I want to hold a candle to myself,
to the demimonde of poetry,
transgress the rules of the asylum,
rites of rhyme and rhythm scuppered,
banish the gray of the suicide poets –
I don’t want to be wombing and entrailing all over the place,
as Germaine Greer said of Anne Sexton –
their words spat out in impossible-to-live-with-nesss.
I will rejoice in the gaiety of the reggae poets,
rebel with the beat poets,
celebrate the grandeur of words reborn
with the colours of Africa
and the beat of Jamaica,
make words dance.
A splendid hour-long BBC4 programme last night,Great Poets in Their Own Words – was the inspiration for my wordle poem this week. You can find other interpretations of the words here
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