Last night, as I was walking home from cell group, James (another James, not myself) drove past and asked if I wanted to go to the Tin Angel. Always a fan of metallic heavenly beings, I accepted the offer and was soon walking into a tiny smoke filled bar, silenty filled with people listening to someone reading poetry. As everyone turned to look at the latecomers we froze on the spot, hoping their vision was based on movement. Unfortunately it wasn’t, and the poet broke off to explain where he was in his poem. It didn’t make any more sense with the explanation, but that’s poetry for you.
Once the poem was over we regained our movement and went to the other side of the room where our friends were, laughing at us. Barry was up next and he pulled off a stormer. Then it was back to the ponces again, reading out complete rubbish, although there were a couple of poems I liked. I don’t remember them now.
As the evening wore on, extremely slowly, the smoke gradually filled more and more of the room. By the end of the last poem I was lying on the floor choking. Well, I was in my mind. What a relief it was to finally walk out the door and breathe fresh air again.
In memory of the night, I have written two poems. Which have nothing to do with last night at all. Except for being poetry. In the loosest sense of the word.
I got a bit inspired myself….
My brother James
(that’s his name)
went out last night
(yes, that’s right)
he went to the Angel
(a tin one, he said)
and had quite a fright
(it was bonfire night
– well, the day before anyway)
when they walked in late
(he was with a mate)
they turned and stared
(who were already there)
and then they proceeded
to choke them (by smoking)
till James (I’m not joking)
got cross and said "Look ‘ere you lot, if you don’t pack it in now I’ll come over there and wrap your puny little ‘eads round this ‘ere fist!"
And they all went home and lived happily ever after
(except for the smokers who died).
…oh dear, it must be late!!!!