Decisions.

I’ve been asked to supply a couple of poems to be displayed at a festival where I’m reading in the summer. I’ll also be delivering a workshop and presenting the prizes for the children’s poetry competition I’m judging. Which poems should I choose to represent the me?

Poets get put into categories – this one is urban and gritty,

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this is a nature poet, this one a feminist poet, this one political, this one funny. Or this poet is like that poet.

Pigeons-in-holes

I like to think that I’m not consistently one ‘type’ of poet. The mundanity of most people’s everyday lives are constricting, and so to be constricted in the scope of your creativity is surely to be avoided. The artists I admire in all mediums were or are always changing and exploring, experimenting.

Pigeons 2

But I’m taking this small choice too seriously.

I ask my wife which poems she thinks I should send. When she suggests one I come up with a reason why that one won’t do. She laughs and says that If I don’t really want her opinion why am I asking her? I wander off to ponder the possibilities. It’s ok, I’m not going to get neurotic or hung up on this, so I’ve chosen two. I think …

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