road sign green
that directed me back to motherhood
back when truth was wedged
between puberty and middle classdom
a detour made through males too old to be boys
I would hide my dreams behind
a padlocked Brady Bunch

Her face was the key
opening the old fashioned golden door
beaconing for folk to stay awhile
empty their souls
rest up and ease lines
carved across play dough
whilst sharing a little philosophy

– Beat –

Her voice was the architect
plucking my dimples
to loosen my shadows
the chef: pressing jerk, pimento
scotch bonnet, garlic cloves
into my middle
seasoning me for motherhood

– Beat –

She loved the little bit of apple mixed with olive
the kind that took the edge off a hard day
of walking wards
in worn-in clogs
her uniform a starched green
the type that made you stand to attention

Or hide your boyfriends attitude
until he wanted to do the right thing
all by himself
by presenting himself to her
to ask to place a ring on your finger
before even thinking of
taking your crown

And she would call me

– Beat-

Now she whispers to me
And I mother a handful now
using those tints
of her cool, hip-for-you, stuff of life

 

[Tech requirements:3 – 4 colour washes – different shades or intensities of green cycled for each stanza. Timing/length : 2’25”]