Don't get me wrong I know this feels like sacrilege especially to either the uninformed, the unflexible, the inexperienced, or boundary poet, (a boundary poet is one who clings to boundaries without exploring the unknown), but they would be ungracefully wrong, in truth it is truly an exercise in the power of creativity to seek out it's reason. If I match my experience to the process of excavation I am bound to find the poem. All my senses are alerted, cranked up. It is somehow magical. If not the end piece then the concentrated act of seeking the poem is for me, an affirmation of why I'm alive. to seek creativity. and I've found it. It's as if the ink is running a split second ahead of my writing and I am following it with the pen. Read more [...]

On Sunday 15 June, US President George W. Bush is visiting London as part of his valedictory world tour, and will be having tea with the Queen and dinner with Prime Minister Gordon Brown. Read more [...]

Out of the blue, today I receive a call "George Bush is coming to London, on Sunday" Read more [...]

I amateurishly remind Patti that I have read with her before and that I shall be reading with her tonight. She doesn’t remember but she’s nods graciously. Autograph hunters descend the second before we enter the stage door. I immediately get out my pen and set up a little table and chair so they can form a Que only to realise my name is not Patti Smith. Read more [...]

Mid poem on the second reading a drunken man walks to the stage and starts shouting to me. It would be ignorant to ignore. None of the organisers offer to help and instead they watch as I cope. Eventually after repeating our conversation on the microphone “you’re name’s michael…. You want to say something… on here....”. I invite him on stage where he gets seriosly involved in a Donald Duck impression. Read more [...]