Another poem inspired by the poems of Martin Stannard, but this time focusing on performing poetry to the public. Absolutely not based on my experience. Absolutely not.
On Performing Poetry to People That Don’t Want to Hear It
The performance poet stumbles on stage at the Comedy night
And mumbles that he is a performance poet
Wild applause in appreciation of this news
Does not occur
Instead an awkward glance is exchanged
Between friends in the front row and one man
A little louder than intended
Declares his need to urinate
The poet introduces his first poem
Performing one he is sure is most likely to get a laugh
It ends with a clever rhyming couplet
That turns the whole poem on its head
And even now draws a smile from the writer
Years after he penned it
He pauses for effect
He raises his head from the pages
And the audience
Realising that this must be the end
Shuffle a half-hearted clap
In his direction
Undaunted the poet flicks a few pages forward
Skipping the two he had set aside
To calm the standing ovation
And refocus the attention of the audience
On his clever wordplay
This next one is about Growing Old
He says
Something some of us know more about than others
He quips
Shooting a confident wink in the direction of a large white-haired male
Who looks like a Vernon
And now
Looks like a Threat
Silence
Vernon shuffles uncomfortably in his seat
The poet shuffles uncomfortably on his feet
And
Just as the first line begins
The man who needed to urinate
Bursts back through the door
This isn’t going well
The poet concedes
And proceeds
To read
His poem
He settles into the familiar first verse and
Midway through the second
Feeling a little more confident
He braves another glimpse at his crowd
He sees one person in the fifth row by the door
Genuinely looking inspired
And draws comfort from the possibility
That all is not lost
That poetry is not dead
And that even in this modern world
The spoken word
Can still be heard
And read
With power
A few unappreciated poems later
He brings his set to a close
With a quiet reminder that he is selling some booklets
If anyone is interested in those
He takes his seat by the side of the stage
As the MC tries to work the audience out of their stupor
One person seemed to get it
The poet thinks to himself
That’s one victory
And he refocuses as the host introduces the next comedian
Emerging from the back of the stage
With a cocky smile and a twinkle in his eye
Is the inspired member of the audience
And he proceeds to deliver twenty of his finest minutes
On the stupidity and self-importance of poetry
And poets
The comedian is loving it
Vernon is loving it
And everyone else feeds off their excitement
Everyone except the poet
He sinks in his seat
He stares at his feet
And he wishes away the minutes to the interval
And his escape
consciencenonsense 