I have just come back form my first poetry slam. I went on my own so was feeling trepidacious.  I was about to ask the bar man where it was when I noticed a number of poet type people disappearing up stairs clutching folders. Since it was too late for a convention, I knew I had come to the right place. The room was surprisingly packed. Though I later learned that the numbers where swelled by the MA in writing group for UKC. 

I sat at the back of the room perched increasingly uncomfortably on a high stall. To listen to poetry I do feel comfort is vital.   I got talking to a performance poet who turned out to be excellent as she performed a poem about ’ Lucy the Elephant’ who has recently hit the headlines as the last elephant in a circus,  written in the style of a TS Eliot cat

There was a brief space for a writing exercise but there was no way I was going to participate.  Spontaneous tasks like that terrify me and my brain shuts down.

The group was a mixed bad of serious and hobby poets. A very brave lady got up to deliver not just her first oral poem but indeed her own poem.   The group was very supportive towards her which was comforting to someone like me who has never read her work in public and is reluctant to ever do so.

I did wonder at the elderly white gentleman and young man who rapped. Canterbury WASP land is no place for rap I feel and a window that slammed shut loudly seemed to agree with me.

Then I rather let myself down. A man reading out what seemed like jokes asked of the dazed audience ’’Why is the humming bird the dumbest bird ? When from know where I found myself shouting out in a laconic tone’’ Because it doesn’t know the words’’ Sometimes ….i think I’m possessed  by a grumpy old man..  anyway that certainly announced me. I could of course have claimed it as a performance poem…..of sorts.