• Home...
  • About Me...
  • Workshops...
  • Art Portfolio...
  • Poetry for Children
  • Poetry by Children
  • Poetry for Adults
  • Music portfolio
  • News - Past-Present-Future
  • Get In Touch...
  • Blog
  • Testamonials
POETRY AND ME

I have written poems and songs since i was about 10 years old, but never thought I could do anything with them until I moved to Brighton and experienced the astonishing world of performance poetry and open mic, where anyone is welcome to get up and express themselves.  At the turn of the Millennium there was an amazingly vibrant performance culture within the city.  I went to gigs and met some of the most inspirational and engaging performance poets, who are still performing today.  Paul Stones, Justin Rhyme, Michael Parker, Bernadette Cremin, Yvo Luna, David Hunter, BrainYak...these were just a few of an ever-changing pool of poetic genius that made me look at my own skills again and hold them in more respect.  I was a class teacher at the time and I brought these poets into my school to inspire the kids, and they did...especially the boys!  I started writing poetry again and set up a poetry club in my school: Poetry Posse.  It was amazing...still is in fact!  I was lucky enough to work with most of these poets in one way or another, either performing with them or working alongside them on poetry workshops.  Through my company, "gyroscope" (now gyroarts) I was able to find work for many of them on poetry projects in dozens of schools around Sussex and Kent.  I still work with them from time to time.  They inspired me to respond to my own life experiences with poetry and I always find that when I read back my poetry, there is more of the feeling and emotion of the event captured there than in my journals.  I even write poetry on the back of my canvases, inspired by an Aboriginal artist whose poems I discovered when I turned over a canvas to find the price.  I still remember the feeling that I had discovered hidden treasure when I saw that poem there.  Over the past 10 years or so I have written pages and pages of poetry to inspire my students.  Here are a selection of my poems, both personal and professional:
THE ELEPHANTA FERRY

“Come, come…”
Invitations to follow
To buy tickets
Blessings,
Guidebooks
Spirograph
A slow boat ride
Through sludge
Plastic bottles
And shards of wood
Coke cans
And unidentifiable
Clouds of brown
Detritus.

The spirograph seller
Misses his leap onto land
And instead travels with me.
He has given his baby daughter
To his mother in law.
He prefers sons.

A Delhi couple
Travel with their daughter.
Mother works for
City Beaureau of Investigations
And laments
The slow disintegration
Of Indian culture
Under the onslaught
Of bold, brash US tv
But Chandrankant
The jewellery seller
Loves this invasion
Of white skin
And uncovered breasts
And short skirts.
Bold women
Are his cup of tea
Which is why, maybe,
After he has had no success with me
He explained how he’d catch a movie
And a prostitute
But only after midnight, when it’s cheaper.

KAY WALTON 2005



GOD’S COUNTRY 

Sitting by the window
On the Thrissur - Bangalore Express
I am secretly shocked
By the steady stream of rubbish
Thrown through the door
And onto the tracks.
Newspaper and plastic bags
No second thought
About where the litter lands
It is just not in their hands
Any more.
And this is “God’s Country”?
Their own slogan dares them
To defile this sacred place.
Does God not mind
The man made detritus
Spewed from trains
Taxis
Cars
Shops
Homes?
Is their God a refuse collector?
A junk fiend?
Does He delight in cardboard and celephane?
Does he revel in remenents and plastic packaging?
Is He a deified Stig?
And is this His dump?
Or is He a She
Degraded and defaced
Along with so many other females
Locked into this land?
Is mankind here deaf and blind
To a screaming landscape?
Turning their faces too skyward
Too see the horror of their carelessness.
And are they chanting their prayers too loudly
To hear the moaning
Of an abused land?

KAY WALTON 2005



Water at Woodsmill

Water
Raindrops, like moonstones, hanging on a branch
The surface of the stream, shimmering and trout-like
Beneath the mottled algae shroud on the deathly still lake
Hiding and showing the twisted reflections 
Of sleeping trees.

Water
The surface of the pond,
An unfolded atlas of an uncertain, shape-shifting world
The rushing, rippling river
Cold as a witch’s soul and twice as shallow.
A thousand thundering hooves
Crashing down into the storm drain
The roadside slush
The stagnant puddles
Wintery tears.

Jan 2010


The Wrong Path

Do you remember the time
When we took the wrong path
Turned left, when right seemed
More certain,
Disobeyed reason, defying the chill wind,
Preferring the pinching of cold on soft fingertips
To wearing sensible gloves?
Do you remember that day?
When the smudge of blue sky
Opened up grey clouds
And for a brief few hours
The sun was almost free,
And walked with you and me
Along woodland paths.
As I recall
A blinding white circle of light
Burnt through the aged haze
On that day
Slipped through the haw’s thorny grip
And illuminated the sideways lean
Of broken branches.
It could not be held back
But ran ahead and we had to follow
Alongside the catch-me-if-you-can rush
Of river water
And past the snowdrop sentinels, still and silent.
Glancing up 
We caught the kestrel’s spitfire body
As it glanced against the breeze
And we climbed old trees
Laughing at their gnarled and weathered forms.
“Run!” you shouted, “Don’t hold me back!
Don’t stem my flow
Don’t dam me
So I stagnate!
Don’t cut me down!
I will not be a fallen home for emerald moss
I am alive!”
I smiled at your defiance
And loved you for it.

Feb 2010


FIGHTING TALK

YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME
FOR I AM THE STORM
YOU NEED TO FEAR ME
FOR OUT HERE, THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE
ON THE FROZEN DESOLATE MOUNTAINSIDE
AND I WILL USE ALL MY POWERS TO FIND YOU
WINDS SO STRONG
THEY CLUTCH AT THE CLOUDS 
LIKE OLD, NEVER-TO-BE-WHITE-AGAIN
GREY DISHCLOTHS
TEARING THEM FROM THE RAGGED HORIZON 
AND HURLING THEM ACROSS THE HEAVENS
WINDS SO STRONG
THEY STEAL THE CONTENTS 
OF EVERY TINY TENT
TOSSING THEM ASIDE
I AM THE HOWLING TODDLER’S TANTRUM
AT THE TOY’S TEAPARTY
RIPPING ROPES 
AND SQUASHING CANVAS FLAT

YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME
FOR I AM THE STORM
YOU NEED TO FEAR ME
FOR OUT HERE, THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE
ON THE FROZEN DESOLATE MOUNTAINSIDE
I WILL FIND YOU WITH MY FREEZING RAIN
MY PELTING HAIL
OR BLIZZARDING SNOW
HIDING EVERY LANDMARK AS I GO
COVERING EVERY TRACK
SO THAT YOU WILL NEVER KNOW 
PAST PRESENT OR FUTURE
FOR I HOLD ALL OF THAT IN MY POWER

FOR I AM THE STORM
AND YOU NEED TO FEAR ME
FOR OUT HERE THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE
ON THE FROZEN DESOLATE MOUNTAINSIDE
I CAN BLOW UP FROM NOWHERE
TAKING YOU BY SURPRISE
NO TIME TO PLAN YOUR DESCENT
THERE IS NO DESCENT
AND ALL YOUR ENERGY WILL BE SPENT
CLINGING ON
HANGING ON
HOLDING ON
HOPING ON INTO THE NIGHT 
AND THROUGH EVERY WIND AND RAIN AND SNOW-WRACKED SECOND 
AND MINUTE 
AND HOUR 
AND DAY 
AND NIGHT 

UNTIL... 
I SUBSIDE
AND LEAVE YOU 
COLD AND NUMB AND GONE
AND WHEN I AM BLOWN OUT,
IF YOU ARE STILL
CLINGING ON
HANGING ON
HOLDING ON 
STILL HOPING
WHAT WILL YOU DO THEN?
SCURRY DOWN TO LICK YOUR
WOUNDS AND PARCEL UP YOUR PRIDE
IN COTTON-WOOL CANVAS
ON LOWER SLOPES?
OR WILL YOU SHOW YOUR PALE AND PUNY FACE 
PUFF YOURSELF BACK UP
AND ASCEND TO THE TOP OF THE WORLD?
YOU DECIDE – IT IS NOTHING TO ME

FOR I AM THE STORM
AND YOU NEED TO FEAR ME
FOR OUT HERE THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE
ON THE FROZEN DESOLATE MOUNTAINSIDE.






















The Science of Our Baby

She started as a thought
To make someone
From our love
Who could be loved
And grow.
And that thought became 
A bundle of cells
Dividing and subdividing
A miracle of mathematics and chemistry
Each cell somehow knowing what to do
How to multiply and become
An arm, a leg,
An eyelid, a fingernail
A tongue, a heart
A human.
And even then, before we could tell 
He from she
She knew what she was
An x chromosome from her mother
An x chromosome from her father
If he had provided a y chromosome
She would have been he.
And then she grew
Inside me
As unconscious as the me who was growing her.
My body was performing miracles every day
That no school had taught it
Feeding, nourishing, 
Growing this new life
My body was perfectly doing
What scientists struggle to do
With their formulae 
And complex chemistry
If you showed me the scientific method
For making a baby
I would shake my head and say
“You’ve lost me,
I don’t understand.
I could never do all that!
I have trouble making something
That looks like a person
Out of clay or plasticine…
And that’s just one material.
Don’t ask me to make all the components
Of an eyeball,
Or a mouth,
Or a hand,
With no equipment
No materials
And no instructions.
It can’t be done.
Not by me anyhow.
You’ll need to find someone
Who knows what they’re doing!”
But my body knew something more 
Than my mind
My body had no doubts
No fears
No anxiety.
It knew that this was what it was made for
With the millions of eggs stored up 
Since its creation 
In my own mother’s womb.
And I had to trust it to do this thing
To create this child.
Just as I trust it to breathe and digest
Without my mind telling it how.
Nature knows 
That this first stage of building
And growing
Was best left out of my control.
I’d probably have tried too hard
And messed it up!
But I knew I needed to get ready
I knew that she would soon
Be delivered into our conscious arms
And trusted to our conscious minds
To care for and nurture.
A tiny, unique, human
A little girl
Our baby.


2009



DNA  AND  ME

Just like my mum or just like my dad?
The question is, which one is good?  Which is bad?
I’ve my father’s kind heart, but my mum’s tuneful voice.
I’ve my dad’s sense of humour, but it was never a choice
To have straight hair or curly, long legs or short
‘Cos the decision was made long before I was born.
When I was first growing inside my mum’s womb
I was shaping and forming to a code pre-assumed
With half from my dad and half from my mum
My cells were all jiggling inside of her tum.
I was ordered around by the genes in my body
And the DNA made sure that I wasn’t made too shoddy,
Though if I’m really honest there’s some bits I would change
If I could have made my DNA rearrange.
I’d have made my nose thinner and my teeth much more straight
I would take off the moles from my body and face.
My memory would be sharper and my organisation
Would have me straight-lining without contemplation.
I’d have a super-clever brain that could make me more money
And my ability to tell jokes would make me oh so funny!
But wait…I’m describing a person I’m not
If you take away my foibles and the “weaknesses” I’ve got
I would cease to be me, I would cease to know you
I would cease to have the family and friends that I do.
For each gene that’s switched on, maybe another’s turned off?
I’d be organised, yes, but asthmatic with a cough?
I’d have a thin nose, but maybe lose the great voice.
Am I really so sure that, given the choice,
I could make a decision that would make me more happy?
I’d rather be artistic and a little bit dappy
Than lose all the things that I like about me
All the things that now in my daughter I see.
And if she has my nose and my spot-spangled skin
I will tell her she’s gorgeous and help her begin
By loving her DNA, challenges and all
It connects her to me and her dad and that’s not all
It connects her to everyone that’s ever gone before
Parents and grandparents, great-grandparents and more.
She’s part of us all and I love her for that
So I must also love me, and where my DNA’s at.
And you should love you just the way that you are
You’re unique, a one off, a developing star.
You may not be perfect, but neither am I
But you can be the perfect you...and, hey, you can fly
Your DNA’s fixed (for now!) but your dreams? Well they’re not!
So work with what you have and find the right slot
In this mad crazy world where you feel you belong
You’re a unique human being, and that can’t be wrong.


Kay Walton  2012



Baby

Cry cry

Smile smile

Blink blink

Poo poo

Cry cry 

Feed feed

Twitch twitch

Gurn gurn

Twist twist

Smile smile

Look look

Feed feed

Blink blink

Poo poo

Grab grab

Laugh


2009







What We Think We Know

Stepping back

Away

From the concrete walls

And barbed wire

Of expectation

That hold our thoughts

Prisoner

We feel the ideas

Melt

And dissolve,

Become more

Elemental.

We feel

Forces pushing

Invisible

Out

Through the mantel

Of our minds

Spiraling

Infinite.







Read Between…

They are everywhere

These unseen lines

Communicating

Something

Somewhere

Between you and me

Us and them

Now and then

Crossing

In a moment

Time and space

And creating a place

Where everything

Is one

Where everything

Is energy

Where everything

Makes sense

Where there are no fences

No mine

No yours

No doors barring the way

Where everything

Just is

And we can

Simply

Be.









Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.