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Ashley Chapman  Sep 2017
Quinn's
Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And ****!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.
Quinn's is pub in Camden. Armitage Shanks a ****** & toilet manufacturer.
~
February 2025
HP Poet: Lizzie Bevis
Age: 40
Country: UK


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Lizzie. Please tell us about your background?

Lizzie Bevis: "Hello Carlo, So, my actual name is Elizabeth, but I have always been known as Lizzie since I was a little girl. Elizabeth quickly became my naughty name if I got up to mischief! I was born in Lincolnshire, England a month early in November 1984, I was meant to be a Christmas baby, but I did not want to wait! That was a smart move on my part. I have 2 brothers and a younger sister. I am the second oldest of the brood. I also celebrated my 40th Birthday last year quietly with family and friends.

I also love unicorns. My best friend Samantha often tells me that I should have been one because I am just too nice. Oh boy, I am going to try my best to condense this down as much as I can because I can write for England, Carlo! I have not always lived in Lincolnshire, I lived in Yorkshire from the age of 1 until I was 8. I was sad to leave my friends behind when we moved back to Lincolnshire to be close to my grandma who I adored. My lovely mum is sadly not a particularly good cook, so when I was 10, I told my grandma that my mum overcooked pasta to mush again, so my grandma discreetly taught me how to cook and bake on weekends. I quickly became the family cook, and I think that everyone was relieved!

I was independent in my teenage years, I got myself a paper round at the age of 14 and got my first proper job at the age of 17 in a shop and started saving up my wages. I was also quite sporty growing up, I enjoyed playing football with the boys, and I eventually became an FA-qualified football referee. I also discovered archery, and I became a Grand National Archery Association Archery Instructor. I also wanted to climb mountains, so I did. My first mountain climb was Mount Snowdon in Wales, I then went to Aviemore, Scotland to take on the Cairngorms and fell in love with the outdoors all over again, I remember seeing the Northern lights for the first time and they were breathtaking.

At the age of 19, my adventures took me all over Europe, and I visited Italy, The Netherlands, France, and Spain. My travels eventually took me to America where visited the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and I climbed up Pikes Peak; I then changed direction and toured New England. I enjoyed New England so much that applied for a 3-month work visa, and I became a head archery counsellor at a Summer Camp in Rhode Island, what a fun experience that was!

Going back to my childhood, my mum’s family hail from Yorkshire so living there meant that I could visit my aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandpa. My grandpa used to work in the coal mines so naturally his lungs were in a bad way, and he was in and out of hospital most of the time. This was a life-altering moment and at the age of 4, I decided that I was going to become a nurse when I grew up. I would visit my Grandad at the hospital dressed up in my nurse's costume and help the nurses on the ward do the little tasks like filling up and distributing patients' water jugs and chatting with the patients. Grandpa would always give me his strawberry ice cream, he said that he didn't like it, but I could never understand why?! I have many fond memories of those days.

Ironically, I learnt that some things are not meant to be. I enrolled in university to study Adult General Nursing in 2015 but made national media instead for all of the wrong reasons; In July of that very same year, I had a cardiac arrest when my mum's little dog Daisy was put to sleep at the veterinary surgery. After surviving my brush with death, I spent 3 long weeks in hospital, and I was diagnosed with Long QT Syndrome. I also learnt that stress kills and that Adult Nursing was probably not the best career choice for me! I am now Employed as an Adult Care and Wellbeing Advisor and love every minute of it."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Lizzie Bevis: "I have been writing poetry since I was 11 years old, I was inspired when studying my English Language & Literature GCSEs at Secondary School. I remember the first poem that I ever wrote, it was called My Dog Sam.

My Dog Sam

He is as fast as the wind
Running through fields of green,
He is the smartest dog that I have ever seen.
He is black and white, an epic sight,
With eyes so keen and a mind so bright.
My Border Collie, my good boy Sam,
My loyal friend who understands
Every whistle and all commands.

By Lizzie aged 11.

At the age of 12, I had my first poem published in the National Poetry Anthology and I have had many other poems published since. Writing poetry has become a refreshing pastime, and I am often writing about something daily. I have been writing new material and adding my poems to Hello Poetry since September last year."



Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Lizzie Bevis: "Inspiration for me can be as simple as an experience or emotion, it can come from a joyous occasion with family, feeling sad, being in love or from something far less complex; such as when reading a book, looking out of my bedroom window in the morning or walking through the churchyard. One of my poems ‘Epitaph’ was inspired by walking past a worn gravestone when I was visiting my grandma to lay flowers on her grave. I am fortunate to live in the Lincolnshire Wolds and be surrounded by history, rolling hills, farmland, and picturesque countryside."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Lizzie Bevis: "Poetry, personally for me is an outlet for creative expression. It is healing and it is cathartic. I find that I can write about anything on my mind and feel like a weight has lifted afterwards. I can convey my feelings and emotions freely. Poetry can be emotive, startling, inspiring and thought-provoking. I feel like I am giving my readers a little sneak peek inside my very vulnerable soul. I also like to experiment with humour, it makes a nice change to try something different sometimes and I enjoy making people smile."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Lizzie Bevis: "The first poem that inspired me to begin writing was a poem called 'I Am Very Bothered' by Simon Armitage. Being from Lincolnshire and living a hop and skip away from the birthplace of Alfred Lord Tennyson, it would be rude not to include his wonderful poem - 'The Splendor Falls.' I have enjoyed reading and have been inspired by many of Maya Angelou’s works in the past, I recall reading this poem to my daughter when she was 5 years old – 'Life Doesn’t Frighten Me.'  Alice in Wonderland was one of my favourite books to read growing up, here is another one of Lewis Carroll's splendid pieces of work - Dreamland. I was also a science geek at school and was fascinated by Physics, Chemistry and Biology. I love the work of Sarah Howe, and this is especially one of my favourite poems - 'Relativity.'"


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Lizzie Bevis: "I am a woman of simple pleasures, I enjoy spending time with my family, and games night is always a blast! When I am at home and not working, I often listen to music or watch a good documentary on TV. I adore my cats Timmy and Sooty, Sooty is a sleepy old boy now, but Timmy is such a rascal and there is never a dull moment at home, he has recently learnt how to open drawers! I also like to pass the time sitting in my armchair (usually with a cat on my lap) next to my log burner to work on the occasional embroidery task, and I do of course, enjoy cooking and baking lots of delicious treats, which I usually share with my family, friends and neighbours. I love being outdoors, I often go on long walks, breathing in the fresh air, and clearing my thoughts."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much Lizzie, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”

Lizzie Bevis: "Thank you Carlo for taking the time to plunge me into the February Spotlight! I would also like to thank everyone who has ever shown me kindness, support, and encouragement on Hello Poetry. You are all a wonderful bunch of poets, and I feel truly blessed to be amongst you. Keep writing and keep your visions alive because, without our creativity, the world would be a very dull place indeed."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Lizzie a little bit better. We certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #25 in March!

~
Invocation  May 2014
shakira
Invocation May 2014
this body aches
from my mother's house
from the lack of nutrition
from the fresh burns
but i promised I'd stop
but I promised
but you aren't here to stop me.
I'll smoke as much **** as I need to.
and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken
well-worded
perfect everything
he likes my poetry, and says it reminds
him
of Simon Armitage
beards and lighter burns and sleepless nights before heavy shifts at work.
late summer 1984 Odysseus thinks he sees girl resembling Bayli walking large black dog on armitage street he and Farina still puppy follow girl and her dog to oz park as he nears yells “Bayli?” she looks around replies “Odys? oh Odys! i can’t believe it’s really you it’s so good to see you i’ve missed you so much how’ve you been?” “oh god Bayli i’ve missed you so much too how are you? are you still married?” she answers “we recently divorced he turned out to be real **** secretly borrowed money against mortgage to our house to buy ******* he’s a drug addict we lost everything i’m staying with girlfriend from work then moving this weekend to north carolina where my parents now live” he gazes at her thinks how grown-up lovely she looks she wears tight black jeans tank top beneath short red leather jacket black pointed boots they chat while Farina follows Bayli’s ******* dog he invites her to his place nearby to look at some drawings she agrees tells him thrift-store shirt he is wearing is very cool he offers it to her on the way they pass gare st. lazare Bayli says “i love this place Odys i’m starved haven’t eaten all day let’s stop for a bite let me take you to lunch” he says “i’ll have a cocktail” they tie dogs to parking meter go inside sit in booth drink several screwdrivers smoke talk Bayli orders steak and fries Odysseus orders ****** mary madonna’s “like a ******” plays from bar speakers Bayli comments “there’s still innocence about you Odys i can feel it you’re like child full of gullibility wonder how have you managed to survive?” his eyes glance down speaks “oh Bayli if only you knew the truth it hasn’t been easy” he nibbles one of her fries explains “i’ve struggled Mom and Dad pushed me into commodity markets that was total disaster i’m trying to get back to my true self stumbling every step i’ve made some new drawings you’ll see let me take some water out to the dogs i’ll be right back” they hang out at gare st. lazare for hour talking ordering another round of drinks later when they arrive at his place dogs race up stairs Bayli peers around at drawings on walls “Odys you’re a real artist i’m astounded by your work you’re better than i ever imagined i wish i could say same for myself my life is in ruins man i married physically abused cheated on me stole 10 years savings $260,000 i need to go home to my parents rebuild my life starting from scratch” he kisses her lips they embrace she smells like vanilla he slides hand between her thighs in nurturing voice she says “slow go slow Odys” they tear off each other’s clothes he recognizes her knobby knees he so loves notices her bush has grown fuller ***** longer Bayli has matured into superb lover he adores way they relate over time Odysseus has drawn many sketches of Bayli yet he neglects to show her his thoughts run wild with lightness this afternoon he is so thrilled he dismisses all the things he wants to tell her his mind drifts in world of fantasy forgetfulness he fails to comprehend what Bayli means to him in numb dumb way in passion of  moment Bayli is just another piece of *** another colorless girl passing through his life he looks at her his most perfect ideal woman admires her body yet cannot see her does not realize brain does not register speaks her name Bayli the most beautiful sound his ears can hear but it is just another name how can this occur? they make tender passionate love then he asks her to model she consents he positions her lying down on her back with arms legs outstretched like she is floating he positions her on her knees with hands cupped then clasped like she is praying he positions her curled up on her side watches her get dressed leave go to her parent’s home in north carolina why doesn’t he beg her to stay rebuild her life with him? why does he let her go? what is he thinking? that is just it he is not thinking and for 2nd time it costs him love of his life there is no one to blame but himself when did he become so empty?
what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? once i was loved by beautiful sweet woman who was content just knowing i was happy Bayli was pure honest loyal i thought her a child yet she is more woman than i have ever known thought because she came so easily i could easily get better i let her go the one person in whole world who really loved me made me happy kept me in light i told her someday when i am recognized artist with money respect i will come for her until then we both need time to build towards our destinies it doesn’t matter what i told her she’s gone what kind of man am i to walk the streets in search of love? how do i hold myself responsible for my own stupidity? i’ve had such incredible women offer themselves to me and turned away slamming door on love what kind of man am i to stalk the streets in search of love? i’m going to get so drunk i won’t be able to recognize myself in mirror
annh  Dec 2018
Thoughts
annh Dec 2018
Morning is not my time of day,
That's when concepts float away,
Across the garden, down the lane,
Through the gate at Hester Payne's.

Teacher's pet and top pass,
Hester sits eyes front in class,
With rubbers straight and pencils sharp,
A clean page ready to start.

I, of course, am running late,
Hair a-fly, face scrubbed in haste.
Chasing my thoughts, I see them now,
Bouncing ahead: ’Where? Why? How?’

Miss Armitage says I can do better,
Just follow her lead to the letter.
She raps twice: ’Attention, please!’
We all fall quiet - three sniffs, one sneeze.

’Now settle down, it's time to count.’
Braids and partings turn around
To face the board and I'm up first.
Chalk in hand, could things get worse?

In front of Danny, in front of Sue,
In front of Seamus. And you know who?
Three plus three, then five times six,
Square root of nine, just take your pick.

Six and...thirty...three, I'm sure.
Or was that seven? Maybe four.
My mouth goes dry, I stare and blink.
Lord knows, I find it hard to think.

Up the corridor, down the stairs,
Right then left, my thoughts in pairs,
Sift and swirl and giddy about.
’Behave yourself, now cut that out!’

’Come back here, where you belong.
Don't wonder off! Don't make me wrong!’

I scratch my answers, the class is aghast,
It seems I've something right at last.

Hester sighs, as glum as can be,
For today...this morning...for everyone to see,
My thoughts have stuck with me.
Children's verse.
Manny  Feb 2014
Poetry Live 2014
Manny Feb 2014
I attended the Poetry Live event at Leeds Town Hall on Wednesday 5th February (this week) and it was a spectacular event.
I witnessed readings from Carol Ann Duffy, Gillian Clarke, Simon Armitage, Jackie Kay, Imtiaz Dharker and John Agard. Each of these poets are a true inspiration for me and their work is absolutely amazing. My favourite reading was from John Agard, who is an incredible individual and great entertainer!
concerning making the bed i’ve grown rather fussy even meticulous as far back as i can remember i’ve made my own bed even when i lived in my parent’s house many years ago i asked teresa the maid to leave my room untouched and as a child made my own bed i don’t recall being as particular then as i am now in fact when i lived on armitage street in chicago and enjoyed feral affairs with many women i slept on futon on floor with bottom sheet and sleeping bag but that was 25 or more years ago now i pull tight from foot end bottom powder blue sheet and brush area if i find particles or loose feathers i pick them up with fingers and walk them into kitchen deposit them into waste basket then return to bedroom to make the bed i choose to exclude top sheet next i pull quilt cover symmetrically over foot of bed allowing for some over-hang then attend to head of bed flipping and fluffing pillows adjusting duvet proportionately over pillows to top edge making sure if perhaps some woman sleeps with me she will find clean neat spot next to me yet no one has slept with me for years i sleep in queen size bed hoping praying for loving partner but becoming aware i will possibly likely die alone in this bed
David R Sep 2022
Evening will come, however determined the late afternoon,
Limes and oaks in their last green flush, pearled in September mist.
I have conjured a lily to light these hours, a token of thanks,
Zones and auras of soft glare framing the brilliant globes.
A promise made and kept for life - that was your gift -
Because of which, here is a gift in return, glovewort to some,
Each shining bonnet guarded by stern lance-like leaves.
The country loaded its whole self into your slender hands,
Hands that can rest, now, relieved of a century's weight.

Evening has come. Rain on the black lochs and dark Munros.
Lily of the Valley, a namesake almost, a favourite flower
Interlaced with your famous bouquets, the restrained
Zeal and forceful grace of its lanterns, each inflorescence
A silent bell disguising a singular voice. A blurred new day
Breaks uncrowned on remote peaks and public parks, and
Everything turns on these luminous petals and deep roots,
This lily that thrives between spire and tree, whose brightness
Holds and glows beyond the life and border of its bloom.
by Simon Armitage, Poet Laureate, on occasion of the expiration of our esteemed Queen Elizabeth II
Rich Hues  May 2019
Drone
Rich Hues May 2019
Simon Armitage has a boring voice,
White, working-class, the brexiteer's choice?
Is his nose blocked?
Is that why he sounds stuffy?
Only he could make me Ms,
Carol Ann Duffy.
SøułSurvivør Jan 2021
NITE-VISION ~ The HELEN of TROY

How could human language describe perfection? There were no faculties nor imaginations that could describe Namé as she made her entrance onto that yacht. All eyes snapped open and even some of the most cynical had a moment when they bulged. There were double takes everywhere. Gasps of something akin to awe... She was simply stunning.

She was wearing a dress that was cut from the fabric that she was famous for. NITE-VISION. The fiber-optics shot through a velvet you could sink your arm into. It was a background color of deep purple & indigo. The scintillating sheen every color of the aurora borialis.

The dress itself was a simple cut. The figure within it, however, was anything but simple. Curve upon curve, line for line she was the most lithely lush female, statuesque yet strangely approachable. This was FLESH. Not a marble form to be cordoned off.

If the masculine eyes could be torn off her lower body, rise above her neck which was like the curve of an egret, they would dwell on her face. And they would never leave.

She was angelic. Yes. She was. Yet she had ascertain mein which was almost like a waif. A street urchin. Her jawline was almost a perfect oval. Almost. There was an angular quality to it too. The Planes of her face could have been sculpted by an Egyptian. Or Greek. Or a Japanese mask maker. There was absolutely no way to describe it. Her cantilevered cheekbones were delicate as glass, but seemed to have, in their depths, an Armitage of pure tungsten.

Her hair was a color the painter Titan would envy. It could never be captured by his palette. Gold. Platinum. And Hollow fire. It was swept up on the side and you held by a perfect Indigo, lavender and Ivory comb. It was in the shape of an orchid. No one had seen her hair. Not fully. It was always held up with braids and strands on the top of her head. Tonight it was fully down. The comb the only thing that graced it. It was like a river going through the Black Hills. And all the colors of it's Pink gold.

But her eyes were the most arresting feature of her face. Fringed by lashes that were dark brown golden fire, as every bit as  long as her mother's. The irises were dark indigo shot with cerulean blue. But towards the pupil they were light lilac. If eyes were the windows to the soul, this was a soul that was not simply human, nor even angelic. Namé was a force of nature.

But the reason for the four men in dark suits with steam shovel Jaws became quite obvious on close inspection to the lady's midsection. Yep. She was wearing it. Just as she said she would. The most dazzling pearl to grace woman...

The HELEN of TROY
Excerpt from the book I am writing... StarChild.

— The End —