Last week was Libraries Week and I was invited to celebrate at Live Poets ‘15 Progressive Poetry Years’ party at Blackpool Central Library on Friday. They were having a Poetry Party with poetry readings, mocktails and cake.
They were also celebrating National Poetry Day with a limerick competition and a prize giving ceremony for the best three limericks.
I entered the competition and didn’t think anymore about it, until I received a phone call from a very nice lady informing me that my poem was in the top three selected winners and would I be available to come to the party? I was already going, so that wasn’t a problem and she said what an added bonus it was. I agreed.
When I got there, the three winners were called up on stage and had to read out their poem. Third prize was called out, a beautiful poem read by Steven, or Stephen, but me and Thelma insisted it be read out again because me and Thelma didn’t hear it. (Well, I’m hard of hearing, not sure about Thelma. I linked arms with Thelma and I think we’ve bonded, through fear) Second prize by Thelma, again, lovely poem. I was mortified by this time. Can’t tell you how embarressed I felt. I have social anxiety, so this was painful. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.
So I discovered that I won first prize in this poetry competition. It was only a local thing but it was a nice surprise, or rather shock.
The theme was Change, which was also the theme of this years National Poetry Day but also, I believe it was about putting a positive slant on change and at the same time following the structure of a limerick. Beforehand, I did a bit of research and discovered that it doesn’t have to be, ‘There was an old man from wherever…’
So here is my poem
Change
Change can be a good thing
It’s a bit like a song that you sing
The tune never ends
It turns and it bends
And there’s so much joy it can bring
I don’t like change and struggle against it at every opportunity and I thought, I have to change. I have to embrace change. I have discovered to my cost, that resisting change is not only traumatic but also destructive. So I decided to be positive, for once. Just being positive, forcing myself to be positive, brings positive changes. If you act a certain way, you become it.
‘At Live Poets, we encourage writng skills. Just bring biros, PC’s or quills. Monday plans rearrange – And join us for a change- Pioneering – Poetry fulfils!’
The poetry and writing group are having a positive impact in my life, even though I’ve only been going for a few months. It’s great meeting other creative people. That’s what I love about word press and the blogging world too. It’s very inspiring.
I also think it’s wonderful that Blackpool Library, in connection with Blackpool Council, are supporting, inspiring and encouraging creative people in the community with these events.
Things In My Head 
Celebrating Library Week?
It just doesn’t seem right to me. Quietly contemplating it perhaps? In solitude and silence broken only by the whisper of turning pages and an occasional deafening “SSSSHHHHH!!!!!!”. There must be mp3s of that you can download. Check the librarian fetish sites.
Congrats on the poetry prize. I think. I get where you’re coming from with that presentation. I’m not prone to stage fright – school debating team, playing in bands, whipping up rallies, media work, that sort of thing – but ever since a surf swimming trophy when I was about eight I just won’t go to award presentations if I might get one. Fuck standing in front of a bunch of people while someone tells them you’re better than them at something. I suspect it’s an aspie thing. You know. Like wanting to turn the world upside down but freaking out if anything changes. Such as starting limericks with lines other than “There was an old man …” and not including smut, sexism, racism or even a violent pratfall. You’re gonna have to account to the Limerick Leprechaun for that.
It’s good you’re meeting creative people. You can pick them off one by one. Creative people change stuff.
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I didn’t know it was library week and I was taken by surprise. It was painful but I think it gave me a kick up the arse and helped me to stop being so frightened of everything. Are there no writng/poetry groups in your area, that you could join?
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Yeah, there’s a few. But I don’t even self identify as a writer much less a poet and can see nothing communal (or even social) in my writing processes. It’s not like I’m looking for ideas or ways to change my technique or anything.
I think I was put off that sort of thing by my childhood contact with the Central Coast Art Society via my mother. Apart from the fan club aspects towards various prominent Australian painters and the networking with galleries etc it seemed to me to have very little to do with art and a lot to do with insecure creative egos and passive-aggressive wine and cheese gatherings (fortunately I loved cheap blue vein on jatz crackers). From what I can tell there’s a fair bit of that in the art scene here too. Jatz and all.
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I’ve realised I’m an old dog who might learn some new tricks. Oh, what I’d do for some passive-aggressive wine. It’s all mocktails where I am!
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Yeah, it’s probably mocktails and jatz here too. I’m a bit behind the times, truth be told. They probably don’t all have flares and afros anymore either.
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You don’t really want the wine either. Do the words Asti Spumante mean anything to you? If so I apologise for the wave of nausea that’s just broken over you.
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Any wine is welcome. Asti Spumante is like something Clive James might say. I can hear him saying it.
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… with his head down the toilet.
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Come to think of it, maybe there is a reason to join a local writer’s group. This is the gateway to the Hunter Valley, generally rated in the top five Australian wine producing regions. Surely they wouldn’t serve Asti Spumante.
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I wanna join a gothic writers’ group. An authentic one. That meets in graveyards. And every time we do there’s one less of us.
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I mentioned Clive because I’m currently watching/enjoying his series of ‘Postcard From’…on YouTube.
Hunter Valley, home to more than 120 wineries. Maybe that’s why Australian wine never makes me wince.
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I’m not sure if it makes me wince or not. Hard to tell with your face in the gravel.
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But hang on, that way ‘The Gothic Writers Group’ would eventually dwindle to nothing. Oh, I see, that’s the idea.
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And then our estates pillage our notebooks and publish it and viola we’re famous with loads of cred.
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We can all dream.
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Especially if you drink belladonna in absinthe, which is what we’ll be serving with the jatz and cheese.
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