Bus Stop Poem

Yep - I'm still here. The book (apparently) is now available in Hull Waterstones & I'm assuming other ones, too. I'll put more details up on here when I get them about prices, how to order and so on.

I wrote a 'Bus Stop Poem':

In Summer we swelter and eat Cornettos,
We long for the shade and relief of the cold.
Mopping our brows, "I want it to snow!"
We're waiting for Winter, White Christmas of old.

Autumn brings bonfires and leaves in the park;
People are bright-eyed, red-cheeked, stare at the sky
Where fireworks blossom to flowers of sparks,
And conkers bring memories of friendships gone by.

The 'big chill' is here! snow softening the air,
It brightens the landscape with brilliant white.
Yet all we can do is defrost and despair;
"Can't wait for the Spring, I'm getting frostbite!".

Katie Ashworth

The (Dis)Orient Express

Connected to THIS blog post.

Like a blind man exploring the curves of a body,
We traverse the breastbone of a land of contours.
The depth of the landscape has swallowed me utterly;
I feel embryonic, safe, until out we are forced

Out through the glass doors opening to frost-
A hothouse flower left out in a storm.
The mountains surround me and whisper, “You’re lost”...
I would rather be lost than be blind in the warmth.

We think we are the lookers out,
But we are the observed, in our display case
Of glass and steel. A child runs, laughs, shouts,
Markets on the rails, a fire, a sense of place.

We are the babies in this land, fed with hands
Of silver service. Incubated as we travel up the tracks,
Coca is given to cope with the higher lands.
My tongue tingles and I relax, sit down, sit back.

Market on the tracks

Katie

No, soap, I don't want to make 'ooh' noises as I rinse you off. But thanks for the suggestion.

Does anyone else remember those 'No Frills' cartons in the supermarket?

My shampoo just said thankyou!
This surely has to end.
Product personification
Is a weird, off-putting trend.

Smoothie, hey, it's nice to meet...
For fucks sake, Tesco's, think!
I only want a snack to eat,
Not take it for a drink.

I could go on naming every 'consumer friendly' item I've bought this week, but I think this will turn into a rant. It's easily done. When will someone bring out really unfriendly products? Like - narrated by Dylan Moran or Bill Hicks? Nothing particularly witty, just something like, "Drink milk - you might as well; everyone still hates you" or "Maybelline, you ugly wench".

I just got back from a gig in a tiny room in a turret in one of Newcastle's city walls, called Morden Tower. Alan Ginsberg has read there, as has Seamus Heaney, Ted Hughes and many others. It took me ages to find and I was stood outside the turret for 10 pathetic minutes as I heard the music drift out, but unable to find the entrance. You know those nights when you're sat with a small number of other people, just enjoying something really special? And you can hear sirens and people outside, but you feel safe and kinda smug that no one will disturb you...

Check out these bands if you like quirky folk music:
www.myspace.com/kateagerskow
www.myspace.com/wigsmith
www.myspace.com/dianecluck


Katie

The Gloating Poem

This is what would be here, if I wasn't so damn moral. I'm not saying there won't be one in the future, though, I'm just reluctant to risk upsetting the associated innocent for the sake of one little poem. I know that it's all narrative voice, personas, fiction blah blah blah... but it's still based in reality and I am happy just to be smug in private at the moment.

Instead - here is a distractingly cute picture of my pet Degus and an accompanying poem that they feature in. I originally wrote it around the same time as 'Super Hero'. I've edited/improved it - the old one had more content, but it just didn't read right. Maybe it'll get sorted out in the future, but there's no point trying to force thought.



Extinct

The creature on my shoulder chirps and hums
I bring my arm up to him, and he comes.
He runs beside his brother, and they greet
Each other in language I don't know, upon my feet.

A species, without warning, is extinct
FRONT PAGE! and only now do people think,
'An undiscovered star, not known about
Will reveal its absence when it suddenly goes out.'

The creatures at my feet are not concerned -
Though it was by total accident I learned
Of their existence and location!
An interest in an animal that turned to fascination.

I wonder now what else I have to learn,
And interesting things I'll find in turn.
I wish we could return to simpler times
When our searching had a purpose;
We had so much left to find.

Katie

Ealing

A silly little limerick I came up with whilst in the shower today...

Katie, she visited Ealing
And said with much force and great feeling,
"London's for loons;
I gan back to the Toon"
And got on the train, how appealing.


I'm currently on the train to Newcastle, having visited my boyfriend for the weekend. London is one of those places where it's good to visit, or even stay for extended periods, but I can't imagine settling down there. All of the Underground (or as I stubbornly persist to call them: Metro) stations are so famous, it feels like meeting a celebrity every time I see them. Not helped by reading Neil Gaiman's 'Neverwhere' before actually visiting London properly... I'm all "ooh, Ruislip, what a bastard" or "watch out for Knightsbridge!". Of course, this post will make less sense to those who are oblivious to the book. If you haven't read it, I fully recommend it.

Note: if Ealing sounds familiar, it's also used in that limerick where the girl has a peculiar feeling...

Katie x

CRACKED HANDS and other poems

These ones weren't included in The Slab but I'm going to be putting on some of my favourites, regardless

CRACKED HANDS
for Eddie

Descending on us, encaptured in smooth vines
Delightful and exotic, the first signs
Of adulthood as we are lifted from innocence
To charm and bewilder; offence is your defence.

As a child I longed for this blossoming
Long before my time, the mysterious life of the teen
Featured in every film, subject of every song;
My childhood dream tinged with adult sheen.

Now I wish for my old imagination;
Vivid, immense, full of shades I no longer see.
Thinking is painful, I bow to frustration;
My younger self would be disappointed in me.

So I look to the wall, where the skin I have shed
Is pinned with some plans I had hoped to have done.
The back of my hands are starting to crack
As I wonder who else myself will become.




GOOD FOR THE SOUL

I am not religious; I
Don’t believe in souls or
Higher routes of life, so
What part of me is replenished
After certain nights with you? What
Part of my memory is
Heated by crap music? There’s
Strangers in the kitchen; the
Hamster’s being terrorised. What
Part of me is complete at
Four AM with you, whilst
Passing the last bottle around the
Last who’ve stayed awake?




THE ACCIDENT

Slowed down time, like air was tar.
There's blood on the hot tarmac.
Running away from the crash, a man;
A man with cuts on his face. A car
With marks on the roof. A bike with
Dents left as scrap. He just ran and
Left a bloody trail. Time was slow
(Like the air had hardened), a shriek,
Dull thud, metal bending, a vivid streak of red.
The scene played over again in my head.



More will be coming soon as and when I edit/complete/write them.

Katie