Since starting my blog, three people I know have spontaneously written poems and sent them to me. That’s nice.
One of them is my best mate, who has now written four poems. Tonight we are braving the Harrogate monthly open mic poetry night with our reputations on the line.
He has asked me for some advice on which one(s) he should read.
The trouble is…by his own admission…most of his poems are poop poems. About poop.
There is the one about dog poop on the pavement. Then there is one about his own bowel movements. And a third one about Sylvia Plath’s misadventures with her favourite butt plug. There is a theme here but hey…write what you know.
I think I have talked him into doing the one that isn’t about poop but we shall see.