EAT! Festival

I sent a poem to be considered for a festival in Newcastle and I was selected!  One of thirteen poets, I will be reciting my poem, 'Cake', at Newcastle's EAT! Festival on Bank Holiday Sunday.  I was on holiday in Whitby when my dad alerted me to the competition so I had to write this poem pretty quickly as I only had 24 hours to get something sorted (most of which were spent either eating fish n chips or on the beach playing with the frisbee!!) The poem had to be no more than ten lines long.

Anyway, here it is (and here's the event http://www.newcastlegateshead.com/eat-festival/food-adventures/the-speakeasy-and-salon/results/the-speakeasy-and-salon-eat-our-words-p712081)

Cake
 
Slice it open and what you will find inside
is what a person might hide in the depths of their mind.
Layers of colour: sponge, fruit and jam,
like the players in Shakespeare or Fitzgerald's Madames.
Cake, like stories, is a quest to embark on,
but it disappears with no canon to make a mark on.
An adventure, a playground, different types to taste,
like a woman, devour her, the story yours
to embrace. 

© Caitriona Hansen
 

Fertility

Hello again!  It has been a while since I've posted due to my recent trip to Glastonbury, and consequent recovery time.  First of all, Glasto was the most amazing festival I've ever been to, unbelievable!  But the blues were difficult; my recovery was a week long.  Someone at work made the comment 'you must be getting old' (I'm only 22!!!) but that reminded me of a poem I wrote about ageing and beauty a while ago, so I revisited it and here is a draft of it especially for you, with lots of hippy love all the way from Glastonbury. 

Fertility

Cut open, each layer another year,

time hides in her rusting flesh cage.

Wrinkles inside, an exposé

of age from imperfect circles.

Timber swells, tower built

towards the sun. Tan breasts flush,

carnation womb blooms

at human touch, avocado

ovaries ripe, alive. Picked

by thieves, no chance to survive.

Fruits rot from the outside in,

an almost corpse cortex seeping blood,

a live wire, roots leaking time, life’s crown.

Hands flail like grass in the wind,

drying russet, catch the lace

edged leaf before it falls down.

© Caitriona Hansen

Lungs

I'm going to a poetry night tonight!  Going to 'The Mythsummer Sundae' at Live Theatre (Newcastle Quayside) organised by Trashed Organ.  So today's poem is based on the theme of speaking.  I wrote this after watching this video:   http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/video/2011/dec/21/imtiaz-dharker-honour-killing-video.  It is Imtiaz Dharker reading her poem 'Honour Killing', which is about moving away from a culture.  My poem was inspired by hers, and is linked to an idea of the spoken word and what it represents, how it can be changed and how it can be manipulated.

Lungs

Crumbled shell around swollen balloons,

a bone cocoon encases like a tomb.

Shell protects but ribs break,

collapsed lung, no longer speaking

in its mother tongue, breathy whispers,

exhale, Mother Nature’s blowy gales.

An open mouth, a nada, nothing,

bloody slug drags itself across

the lower lip, curving downwards

like a backwards wave releasing drips

in its concave, sound encumbered –

slow rumbling muffled thunder.

Blood Brothers

Last night I went out with my boyfriend and his parents to see Blood Brothers in Newcastle.  His parents had got the tickets for my birthday so we went for a meal at The Big Mussel (if you haven't been - try it! Yum!) and then up to the theatre afterwards.  It was a fab show - Maureen Nolan was amazing, although we spent the whole night unable to figure out which Nolan it was.  The night made me think about doing some themed poetry writing.  So maybe once or twice a week I'll do a poem according to what I've been upto recently.  So, naturally, the theme this time is siblings.  I've written a very drafty poem - probably not finished (it's very short at the minute), but I guess that's what is interesting about this blog.  It will basically be an archive of all of my drafts, redrafts, and final pieces.  Hope you enjoy so far.

Sibling

“I’ve got a new baby sister”, badge pinned to his chest

beside the school crest on a royal blue sweatshirt.

A protective older brother, an idol,

hero, sometimes rival.

Similar in form, like duplicate machines

they share the same shell,

DNA and cells, blood type, genes.

She is his copy, he her first best friend,

she follows his trail. He makes her mouth curve

and laugh as his does, but to a smaller scale.



 © Caitriona Hansen