N.S.P.I.P.

This National-Poetry-Writing-Month-Thing. I feared it would be a marathon for me, but I’m loving it so far. The simple pleasure of committing to write a poem every day without worrying about how terrible it might be is great.

It seems it is worse for the people who have to read it. I lost the Facebook Crowd (fickle as they are) days ago, because it’s just bloody poetry, isn’t it? Can’t compete with funny cat videos.

I am wishing I had picked up on it before 1st April and could have organised myself to get sponsored by people for charity. Ten pence a poem. The sponsors would then have had a vested interest in checking up on whether I was sticking to my plan. The difficulty would have been picking an appropriate cause, but it’s really a no-brainer, it would have to be the N.S.P.I.P. (National Society for the Prevention of Indifference to Poetry).

It’s certainly a worthy cause. Only last night Stewart Lee was explaining on TV that he has to struggle with a forest of ghosts of dead comedians, murdered by apathetic response, every time he goes on stage.

Same goes for poets.

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