Temple Works Poem.

Fair enough, I'm no Shelley, but as far as I recall he never had to earn a living or scribble his poems in between boring meetings. This little effort was done over a couple a lunchtimes. It's obviously a sonnet based on Ozymandias; I've duplicated Shelley's tricky rhyme scheme and tried to match something of his rhythm . . . but I'd agree it's rather more Iambic Pentamatuerish then the great Romantic's verse. Still, I don't think it's a bad effort considering. I've posted a few pics just to make more sense to people who aren't familiar with the building.

The idea for the poem came to me the other day as I was chatting to a friend about the plans for Temple Works in Holbeck. I'm going to a show around in a couple of hours organised by Emma from CultureVultures, and hope to get a better idea of what is going to be done with the place. I'm very attached to the building; my grandparents lived around the corner, my parents got married in the local church, and my dad and uncle drink in the pub next door. I grew up with this place as a massive part of my imagination and it's been gutting to watch what's happened to it over the past decade or so. I've got some pretty vague ideas how I'd like to see things develop, so I'll wait and see. I have my fingers crossed though. The plans I've heard about so far are marvelous.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

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Tweet Poem.

This was just a bit of fun I did over coffee and cake in Borders this lunchtime. It's a response of sorts to my friend Gayle's poem on her blog. Obviously I'm no photographer, and the writing is a bit dodgy . . . I only had a few minutes to scribble it while my mate was getting the drinks in. Really, I just wanted to see what posterous would do with a bunch of uploaded pics, as I haven't tried it before . . so here goes.

See and download the full gallery on posterous

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My Moleskin Project Poem.

Here's my effort for The Moleskin Project; as is evident my artistic talent is negligible. I normally use a much larger notebook too, at least A4 which seems to help my handwriting. It is very difficult to read, so here's the poem typed.

Drawn Together (he thinks.)

I adore contemporary culture
and take every effort to attend
each local event and gathering,
so I'll frequently make a new friend.
We'll bond over spirited banter
with the odd glass of Pinot or Pimms,
displaying the depths of our insights
that are far beyond fashionable whims.
I'll claim art must provoke, not pander
to popular tastes for jollity;
if it doesn't disturb or threaten
it's patently poorer quality!
Oh, look, our latest arrival,
she appears reverential and awed,
she'll appreciate my commentary,
My discernment's so rarely flawed.
She's nodding away in agreement
so I'm starting to wonder whether
it's the time to suggest a drinky?
Love of art draws people together!

Drawing Away (she's thinking.)

I've not come in here for the culture;
truth is, I'm avoiding the rain.
I'm just not that keen on arty types,
they seem so precious and vain.
Where do they learn to talk like that?
What the heck is "rhizomatic?"
Who decides what goes on display?
I've got much better stuff in my attic.
I really don't see any point
in pictures that don't aim to please,
that seem to be dark, ugly and smudged,
about depression, death and disease.
This guy behind me is far too close
so I think I'll just nervously stare
in the hope that he'll soon cotton on
that it's clear that I just couldn't care.
Damn, I can see where it' s leading,
why am I so far from the door!
Please, don't ask me out for a drink.
Once again, I've drawn the short straw!

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Not Feeling Very Charitable.

A young woman accosted me in the street a few minutes ago. She wasn't wearing charity insignia, so she can't have been a chugger. But she did have a clipboard and a lean and hungry look about her, so I'm guessing she was hoping to cajole me into switching utilities or convince me of the benefits of some remarkably affordable form of pet insurance. But I never found out, because this is what she said as she physically tackled me: "Sorry to bother you."

Sorry to bother me? Then why try to do to me what Roy Keane did to Alfie Haaland, and go for my knee as I was scurrying past, staring at the horizon, obviously trying to avoid eye contact?

I'm running another customer care course in a couple of weeks time and I'm gonna use this as a textbook example of how not to engage your customer - or, in this case, passer-by - with your opening line

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